Bone Junior

I Could Sell Anything to Anyone

2012-03-05T15:41:00.004-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bone: With its claws and teeth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shmid: OMG

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…..

Shmid: YOU’RE such an ASSHOLE!!!!

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

Innuendo? No; Literally, In MY Endo

2012-01-30T11:22:00.008-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good luck with that.

Teach Me How to Bone

2012-01-24T14:57:00.010-07:00

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

2012-01-05T10:44:00.005-07:00

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

2011-12-29T16:34:00.001-07:00

May your year be less terrifying than playing roller derby.

Much Love, Bone

Guest Blogger: Kid Seditious

2011-12-28T10:46:00.002-07:00

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

2011-11-28T14:51:00.011-07:00

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

2011-11-17T13:46:00.004-07:00

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

2011-10-12T15:09:00.004-06:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing.

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

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

Check, and Mate

2011-09-20T15:18:00.003-06:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blink. Blink.

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

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

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

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

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

Red Rockettes vs. Happy Valley Derby Darlins

2011-09-13T12:01:00.016-06:00

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

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

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

Aren't we a classy bunch?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bruiser gives Happy Valley the business.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I Beat the Stomach...Again

2011-08-30T11:17:00.004-06:00

I finally did it...for the second time in my entire life, I jammed. I beat The Stomach.

For anyone who doesn't know what being a jammer entails (like Bone Senior, who doesn't know why her trunk-less Scion doesn't have a safety-release latch on the back door. Here's a hint, sister: if you get stuck in the "trunk" of your Scion, there's no need to kick out the tail lights, just climb over the back seats.) The easiest way to explain the role of the jammer is that she's the only one on the team who can score points, by passing members of the opposite team. Which means that while the blockers (me) can sometimes mosey along in a pack, the jammer is skating as fast as she can to get back around the track and through the pack as many times as possible.

So, blocker = big butt (sometimes moseying) in your face; jammer = skate like hell, get through the pack, get back around the track, get through the pack again, all while getting knocked down by blockers. Rinse and repeat for two minutes. Then apply oxygen mask.

I think it goes without saying that I don't jam. I avoid it like the plague, which makes me feel like crap when we're short on skaters and the same three girls are jamming over and over, and they desperately look around for someone, anyone to volunteer to jam...and I totally avoid eye contact with them, I skate away from them when they're trying to hand off the jammer panty, and I flat out jump out of the way if they throw the panty anywhere near me. Then things get really uncomfortable, because I stand there, trying to pretend that the panty isn't draped across my foot, or under my skate, and everyone stares at me expectantly, and I just wait until someone braver than me picks it up and has the guts to jam.

But two months ago when I made the commitment to work harder, I set a goal to at least try jamming. And in those two months, there have been countless opportunities for me to try, but I was still too scared. I told myself I was still too slow, I still don't have the stamina, my arms are still too flabby; but really, I didn't want to get out there and let everyone down. I'd made up my mind that I just wasn't cut out to be a jammer. Even though just about every skater on the team has done it, I decided that I have a wide butt for a reason, and blocking was all I would use it for.

Because I had opened my big mouth about my high-falootin' derby goals, my teammates and coaches all knew that I wanted to jam, they all encouraged me, they were all rooting for me - but I was terrified that I'd get out there and fail. And then I'd be mortified in front of everyone, and I'd have to admit that I'm just not meant to be a jammer, and I'd have to stick my big butt back on the inside line where it belongs, defeated.

At last week's scrimmage, I decided enough was enough, and made up my mind to jam. Really, it was all my decision. It had nothing to do with the fact that we'd lost three players to injury in the first half, and there were only three girls rotating through the jammer position - they looked like they were about to keel over from exhaustion, one of them was still recovering from a concussion, and the other had just slammed her head into the wall. I totally wasn't guilted into it. At all.

So, I manned up and jammed.

Up until now, I'd only jammed once. I don't really remember it (because it was so long ago) but I'm sure it was like a train wreck - a really, really slow, panting, red-faced, can't-even-catch-up-to-the-pack-let-alone-get-through-the pack, dry heaving train wreck; after which I probably collapsed on the bench and hung my head in shame.

This time, however, when I finished the jam, I felt exactly like this:
And yes, I absolutely made that face.

It was the most exhilarating feeling of my life. Or at least the most exhilarating feeling since I did my 25 laps in under five minutes. Definitely one of the top three exhilarating moments of the last year. When the jam started and people noticed that, what the hell, Bone is jamming?!? I could hear everyone screaming for me - I honestly thought Wicked and Liz were going to lose their voices. My blockers kept a slow pace, they knocked everyone out of the way for me, they made it so that not only did I get through the pack, but I actually scored points.

When it was over, I threw my arms in the air and let my arm fat flutter in the wind as I skated back to my bench. My face hurt from smiling, my lungs were on fire, and I wanted to cry because of the overwhelming support and encouragement I got from the Rockettes. Even if they were hugging me and patting my butt out of pure pity because of my noble effort, it didn't matter. Because right then, I had conquered another one of my fears, and for two minutes? I made jamming my bitch.

Now if only I could conquer my fear of Wanton Rebellion...

Have You Been Boned This Week? Cause You're About To...

2011-08-24T01:43:00.002-06:00

I am so flattered, humbled, and honored to have been nominated for this week's Derby Girl of the Week. Thank you thank you THANK YOU so much for all the incredible support from my fellow Rockettes, it brought me to happy tears.

Now check me out in all my awesomeness.

http://nowsaltlake.com/articles/view/2217/?page=1

I Beat the Stomach

2011-08-02T09:52:00.004-06:00

A Summary of July:

Derby, endurance, sweating, more sweating, sweating so much that my entire ponytail was soaking wet (swonytail), bunionettes, ice packs tied to my feet, camping, being tricked into a hike and not realizing I'd been tricked until it was too late, eating like fifty s'mores in one night, making derby shirts, trying to figure out how to power wash the bed of a pickup truck without getting sprayed with poopy smelling water, realizing that there is no way to power wash the bed of a pickup truck without getting sprayed by poopy smelling water, my boobs turned three, and what else...I really feel like I'm forgetting something here....oh yeah, and I got stood up.

Are you as shocked as I am? Because I had no idea bunionettes were a real thing either! Who knew! To clarify, bunion is on the inside of the foot, below the big toe; and a bunionette (much cuter) is on the outside of the foot, below the pinky toe. It might sound cuter, but trust me, my feet are a hot mess to look at. Hence the ice packs tied to my feet.

Enough about my bunionettes - I know what you're dying to hear about. I didn't even want to post about getting stood up because I felt so humiliated at first - but now that some time has passed, I'm over being humiliated and I'm just pissed, so my blog gets to benefit from that. And as a disclaimer: I am not writing about this to gain sympathy or pity or a bunch of comments about what a douche the guy is. Even though he is. I'm writing about it because I've learned that if I can't see the humor in a situation, I usually don't learn anything from it. And now I get to pass on those pearls of wisdom.

So this is my story about The Time I Got Stood Up. First of all, I don't think I even know anyone in real life who has actually been stood up. Because, who does that? Second of all, it's not like I was set up on a blind date, I went to meet him at a restaurant, I was sitting there with a red rose on the table, and he took one look at me and bailed without even saying hello. It wasn't like that at all. This was a guy I had been set up with, we spent the afternoon boating with two of our friends, then after boating he asked if we wanted to go get dinner and play cards. We all decided to go home and get cleaned up, then meet up again in about an hour at my place.

So I go home and shower and get ready. I even blow dried my hair. Then I waited. And waited. And waited. After almost two hours of waiting, I texted the guy and told him I was ready whenever he was. No response. Another hour goes by, I texted him again, asking for an ETA. No response. After another thirty minutes, I called. No answer.

He didn't even have the decency to bail on me in private - my friend was waiting on us, so I had to keep texting her and telling her that I still hadn't heard from him. Basically, we spent an afternoon together, he asked to continue hanging out, he put it out there, and then he just disappeared. I don't get it.

Here's what sucks - if he didn't want to hang out with me again, he could've just called it a day after boating, and it would've been fine. But to make further plans with me and then not show up? Why even extend the invitation? Oh, and it's been over a week, and I still haven't heard a peep from him. And before you go giving him the benefit of the doubt - no, he didn't get arrested or hospitalized. Because I checked.

As far as I'm concerned, the only acceptable excuse for standing me up is if you're dead. Believe me, I went through all the possible scenarios - maybe he fell asleep? Maybe his phone died? Maybe his car wouldn't start? If something like that happened, you'd think he'd have the courtesy to text me the next day and explain, or something. But no, this guy has just bailed, no explanation or apology. End of story.

Except that might not be the end of the story, because if I ever see that guy again, I'm going to get so ghetto on him, he's going to wish death was his excuse for standing me up. I am so not above bobbing my head, raising my voice, and shaking my finger in his face. My wrath supercedes all social graces.

So I spent a few days moping and feeling sorry for myself, feeling like I must be the biggest loser if a guy thought it was okay to treat me that way. Then it clicked in my head that he's the douche. And then I got angry. Like, really angry. Derby couldn't have come at a more perfect time, because I needed a healthy outlet for my rage, otherwise I was afraid I'd go all Bobbitt or something.

We started out by getting timed doing 25 laps. Perfect. I kept my head down, puffed my cheeks out, and skated as hard as I could to release my angry tension. And guess what happened?

I did my 25 laps in under five minutes. I came in at 4:53. Fink beat The Stomach.

Which means that I shaved 47 seconds off my first time, in only three and a half weeks. Three and a half weeks!!! I thought it was going to take me six months to close the gap, but I did it. I did it. And then I didn't even feel angry anymore.

So maybe I should be thanking El Douche - if he hadn't stood me up, I wouldn't have gotten pissed, my anger wouldn't have simmered and built up to almost uncontrollable rage, and I wouldn't have pushed myself so hard on those laps. Maybe I wouldn't have reached my goal. Maybe I owe him gratidude.

But instead of thanking him, I'd still rather donkey punch him.

This Is Weenie War

2011-07-07T08:34:00.011-06:00

I had an epiphany last weekend as I was trying to come up with ideas for my blog. I realized that I've spent six months trying to describe and document my roller derby experience, when all along, the entire journey can be summed up by a scene from one of my favorite movies.

Meatballs.

What's that? You've never heard of the 1979 Bill Murray classic Meatballs? Are you kidding me? Next you'll tell me that you've never seen The Monster Squad (Wolfman's got gnards?!)

Meatballs was one of those movies that my dad let me watch when I was six, I didn't get most of the jokes (mostly because I didn't know what "boner" meant), and when I saw it again it my twenties? I was horrified that my dad had even let me watch it. (In my dad's defense, Meatballs was rated PG, at a time when PG-13 didn't even exist yet. So while it's not quite R-rated material, I think the boner jokes alone qualify it as too mature for a six-year-old.) Other movies my dad let me watch at that age include all the Rambo movies, Jaws, Predator, Poltergeist, and The Benny Hill Show. And he wonders why I turned out the way I did. Just saying.

But I digress. If you haven't seen it, all you really need to know about Meatballs is that Bill Murray plays Tripper, who is in charge of all the young adult counselors at summer camp. And let the hilarity ensue.

The scene that best sums up my roller derby journey is when Fink, the stereotypical underdog fat guy, is matched against The Stomach, a hot dog eating champion from a rival summer camp. Tripper gives Fink the simple pep talk that has always stuck with me:

Tripper: Mmmmm. Look at all those steaming wieners. Do you know what they're saying? They're saying, "This is the year that Fink beats 'The Stomach'."

I suppose it's not really the pep talk that pushes Fink to win - it's probably more Bill Murray screaming over his shoulder and shaking him that gives him that oomph to go the extra mile. Tell me this doesn't motivate you to furiously shove hot dogs in your mouth: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2DdkP6U4WjY

So how does this relate to derby? Quite simply: I am Fink, roller derby is The Stomach, and the Red Rockettes are my Tripper. They're the ones yelling over my shoulder (literally and figuratively), pushing me to do more, do better, try harder, keep going. They are my personal Bill Murray, telling me that even when I feel like it's impossible, there's always more room in my mouth for weenies.
Because of their support, I've been able to overcome some major milestones. I've worked on overcoming my derby fears, and I've even managed to face some of those fears:

1. Cross-overs. Here's a perfect example of a basic skill that I was supposed to have mastered five months ago. But I was terrified, and I just couldn't pick up my foot and lift it over the other one while skating forward. I spent every practice trying to hide behind other people so that the coaches wouldn't notice that I still wasn't crossing over. (I know they totally noticed, I wasn't fooling anyone). And finally, I just tried. And guess what. I didn't fall or trip myself. And while I still don't look comfortable or even natural crossing over, at least now I'm doing them.

2. 25 in 5. This is another basic skill - being able to skate 25 laps in five minutes or less. This breaks down to skating one lap in twelve seconds tops. Most of the vets can easily do it; the fresh meat mamas can probably do it in less than four minutes (that's like nine seconds per lap) which might not sound that fast, but trust me, it's fast. Much like I avoided cross-overs for so long, I also avoided being officially timed on my 25 laps. Basically my logic was this: I already know I'm slow, I don't feel the need to know exactly how slow. So every time we had an opportunity to be timed, I'd duck out early or just say I was too tired. I sucessfully avoided it for months, because ignorance is bliss. And I preferred to be ignorantly, blissfully slow instead of just plain slow.

Then last week at the end of endurance practice, we were offered the chance to be timed. There was a small enough group there that we'd each have our own personal timer, counting our laps and tracking our time for us. I wouldn't even have to worry about counting or losing track of which lap I was on. So there went that excuse.

It was the end of the night, we'd been working hard and I was sweaty, red-faced, and panting. My body hurt, my swass was out of control, and I just plain didn't want to do it. But then I looked over at Liz Tailher, a fellow Rockette. Liz, who does a 7:00 am bootcamp, running up huge hills and jumping over bleachers. Liz, who will chase down a jammer the way I would chase down one of the New Kids on the Block. Liz, my fellow middle-easterner who fondly refers to me as the other half of her West Bank. Liz, who was just as red-faced and sweaty as me, and she was already lined up on the track, ready to go.

When I looked at her, I knew I was out of excuses, and I just had to do it. She gave me a fist bump and said, "Let's do this." Andy Wardoll yelled out from the sidelines, "I got YOU, Bone!" and held up her stopwatch. So I took a deep breath, lined up on the track and said to myself, "Ima make this my bitch." The whistle blew, and off we went.

I wish I could tell you that I did my 25 laps in like three minutes, and that everyone carried me over their shoulders, cheering. But that didn't happen. What did happen, is that I pushed myself as hard as I could. My legs felt like they were on fire, my mouth was completely dry, and every muscle in my body hurt. But I heard Andy cheering for me every time I passed her, telling me to keep going and not to give up. Each time she called out my lap number, I focused on that and told myself, "Just fifteen more...just ten more...five more..."

And you know what? I didn't do it in less than five minutes. But I was a lot closer than I thought I'd be and more importantly - I finally at least tried.

3. Wearing No-Pants with No Dark Tights. Every time I've worn no-pants, I've had either black spandex or dark tights under them, so none of my skin was actually showing. I was too self-conscious about my legs and how I could survive for a year on the cottage cheese that resides on my butt and thighs. Most of the other girls wear nude pantyhose (if anything) under their no-pants, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. But then Bruiser Ego showed me these:
So I bought a pair. And when I put them on? Somehow I felt confident and at peace with my cellulite...and I wore them to the next scrimmage with nothing but newd hose underneath. Other than a bathing suit, it was the most leg I've ever shown in public. And it was incredibly freeing and empowering to skate like that.

Obviously I still have a million areas that need improvement, but I feel content knowing that I'm at least trying to get better, and I'm starting to face the things I'm afraid of. I still have a long list of personal milestones that I want to reach (jamming, anyone?), but I hope I always have my own personal Bill Murray's cheering me on.

I Should Learn to Keep My Big Mouth Shut

2011-06-14T08:38:00.004-06:00

I am regretting having ever blabbed to the entire world that I want to put more effort into derby, because now the entire world is holding me accountable. I don't have the option of just talking the talk without walking the walk, unless I'm okay with looking like an ass. And considering that I'm walking like a cripple this morning, I'm borderline being okay with looking like an ass.

Putting in extra effort is hard and it has been kicking my butt. I've been pushed out of my comfort zone, into doing burpees (up/downs), planks, wall squats, and learning new vocabulary for proper derby stance that, quite frankly, makes me blush. Here's the rundown of the first week of my "extra effort".

Monday: Skated (actually skated, in a forward motion, not just side-stepped) outside with Tasha, better known as my waxer / spray tanner, and soon-to-be Rockette. When I introduced Tasha to my fresh meat mamas, I told them that she'd seen my naked body and said, "I want to go to there"; to which I responded, "Someday, this can all be yours" as I elaborately swept my hands over my body. "You just need to join roller derby." I think that's when I did the lunge-heard-round-the-world. Obviously that's all it took to convince Tasha to join up. Can you blame her?

We did laps on an outdoor track for about 45 minutes, and I felt pretty proud of myself until I saw that other derby girls are skating SEVENTEEN MILES A DAY. Seventeen. MILES. But, I did crossovers. Successfully. We also had a tender moment when I realized that Tasha has the exact same Big Five skates that I started on - finally, someone will empathize with my plight.

Tuesday: Wasatch Roller Derby (the "real" roller derby girls) strategy / endurance practice, which I like to call, "Here's All The Reasons You Will Never Be A Good Derby Girl." We were told the practice would be on skates (some weeks are just drills on foot). About a minute after I got there, I learned that we were actually starting out on foot. Awesome. My footwear options were flip flops, skates, or work boots. So I chose barefoot, and left sweaty foot marks all over the floor. So hot. And also slippery.

We started out doing a series of wall squats and planks, which had me sweating and panting about thirty seconds in. I had strategically placed myself between two other Rockettes, Bruiser and Liz Tailher, who have both been doing a 7 AM boot camp. Bruiser helped correct my posture and plank position, which was really helpful. Unfortunately, no matter how many times she adjusted me, I still ended up resting my sweaty face against the wall during the squats, and resting my gut on the floor during the planks.

Then we did burpees (I know them as up/downs), which is when you do a jumping jack, then drop down into a push up, then pull your legs up, stand up and do it all over again. Which really ended up with me looking like I was doing the worm, because that's how awesome I am at doing pushups.

This class was led by one of the founders and coaches of Wasatch, and the focus was on strategy. The way she explained different techniques made a lot of sense, and it was really helpful. I found myself saying, "Oh, now I understand why Wanton grabbed me by the pants to slow me down..." We even got handouts with flowcharts and graphs, all explaining different strategies. Now, if I wasn't such a negative person, I probably would've come away from the class thinking, "Wow, that was really helpful! I learned a lot!" But, I'm not, so I came away with the following pearls of wisdom that were tossed down from the coach:

1. "If your arms jiggle, you will never be a good derby girl." As she was saying this, I was trying to discreetly tuck my arm fat into my armpits, hoping she wouldn't single me out as having jiggly arms. I also resisted the urge to ask her if having stretch marks would stop you from ever being a good derby girl, because I got the sense very early on that she wouldn't appreciate my humor.

2. "If you can't run a mile, you will never be a good derby girl." This gave me flashbacks to highschool gym class, and me walking a 15-minute mile. That was also the only time in my life I didn't envy my sister for having big boobs, as just watching her run the mile made me hurt. But once I hit my mid-twenties, and hadn't run a mile in like ten years, I figured that the downside of having big boobs wasn't enough to stop me from getting them.

3. "If you can't skate 25 laps in less than five minutes, you will never be a good derby girl. I can do it in 3:30." K, I'm not even going to touch that one - I think we all know where I stand on the speed and endurance issue (read: I have neither).

4. "If your coach puts you on the inside line and tells you to stay there, it's because there's nothing else they can do with you." When we heard this little gem, all of the Rockettes in attendance burst out laughing. I can't count how many times my fresh meat mamas have said to me, "Just stick to the inside line and don't worry about anything else." Any idealistic notions I had about being put on the line because I'm a good blocker went right out the window. I wanted to gather up my arm fat and just leave. But since I had flapped my gums about wanting to get better, I couldn't tuck tail and run in front of the other Rockettes. I'm pretty sure they would have physically stopped me from leaving, and I love them for that.

In defense of the Wasatch coach, I can completely appreciate where she's coming from. She's leading a team of intense girls who are out for blood, and practice is very, very serious for them. She's all about the brutal honesty, and while I understand that? I was yearning for the coddling, gentle love of my fresh meat mamas.

Thursday: Red Rockettes practice. I was so glad to be back with a familiar group of faces. Practicing with Wasatch gave me a whole new appreciation for the Rockettes, and the environment that our coaches have created for us to learn and have fun. We have such a large group now that practice is split up: 7-9 is for the rookies, 8-10 is for the vets. I think the highlight of my night was at about 9pm, when I was already sweating and dying, and one of the rookies (who had been skating for two hours and was barely glistening) said, "Didn't you just get here?" Yes, yes I did, which makes it that much more sad.

Friday-Sunday: Pretty much one continuous cycle of eating, sleeping, and watching Bridezillas. Whatever, don't judge me.

Monday: Happy Valley Derby Darlins practice. This is a group that was formed in December, and is currently recruiting skaters. They skate just a few minutes from where I live, and had extended an invitation to the Rockettes to come practice with them anytime. So E-Rolla Virus drove down from Salt Lake, and she and I entered the lions den together.

HVDD has about 25 girls, and they all looked like they could beat me up. E-Rolla and I just looked at eachother like, "What have we gotten into?" but we geared up and joined in the stretching. Their coach, Breaker 1-9, immediately sensed outsiders amongst her crew, and called out for us to state our names and business there. When we said we come in peace, and from the Red Rockettes, they all started...cheering. They let out a chorus of, "Yay! You're here to help us!"

Blink. Blink. E-Rolla and I exchanged glances that said, "We have absolutely nothing to teach you, seeing as how we are still trying to learn how to skate", but they all looked so...hopeful. They had no idea they where about to be underwhelmed by the Alamo of the Red Rockettes. So instead of just coming out with the truth about how novice we are, E-Rolla and I rode the celebrity status wave for the next thirty seconds, aaaaaaaaaaand then we started skating.

It became very clear, very quickly, that these girls have been focusing on speed and endurance for the past six months. They were fast, stable, and had perfect derby stance. They almost never broke form, and if they did, they heard it loud and clear from Breaker 1-9, no pun intended. She was loud, and she was very, very clear with her instructions. The last time someone screamed, "MOVE YOUR ASS!" at me was in highschool, when my tennis coach would make my two-syllable first name into a one-syllable word, indiscernible to the untrained ear. "Moo ya fee, Sah! MOO ya FEE!" (Translation: Move your feet, Sarah! MOVE your FEET!)

Along with "loud" and "clear", Breaker had a very distinct way with words. This is the part where I learned new vocabulary for "proper derby stance". We've been taught tits over knees over toes, hands in the vag. Simple as that. That phrase has been drilled into my head, and it's almost become second nature. And really, "tits over knees over toes" is as descriptive as you need to get with me when it comes to proper derby stance - I get it, I understand it, I need no further explanation.

Breaker 1-9 has a different opinion when it comes to explaining proper derby stance, and honestly, I don't know if I can even bring myself to write it here, because it's straight-up prison talk, and the thought of my sister reading it makes me feel embarrassed. And although I have the sense of humor of a thirteen-year-old boy, even I draw the line somewhere.

We were doing a pace line, skating a figure-eight pattern. It teaches you how to skate close to eachother, and to keep pace with the girl in front of you while not breaking away from the girl behind you. We were also practicing sticky skates, which is skating in a forward motion without picking up any of your wheels. It kills my thighs. Breaker kept yelling at us to get as close as possible to the girl in front of us, as low as we could with our asses out. Really, that statement from her would have been enough. "Get your ass down and out", or "Get all up ons", or even "Get your face close enough to kiss the butt of the girl in front of you" are all very self-explanatory, but Breaker took it to the next level.

I really can't bring myself to write what she actually said. I've tried several times, and I'm just too modest. (Whoda thunk? Me? Modest? Pfffft. But seriously, this is just too far for me to take it. At least on my blog. In person, I have no problem saying it, but for some reason, seeing it in writing is too much.) Suffice it to say that it started with 'E' and ended with 'ATHERASSHOLE.'

In other words, it sounded a lot like, "Meat her class mole."

If you were playing Mad Gab, your clue would be, "Eater as hoe."

That's how close she wanted us to the girl in front of us. My response was to turn around to E-Rolla, who was directly behind me, and say, "Toss my salad."

While it was a great workout, I'm not sure if I'll be going back to the HVDD practice. I get my fill of prison lingo from Lockup, thankyouverymuch.

Lessons Learned

2011-06-06T21:01:00.006-06:00

I drove home from last Thursday's scrimmage in tears. As if I didn't look enough like a crazy person, I was also shaking my head and talking to myself. I'm sure the other commuters got a good laugh out of it. But let me back up.

I skate with an amazing group of girls who are all getting better and better and better each week. I watch them lap me during warm ups, juke me on the track, and generally leave me in the dust during a jam. On a normal night, I'm slow. Last week? I felt like I had peanut butter flowing through my veins; which, normally I would say is a delicious feeling. But I haven't eaten any peanut butter in six months (I have a bit of a ... problem with peanut butter. As in, if there is any peanut butter in the house, I will eat the entire jar with a spoon in one sitting. I wish I was kidding.) I didn't even get to enjoy the peanut butter euphoria while my butt was dragging around the track; I just got the after effects of sweating, panting, and a stitch in my side.

I started every jam at the beginning of the pack, and ended every jam halfway around the track, behind everyone else, just trying to catch up. I was always the straggler. And it's not like I went unnoticed either; did you know that there's a ref assigned to keep an eye on the stragglers? Neither did I, until I heard the head ref yelling to another ref, "Keep an eye on the stragglers!" Meaning that I had my own personal ref skating alongside me the entire time I was gasping to catch up to the group. Nothing like a little public flogging to really give you confidence.

I felt like every time I was out there, I was holding my team back. And of course everyone was so nice about it, which made me feel even worse for dragging them down. England suggested that I stick to the inside of the track so that I have less distance to cover. Pushy asked what the team could do to help me out there, and all I could think was, "Slow down!" And Wanton took a more practical approach by grabbing my waistband and pulling or pushing me so that I'd stay with the pack.

So I spent the whole drive home being angry with myself and trying to figure out what the heck my problem was that night. I felt like I was trying hard, but no matter how hard I pushed, skated, and puffed out my cheeks, I just wasn't getting anywhere. My first reaction was to blame my skates.

For the past six months, I have been skating on top-of-the-line, highest quality Big Five skates. The hard plastic toe stops have been implemental at teaching me how to stop without using my toe stops, because instead of stopping me, they just squeak across the floor. The hard plastic wheels really help me keep my balance and grip the track as I'm not doing crossovers. They give me a good, solid stance. I highly recommend Big Five skates to anyone who wants to work twice as hard and get half as far.

I've been putting off buying new skates because a) I'm cheap, b) skates get expensive, and c) did I mention I'm cheap? Then Sugarplum Scary made me an offer I couldn't refuse: she had bought a new pair of skates because her original ones didn't fit right, so she was looking to sell them. And they just happened to be my size. I skated around a few times and was in awe of the actual rubber toe stops and grippy wheels. The toe stops actually stopped me! My wheels didn't slide when I pushed off! In my state of wonder, I realized that I had no idea how to skate on good skates.

I also realized that it maybe wasn't the best idea to break in new skates on a scrimmage night. Because although I finally had the right equipment, learning to use it was a different story. I felt like I was starting from square one.

For a few minutes, I convinced myself that surely I wasn't the problem; it was the skates! Yes, that's it! The skates! How could I be expected to keep up when I was trying to get used to new skates? It had only taken me six months to learn how to skate on Big Five's, which buys me at least another three months before anyone expects me to be useful on the track, right? Yes, that must be it.

Then some nagging thoughts started creeping in. I thought about all the new girls and how amazing they're doing. I thought about girls who had started the course six weeks late and were lapping me, and girls who can only make it every few weeks and they're lapping me. Everyone seems to be getting better every week. Bascially, everyone laps me and I knew in that moment that it wasn't because of my skates. And that kinda sucked.

I finally admitted to myself that I haven't done anything to help myself improve outside of Thursday nights. Most of the other girls skate at least three or four times a week, they go to an endurance skate class on Tuesday nights, they go disco skating, they do a boot camp at SEVEN IN THE MORNING! These girls are hardcore and serious about getting better, and what have I been doing? Drinking diet pepsi and watching Mob Wives, that's what. If I hadn't gone off peanut butter, I guarantee I'd be sitting around eating that too.

Getting better at skating isn't something that's just going to happen to me, no matter how bad I wish it would. I have to be willing to put in the time and effort to get better, otherwise I'm just going to stay in the same place while everyone else continues to lap me. I don't want that, I don't want to hold my teammmates back, and I'm pretty sure the straggler ref is sick of skating alongside me.

So I made a few decisions. I'm going to start attending the Tuesday night endurance class, which I'm already dreading. The thought of doing squats and sprints and running makes me want to puke. But everyone who goes has said it makes a huge difference in their skating, so I have to give it a shot.

I'm also going to make an effort to use my new skates more than once a week, and I'm already off to a good start with that one - last night, I skated around a park trail with my friend/waxer/tanner Tasha, who's going to join next session. And guess what else - I actually did crossovers. Seriously. I know. I know!

I could come up with a million excuses not to do these things - gas is expensive, the drive sucks, I'm tired, I'm lazy, The Real Housewives of New Jersey is on, blah blah blah. But I can't keep making excuses for sucking at skating - it's either put in the time to improve, or quit because I'm just getting in everyone's way. And like E-Rolla Virus said, derby is cheaper than therapy, so there's no way in hell I'm quitting.

You heard it here first - Bone is getting her butt in gear.

San Antonio: I Didn't Really Get It

2011-06-01T10:43:00.012-06:00

It's June, and there is still snow on the mountains here. I'm so over the Utah winter, so for Memorial Day weekend my roommate Tiff and I decided to take a trip somewhere hot and sunny. We ended up going somewhere sweltering, sticky, and confusing to me: San Antonio.

Neither of us had ever been there, and we were excited to see the Alamo, the Riverwalk, and of course, the sun. I know I run the risk of pissing off a lot of Texans by saying this, but I was really looking forward to gaining a better understanding of why the Alamo was such a big deal - I totally didn't get it, because the Mexicans won, but the Alamo is "a symbol of Texas liberty". More on that to come.

Let's start with the things that didn't confuse me.

The Riverwalk

The San Fernando Cathedral

Sombreros

Optical illusions

Another optical illusion.

Beyond that, San Antonio kinda lost me. I spent most of my time there with a puzzled look on my face, asking, "Huh?". Actually, I spent most of my time sweating, chafing, and trying to breathe with my mouth closed so Tiff wouldn't realize how out of shape I was. I'm pretty sure I walked more last weekend than I have in the last five years combined.

These tourism posters were all over the place.

Hello, my name is "I don't really get your slogan."

Who wouldn't want a free sniffing of Bone swass after a day of sweaty thigh chafing?

These cryptic messages confused me. At first, I thought the Mexicans were just really bad at writing a haiku, but they still didn't make sense. Tiff was smart enough to figure it out: it's all about the river. I never would've gotten that on my own.

Alamo City Ghost Tours. We had a couple different tours to choose from, so we went with the group that had the most confusing website. http://www.alamocityghosttours.com/. We knew we were in for a real adventure when we read one of the testimonials: "I feel as if I have been transported into the 1980's movie Ghostbusters." Plus they promised that everyone gets ghost hunting equipment! I was fully expecting a proton pack, and fully planned on shouting, "Don't cross the streams!" at least a dozen times. However, the equipment we got was not quite Ghostbuster-caliber.
Tiff demonstrating how to use the "ghost hunting equipment": point, shoot, get temperature. Her laser temperature gauge confirms it: my butt is hot.
The scariest thing I saw on the ghost tour: a dead bird. Even scarier was when a competely oblivious lady stepped on the dead bird and I heard it crack. It creeped me out worse than anything else on the tour.

Which brings me back to the Alamo.I was excited to go inside and find out what all the hoopla was about. I thought there would be people dressed as Davy Crockett, whooping it up and firing pistoleros into the air; and I was hoping that one of them would be able to explain why this place was such an integral part of Texas freedom if the Mexicans won...

My hopes of seeing Davy Crockett were quickly dashed as soon as we went inside. It was made clear that there are no shenanigans or tom foolery at the Alamo. The Alamo is very serious, as you can see. Which gave me that much more reason to be pro-tom foolery and anti-seriousness. I still don't fully understand why it was such a critical point in the war, but here's what I did learn:The walls are only like eight feet tall. Which confused me even more! Why did it take 2,000 Mexican soldiers almost two weeks to get over these walls and take the Alamo? I'm neither Mexican nor a soldier, but I'm pretty sure I could clear this wall pretty quickly. I didn't say I could do it gracefully; there would be a fair amount of huffing and puffing involved, but still.
There are many rules at the Alamo. Like no stepping on the grass. And no touching the walls. And no photography inside.

And especially no photography inside whilst touching the walls.

Surprisingly, there were no rules about where you were allowed to sit during the tour guide's presentation. I think people thought I was part of the presentation and kept waiting for me to get up and do something, but I just sat there, politely listening and making the guide feel weird.

At the end of the weekend, I came home with a sunburn and a whole new appreciation for dry heat. Try as they may have, the Tejanos just couldn't instill any culture in me; but at least I blended in with the natives.

That Mushy Gushy Stuff in Honor of Mothers

2011-05-10T01:12:00.007-06:00

Two weeks ago, I got into a killer cat fight, a la Mob Wives (an ambulance was sure to come), and I tweaked my neck. Ok I didn't really get into a cat fight, but it sounds a lot cooler than saying that I was blow drying my hair, flipped my head up and my neck seized. So let's just stick with the cat fight.

I tweaked it so badly that I missed a night of derby; I spent most of the weekend turning my entire torso just to look to the side, at which point I decided that the best plan of action was to just stay in bed, watching a lot of brainless television, and I had a lot to think about.

And seeing as how I'm still laid up in bed (until my first ever chiropractor visit tomorrow, which I swear is giving me panic attacks about having my neck accidentally snapped in half) I've been thinking about a lot. A lot about mothers, friendships, roller derby, kids, Arby's mozzarella sticks...just to name a few.

I've been thinking about the past year of my life, where I was then and where I am now. Who I've tried to become and the things that I've tried to change about myself. A year ago, I felt like a shell of my former self. I had no idea who I was or how I'd let myself get so...empty. I was lonely, I cried to my sister every day, I had no direction, felt like I had no purpose. I was miserable.

When Gina suggested trying roller derby, I had a piss-poor attitude about it. The first few weeks, I couldn't do anything right, I really only talked to Gina, I hid from the coaches, hoping that they wouldn't notice that I wasn't doing anything right, I made stupid jokes to the other girls, hoping they wouldn't notice that I wasn't doing anything right, and I pretty much kept to myself. My equipment was from D.I., my skates were from Big Five, I didn't have the cute derby clothes or tights. I felt totally ghetto, totally out of my element, and totally lame. I felt like I just didn't fit in.

I cried to my sister every Friday morning about how horrible I'd done at derby the night before. About how I felt like I was failing at life because I was failing at skating. How nobody there liked me and I got picked last for kickball, and how I just wanted to quit. I'm not kidding, I think I actually whined, "aaaaaaaaand I got picked last for KICK ball!" That's how emotionally mature I am. But every Friday morning, my sister reassured me that derby was not the barometer of my life as a whole, and that I just had to stick it out for the twelve weeks, and then I never had to skate again if I didn't want to. She made me promise to finish the session.

But somewhere along the line, something clicked with me. I think it was the night that Daisy grabbed me by the hand and forced me to do a baseball slide with her. I totally sucked at it, but she smiled and applauded me, and told me how awesome I was. She was totally lying, but somehow, it made me finally smile, get up, and keep skating. And then I actually started loving going to derby.

I started to branch out and tried talking to other girls. Talking led to laughing, and going out together after derby, and getting phone numbers, and texting, and talking on the phone. It led to late night conversations, coordinated no pants nights, emails that went back and forth for days - most so funny that I peed a little. It started treat nights, crafting parties, big plans for pajama parties, and skate maintenance parties. It led to friendships and a feeling of sisterhood, and sometimes for me, a feeling of motherhood, which was the last thing I expected, and didn't realize how badly I needed.

I lost my mom to cancer when I was ten, and I've been trying to fill that void ever since. There are countless amazing women in my life who have all played a part in being a mother to me, even to this day. My closest friends all play a part in filling that role in my life, whether they realize it or not. I don't think any of the Rockettes even know about my mom, but I hope I can tell them here how much they've helped to fill that void for me.

These are girls who have taken me under their wing and make the extra effort so that I feel welcome, even if my equipment is ghetto. They make me feel loved, even if my derby clothes aren't cute and my skates are from Big Five. They encourage me to always try harder, break out of my comfort zone, put on my no pants, and own it. They helped me gain back my identity, and be proud of it. Isn't that what a friend does? Isn't that what a mother does?

Many of the Rockettes are mothers, and I am astonished at how they manage to juggle everything in their lives. I only have to worry about me, and sometimes I barely make it out the door in one piece. These ladies take care of little children, husbands, families, jobs, and they make it look so easy. Not only do they make it look easy, but they love every minute of it. And that kind of love has transferred to the derby track, and made me feel like I'm part of something so much bigger than a recreational derby league. I feel like I have 30 mothers and sisters who all genuinely care about each other. Just last week, everyone pitched in to put together a gift basket for the daughter of a vet who is dealing with medical issues. The Rockettes were so generous with their donations, there was enough money to fill the basket with goodies and get a $50 gift certificate. The outpouring of love was overwhelming.

They genuinely care about me. The night I missed practice, I couldn't even count the number of emails, texts, and messages from derby girls, asking if I was ok, telling me that I was missed. One coach told me that they'd officially decided that I was never allowed to be absent from practice again, because they missed me so much. If that doesn't warm your heart, then you're probably dead inside.

I love each and every one of the Rockettes because they all bring something different to the table, and they've all had an influence on me. When I go to practice, I'm not the girl with cellulite and a flat bum. I'm not the girl with the love handles and back fat that jiggles. I'm not the single girl with no kids. I'm not the girl who says "wooder" instead of "water", or who gets sweaty just standing in place. I'm not "that girl who's mom died." I'm not my insecurities, my negativity, or my fear of failing. At derby, I am not defined by any of the things that I allow to hold me back in real life. I am none of those things.

At derby, I'm Bone Junior, and I kick ass, and I owe it to the Rockettes. And of course to my sister for talking me down every Friday morning, just like our mom would've done. Her telling me that I got picked last for kickball because both teams just wanted me so badly, that they had to fight over me, and it took them a long time to decide. Her encouraging me to make new friends and try something new, and to stick with it. That's totally what a mother does.

Tanning Fail, but Still Win Because I Am Tan UPDATED

2011-04-26T10:54:00.007-06:00

I've said it before, and I'll say it again when my skin looks like a leather handbag: I am tanorexic. I love to be tan, whether it's from the actual sun or a tanning bed, it makes no difference. I just hate to be pasty. Lecture me all you want about wrinkles and UV rays, but mark my words, I will go to my grave the color of terra cotta.

Before you start wagging your finger at me about how unhealthy I am, the whole point of this post is that I tried something new and NOT unhealthy to get tan: SPRAY TAN. Not the kind you buy at Walmart, but an actual spray tan from an actual salon. And before you start rolling your eyes, I did not turn out the color of Snookie. I have a lovely glow, if I do say so myself. And while I'm thrilled with the results, the process, persay, was not exactly what I expected.

I had never tried a spray tan before, and I was a little leary, having seen terrifying spray tans on Toddlers and Tiaras. And also on Jersey Shore, Jerseylicious, Mob Wives, and pretty much any show about people in New Jersey. But based on these shows, I had an idea in my head of what the experience of spray tanning would be like: I go into a private room, lock the door, put on a shower cap, step into a booth, alone, and get hosed down with tanner like I'm going through a car wash. Or, I go into a private room, put on a shower cap and some kind of cover-up for my lady parts, and a gal comes in and sprays only my essential parts with tanner. In my head, those were the only two possible outcomes.

I did not know that my salon utilizes a third option. The kind where I go into a private room, put on ONLY a shower cap, awkwardly stand there and try to figure out how to cover my lady parts, waiting for a gal who comes in and gets all up in ALL my parts, hosing me down with tanner, while I'm still trying to figure out how to keep my no-no square covered.

I was informed of option three when I got to the salon, and it was too late to back out. But as fate would have it, the gal who does the spray tans is the same gal who does the waxing. The same girl who used to do my waxing. She's the only person in this world who's seen the scary places of my body that should never be seen by the naked eye (read: my bum crack). Not only has she seen those places, but she's waxed them. So, I suppose that if I had to stand naked in front of anyone, awkwardly for several minutes, then she'd be the person I'd choose, because she's already seen it all.

You'd think that I would've been perfectly comfortable in the newd in front of her, but, I was not. I was not "prepared" to be seen naked. As in, I hadn't even shaved my legs for like a month. I'd come straight from work, so I felt all greasy and swassy, I'd started to sweat as soon as I heard the words "totally naked", and I was a bumbling mess. She told me she'd give me three minutes to undress and then she'd be back.

It took all of about twenty seconds for me to undress and put on the shower cap. Please to enjoy a self-illustrated pictorial on how I spent the remaining two minutes and forty seconds waiting for her to come back in: (Illustrator's note: I added censorship bars where I thought necessary. Pretty much just for the sake of my brother. Thank you.)(Also, I am aware that I drew my hands and feet anatomically incorrect. Everything else is perfectly to scale.)

What's funny is that, as you can see from the pictures, I was least concerned with keeping my whoody-whaty covered, and more worried about keeping my stomach and boobs concealed. Or at least trying to stand in the most flattering way possible.

I finally gave up trying to cover myself and accepted the fact that it was impossible to have any shred of dignity whilst being spray tanned by someone who's already seen your everything.

She was so nice about the whole thing, and kept friendly conversation going. I was finally starting to relax a little, when she told me to do a lunge. And this, my friends, is what I did:
Not a lunge. She politely showed me how to do a lunge, and I said to her, "Look at me! Are you really surprised that I don't know the difference between a lunge and a squat?" Apparently what I was doing wasn't really a squat, either. I don't know what I was doing, besides making a complete and total ass of myself.

But a tan ass, nontheless.

**UPDATE** For those of you who haven't gotten your fill of Bone Junior TMI, you can find my original post about waxing here . And for those of you who can't get enough Bone Junior TMI, the original illustrations are up for auction.

Never Trust a Big Butt and a Smile

2011-04-23T22:28:00.003-06:00

Roller Derby: Session 2, Week 3

I can't believe we're already three weeks into this session with the Red Rockettes. I missed the first week and have been on a blogging hiatus thanks to a much-needed vacation to Texas. You know how they say "Everything is bigger in Texas"? I think they should change it to "Everything Gets Bigger in Texas", because that's what happens to my butt, thanks to the amazing BBQ, seafood (I actually tried fried alligator), and my sister's amazing key lime pie.

But there are times when a big butt actually comes in handy: dropping it like it's hot, trying to attract a black guy, and blocking in roller derby. So thank you, Texas, for your role in helping me to achieve two out of three. In case you're having trouble guessing which one I haven't mastered due to my big butt, suffice it to say that I'm still single. Not that I've "mastered" blocking by any means, and the last time I dropped down to get my eagle on, I strained my groin...so, I guess my point is that I have a big butt, and it comes in handy on the track.

The vets got to scrimmage the whole time this week (holy crap, can you believe that I'm technically a vet now!! NEITHER CAN I!) and it was our second No-Pants Scrimmage. Last week, we practiced actually hitting for real (well, as real as you can hit when you're still learning), so I was determined to at least try to get in some good hits at the scrimmage. Here's what I've learned about hitting:

1. The size of the girl has almost nothing to do with her ability to hit, or take a hit. There are some teeny girls who have knocked me down hard and I never saw them coming.

2. The faster they are, the harder they fall.

3. If you're cruising along and you see a big butt and a smile in front of you, don't trust her cause that girl is poooooooooooooooooiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiissooooooooooooon! You have to sing it out loud. Trust me, you'll have it stuck in your head for the rest of the day.

4. Hitting is really, really fun.

You know what else is really fun? Playing Red Rover with all the vets and rookies combined, making it through the game without looking like an ass, then tripping over the track outline (much like an electrical cord) at the very end when everyone comes together to do the No Pants Cheer. Don't worry, I made sure that everyone knew there was a pebble on the track there.

I've decided to end this post with a photo that encompasses all of the reasons I love the Red Rockettes; first and foremost because of the shared sense of humor. Please to enjoy the following photo, which I like to call "Where My Hose At?"; or, "I Don't Understand How This Helps Me Learn How to Keep My Elbows In While Skating, But Okay."

Red Rockettes Expo Bout Deput

2011-04-13T11:02:00.007-06:00

I know it's been forever since I've updated, but I wanted to at least give a quick summary of how our first public scrimmage went. Thanks to Brusier's husband, Jason, the most incredible fall of the night was caught on film. Also thanks to Ruby for being a good sport about having her bum out for the world to see.

That's Ruby, in the striped no-pants and fishnets, making her initial descent...

...and this is Ruby's final descent: knees down, hands splayed, ass up for all to see...and her MOUTH ON THE CONCRETE (see inset picture).
This is what happens when your mouth takes the brunt of your fall. Totally badass.
Now this is what happens when you're posing for a picture and your skates fly out from under you, causing your bum to take the brunt of your fall. Totally not badass, and totally Bone.

Roller Derby: Bonus Week 13: No Pants Night

2011-04-04T22:45:00.028-06:00

You read that right - No Pants Night. You may be saying, "What, pray tell, is No Pants Night?" Well, I'll show you.That, my friends, is No Pants Night. See me with my purple tights and no pants? Now enjoy my mad rhyming skillz:

No pants Ruby, no pants Bone;

Never so much booty have I shown.

No pants blockers form a no pants wall,

Gina on her no pants did fall.

No pants Jammer,

No pants pack;

No pants skating around the track.

Teeny little black ones and fishnets galore;

Manna wonders, "Do I look like a whore?"

Disco Pony rocks shiny no pants;

While Bruiser demonstrates perfect derby stance.

No pants Wanton, no pants Blue;
No pants derby is the thing to do.

No pants Bruiser has skillz that are honed;
But in the end, Bruiser gets no pants Boned.

Everyone got into the spirit of things for the last practice of our first 12-week course. We were all so shaken up and anxious from the week before that Wanton declared a No Pants Night to get us out of our comfort zones, help us relax, and most of all, to remind us all that we are there to have fun. And it really worked - I felt totally uninhibited (both figuratively and literally) and it was the most fun night of derby yet. "1-2-3, NO PANTS!"

Roller Derby: Week Twelve

2011-03-29T08:25:00.004-06:00

I cannot believe it's been twelve weeks already - my first session of derby is almost over! Our official ~~blooper reel~~ scrimmage is on Saturday. As in, four days from now. As in, holy crap, I'm nowhere near ready and what was I thinking when I agreed to this? Last Thursday was our first practice scrimmage with real refs and officials - they had stopwatches, whistles, a whiteboard to keep track of our penalties, and really loud voices. I think the whiteboard is what intimidated me the most. We had to have shirts with our names and numbers on them, and because I'm so crafty, here's what I created: I thought I looked pretty bad ass, until the refs kept calling me "Thirty-six-zero-zero". I wanted to yell at them that they were totally missing my point, but I was too busy trying to figure out why they were blowing their whistles and pointing at me in the first place. I now know that when they scream your number and point at you, you shouldn't stare blankly at them and continue skating; you should just go right to the penalty box. That's helpful to know.

Having the refs, officials, and a handful of veteran skaters there was really overwhelming and intimidating. Having my sister and four other friends from college there was even more intimidating. The Other Sisters (Bone Senior, Erin, Barbie, Andi, and Gloriana) were in town for a girls weekend, and they came to support my cause, also known as Please Help Me Prove to the Red Rockettes That I Really Do Have Friends in Real Life. I was so excited to have them there, but it totally shook me up because I wanted so badly to be good. I wanted to dart around the track, doing crossovers and knocking people over - instead I teetered through the pack, mostly keeping my head down and trying to stick to the inside line. I did so well at sticking to the inside line, that later on Bone Senior asked me, "Are you allowed move around the track? Or are you supposed to stay in the same spot the whole time?" Fail.

Besides trying to keep up with the refs and rules, there were some vets there that completely schooled us. One girl, who we referred to as "No Pants" (but if I had a butt like her, I'd wear no pants too) (and she wasn't really wearing NO pants; she just had teeny little booty shorts) was unstoppable, except by our Fresh Meat Mamas. She was all over the place, getting her no-pants-booty in everyone's face, stopping on a dime, running on her skates. I'm still trying to get the hang of stopping, let alone RUNNING. She was amazing, she was on the other team, and she was crushing us.

Then there was Pushy (who's name I always say in my head with a Sean Connery accent. Try it. Pushy. Isn't that fun?). She's a vet that I haven't skated with before, she was on my team, and she totally kicked my butt. When Pushy and No Pants were out at the same time, it was pretty much them duking it out in front, and the rest of us trying to stay together in a pack. I was trying really hard to keep up and figure out what I should be doing, and I thought I was doing okay until Pushy called me over on the sideline and we had a moment like unto this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tPqYnC-SW5w&feature=player_detailpage

Ok it really wasn't that bad, but in my head, that's how I felt. And Pushy had every right to make sure I knew which team I was on, because I sure wasn't skating like I knew which team I was on. Apparently she was yelling directions at me on the track, but I was too busy sucking up the drool from my mouthguard and staring blankly at the refs to notice that she was actually trying to teach us.

Needless to say, after a few rounds, our team was pretty discouraged - and we have some really amazing skaters. Phoenix is one incredible jammer who looks like she's been doing derby for years, but she really gets down on herself. Blue is another girl who takes a beating and just gets right back up and keeps skating. Some of her falls made me wince just watching them, but she got up every single time. Lisa always has a smile on her face, even when she fell and someone skated over her fingers. Someone SKATED. Over her FINGERS. And she didn't even wince. Then there's me, who gets the what-for ONE TIME and I just about had a meltdown.

During the break, I skated over to the bleachers and said to Bone Senior, "Please don't let me cry in front of all these girls!" I was feeling so discouraged, so worthless to my team, we were losing by like five hundred points, and I just wanted to give up. I could feel my lower lip trembling and the lump in my throat was burning - I clenched down on my mouthguard as hard as I could to try and stop the tears from coming.

I took some deep breaths just as England and Manna skated over to me, and I was blinking furiously, trying to convince myself that I could convince them that pffffft of course I'm not crying, I'm just doing my overly-blinky Hugh Grant impression. Just like when I stumble on the track during warm-ups, and I try to convince everyone that there's a pebble or debris on the floor, not that I'm just skating out of control. Sometimes I even stop and go back to the spot where I stumbled and scour the ground, searching for the trip hazard, both warning and saving other skaters from peril. I make sure everyone knows, "THERE'S SOMETHING ON THE TRACK HERE! WATCH OUT!"

England and Manna asked how I was doing - I think they politely ignored the obvious fact that there were tears welling up in my eyes - and they gave me a pep talk. They told me not to get discouraged, that the first scrimmage always the hardest, and they assured me that I was not the top spinning out of control that I imagined myself to be. These girls are really my heroes - they are so encouraging, patient, and reassuring. Wanton will not let you give up - she forces you to just try. England is so good about breaking things down so that we can understand. Manna cracks jokes to make me feel less inept and to remind me that we are there to have fun. I look at the Fresh Meat Mamas as this unattainable goal - I want to be them out on the track, and they make me believe that someday, I can.

Today is not that day, and Saturday won't be that day either; but for now, I've finished my first session of Roller Derby, and I'm going to keep at it. I'm going to keep trying to force the Red Rockettes to be my BFF's and I'm going to keep trying to get a butt like England and No Pants. Andrea (my co-lover of all things unicorn) says it best in her blog and sums up all of the reasons why I love skating with this group.

Wish me luck for Saturday's scrimmage...

Get Boned, You Know You Want To

2011-03-22T00:24:00.010-06:00

Sometimes I get comments on my blog from "Anonymous". They're usually completely ridiculous and written in wing-dings, and they get promptly deleted. But every once in a while, a traysured comment comes through from a complete stranger, and it just warms my heart on so many levels. I'll get back to this, but it brings me to another traysured moment that I recently experienced.

Let's start with the fact that I am a shameless blog-stalker. One blog leads to another, leads to another, and then I'm hooked reading about people that I have never met, and completely wrapped up in their lives, thousands of miles away. I know they're real people, but it's more like they're "real blog people", in that I will most likely never meet them for realz. They exist on a totally different level of reality.

My blog world and my real world seldom crossed paths. Until one night, I was standing in the movie theater lobby and I spotted someone standing in line. I squinted and scrutinized: sassy chic hair, check; super cute trendy winter coat, check; pregnant belly, check...could it really be? Was this the actual human manifestation of a gal I'd been blog stalking for like five years?

Once she stepped out of line, I totally accosted her (much like I did to the Situation at the AMAs) (yes I'm still shameless), and I ran up to her and totally weirded her out by saying, "Hi...um...I know this will sound totally stalkerish...but...are you Cicada Song? THE Cicada Song?"

There was a moment of pause in which my heart literally froze and I felt terrified that I'd just bumrushed a complete stranger and who would now ask security to escort me out. But instead, this genuine hero of mine responded with, "Are YOU Bone Junior? Can I hug you?!?"

My jaw hit the floor and I gave her a huge hug while I gushed about how much I loved her blog, that I'd been stalking her for like five years, and how amazing it was to discover that she's actually a REAL person. And to top it all off? SHE KNEW WHO I WAS TOO! It was the closest I've ever felt to being a celebrity. I felt incredibly special. This gal, who I followed from late 20's singlehood, to dating, to marriage, and babies and success, whom I idolize and inspires me? She knew my name. Nothing is cooler than that.

Which brings me back to comments. I recently got one from a total stranger, and it actually wasn't in wing dings or trying to sell me weiner enhancements!

Bone Junior, I have a dream of breaking my assbones and bruising my shins. Well actually I have done both of these things...several times in fact. But not on skates! Would you have any information for would-be derby noobs like me in the Utah county area? I have no illusions of being any good at this and am quite certain my future in the derby world amounts to a grease spot on the bottom of someone's skate, but like my brief and spectacularly unsuccessful career as a day care lunch lady, it's something I have to try at least once. -Cyndi

Well Cyndi, I'm glad you asked! I know I've posted this about a bazillion times on Facebook, but apparently there are blog people who want to be in the know about roller derby! So here goes my shameless plug for the Red Rockettes, straight from our fearless leader, England's Glory:

The Red Rockettes Recreational Roller Derby League will start their third 12-week session on Thursday, April 7th. The league is Salt Lake's newest and puts the emphasis on fitness, health and developing supportive female friendships through the game of roller derby. Full training will be given for all abilities. The group will be broken into two groups for half of the night according to whether skaters are beginner or veteran. The league aims to be a place where beginners can learn the sport of roller derby (as all minimum skills will be taught) and veterans can improve their skating and scrimmaging skills.

The course will run every Thursday evening at the Derby Depot (WRD warehouse) which is located at 1415 S. 700 W. #17. We practice from 7:30 PM - 9:30 PM. The course runs for 12 weeks and costs $60. Skaters need to provide all equipment, skates, helmet, knee, elbow, wrist pads, and mouth guard. WFTDA insurance is required and costs $50 per year.

We often get asked about where to get equipment, there are many options out there. If you feel that derby is going to be a long term interest I would recommend buying good quality skates ($200+). If you have limited funds you can also get 'rookie packages' from most online stores (they come with pretty basic skates which you may need to upgrade later). They run at about $200 for everything you need. Try sincityskates.com and lowpriceskates.com. Locally Hollywood Connection has some skates, wheels, pads etc. Skate Now at 2682 S. Highland Dr. STE 104. can special order skates. In Ogden, the Flat Track Skate Shack 1805 W. 1950 S. West Haven, is a derby specialist shop.

Please contact redrockettes@rocketmail.com or on Facebook at Red Rockettes.

And make sure you say you want to get Boned. Trust me, you do.

Roller Derby: Week 10 Festivities; or, How Come My Face Never Looks Normal

2011-03-14T17:16:00.015-06:00

This week was full of derby fun, besides just scrimmaging on Thursday night. I can't believe we're almost done this session - only two more practices before the big scrimmage. I'm still debating if I'm ready to have people from my "real life" see me floundering around the track.

The weekend started with an Irish crafting party to get ready for the St. Patrick's Day parade on Saturday. About half a dozen Red Rockettes got together to make flags, posters and decorations.

I brought gigantic glasses from the dollar store. As I would soon come to find out, this was the most normal picture taken of me from the weekend: Saturday morning was the parade, and we had a blast. I opted to walk and not skate, given that I have a hard enough time staying up on flat, smooth concrete, let alone bumpy, hilly, cobble-stoney streets. There were about six of us on foot, and the rest on skates. We had a great turnout, and even had our own photographers. Two Rockette's have significant others who come to practices and events, and they take awesome pictures. The memories we are making are forever captured.

Which brings me to my point: how come my face never looks normal? Let's see a few examples of what a derby girl should look like in pictures, or as I like to call it, "Derby Done Right":

Look at them. Gorgeous, smiling, awesome makeup, awesome clothes and decor. I love these pictures and I love these girls. That's the way it should look.

Then there's me. Brace yourselves, folks, cause it's about to get the opposite of photogenic, or as I like to call it, "Bone Done Wrong":
Exhibit A: There's me, behind England's antennae / helmet flag. I should've taken a lesson from this and held a flag in front of my face for the whole parade; but then I wouldn't have these gems to share with you.

Exhibit B: There's me, making a stupid face in the background.
Exhibit C: Here I am again, doing who knows what. I'll tell you what I'm not doing: watching where I'm walking to avoid the upcoming horse poop, that's what.

Exhibit D: Here I am once again, making a stupid face.

Exhibit F: This is such an awesome picture of England going down the hill - look how much fun she's having! Look at her amazing stance! And then there's me in the back, running down the hill. Running. Nothing good ever came of the words "Bone Junior" and "running" in the same sentence.

Exhibit G: I don't even have any words for this one.

Exhibit H: And I don't have any excuse for this one. I knew the picture was being taken, I had the chance to pose and prepare myself, and this is what I chose to do.

And I rest my case.

Based on these pictures, I have been able to make the following assumptions:

A) I pretty much never stop talking, as most of these shots are mid-talking. At least I hope they are, otherwise I have no idea how or why my mouth looks like that;

B) I need to learn to be aware of when my picture is being taken;

C) I am extremely lucky to be part of a group that allows me to show my true colors.

Roller Derby: Week 9

2011-03-04T16:50:00.013-07:00

Roller Derby Week 9, also known as Bone Goes Bowling for Deidra, also known as Bone Does the Splits and Breaks Summer's toe-stop in the process, also known as The Red Rockettes Get Boned by Bone Junior.

This week's practice was one of the most fun I've had. I got to scrimmage for the first time - I even got to be the jammer once, also known as Bone Nearly Had An Asthma Attack Trying to Keep Up With the Pack and She Doesn't Even Have Asthma. I have never been so out of breath as I was when I was jamming. The only time I actually made it through the pack was when Manna and Babe each grabbed one of my hands and sling-shotted me forward. Talk about a top spinning out of control? That was me.

Speaking of out of control, that could be the phrase that described my entire night at derby. And unfortunately for the Rockettes, they suffered the brunt of that. Let's start with Summer. Poor Summer got paired up with me for a blocking/jamming drill. We made it around the track twice before my skates tangled with hers, and the next thing I knew, I was doing the splits and Summer's toe stop went flying. It looked like I'd been ripped right up the middle, but amazingly enough, I didn't get hurt. Summer had to sit out for a few minutes to fix her skate because did I mention that her toe stop went flying?

Next we got matched up for 2-on-1 blocking/jamming drills. This infamous moment has become known as Bone Goes Bowling for Deidra, because that's exactly what happened. Picture me as the bowling ball, and poor Deidra as the unsuspecting, bystanding bowling pin. She was just standing in line, minding her own business, waiting for her turn to drill. Two laps around the track, a few tangled skates later, and Deidra went down; completely taken out by an out-of-control me. Lucky for us, the paparazzi was able to get a few shots of this exact moment.(We're lucky to have derby husbands that come along with awesome cameras.)
In case you couldn't tell, that's me in the black helmet, baseball sliding into Deidra, in the pink helmet. Amazingly enough, we both got right up, laughing and unscathed. Well, mostly unscathed.That's my elbow, the morning after I became a human bowling ball. It looks a lot worse than it feels, and we were all able to laugh about it. I even deemed a new catch phrase for every time I hit, block, knock over, or otherwise maim another derby girl: "You've been Boned!" More often than not, I'm Boning myself. And yes, I intended for it to sound that way.

Between Boning everyone, I was really have a blast, and gained an even greater appreciation for the other girls I have the privilege of skating with. These girls never cease to amaze me. I spend a lot of time just watching them with my jaw hanging open, hoping and praying that someday I'll be as bad ass as they are. They can stop on a dime, cut from side to side, block girls twice their size, and jam past girls half their size. I love that we are a team of all shapes, sizes, professions - we are all so different, but there's not a girl on this team that doesn't yell and cheer for everyone else. I love that in every picture, we're all smiling and laughing and loving what we're trying to do. And there's not a girl on the team that doesn't inspire, encourage, and push me to do better.

Me and Indy practicing blocking and jamming.

Me and G practicing hitting.

Me practicing how to get a butt like England's - my true inspiration.

Oscar Party 2011: Seattle Edition

2011-02-28T22:14:00.014-07:00

The Annual Oscar Party took place in Seattle this year, with the gals who helped start the tradition many years ago - my old roommates, Yanaj and Nicole. Words cannot do justice to the successful disaster that was The Official Oscar Cake this year, so please to enjoy a photo journey of our adventure in creating our first 3D Oscar Cake:

Ingredients

Mix.

Eat funfetti frosting while Nicole mixes.

Be slightly puzzled at why the cakes bubbled up all funny.

Cut cake into completely uneven sections.

Dye frosting black and gold.

Spread frosting (read: sticky stuff to hold the base in place) on the cookie sheet.

Start building cake.

Hold chunks of cake while Yanaj figures out how to build it.

Realize that your cake is looking more like a cheeseburger than an Oscar.

Continue shellacking and stacking cake. Insert kabob skewers for support, which really won't lend any support whatsoever because you don't have any kind of secured base, except for cake.

Just keep adding skewers.

Realize that your cake looks more like a Transformer than an Oscar.

Determine that it's leaning...

...so add more skewers, and hold it while you begin to sculpt

Begin dirty icing. Feel smugly proud of yourself because you watch Cake Boss and you know what the term "dirty icing" means. And since you watch Cake Boss, your Oscar cake cannot fail.

Continue slapping icing on in a manner that would make the Cake Boss fire you on the spot.

Use icing bag with star-shaped tip to do fancy frosting.

Oh, did I mention that somewhere in there, you realize Oscar is leeeeeeeeeaning so you add skewers on either side for support?

The finished product, pre-car ride.

And post-car ride. He barely survived the trip.

Not bad for our first-ever attempt at building a 3D Oscar cake, if I do say so myself.

Note to self: Watching Cake Boss does not a cake boss make.

It's Official: I'm Old

2011-02-23T17:08:00.003-07:00

My little brother turns 27 today. TWENTY SEVEN. My LITTLE brother. In my mind, he's 19-20ish. Not 27. In my mind, I can still beat him up and put him in a headlock.

This makes it official that I am old, because it means my birthday is in a month, which means that I am one year closer to being 40.

Happy Birthday, little brother. I'm looking forward to the day when you get engaged and leave me to be the only single person left in our family.

Derby Hurts, Even Though it Looks Like I Just Cut Myself Shaving

2011-02-20T14:01:00.003-07:00

Derby Week 7 was tough. The whole day had been crappy, with me spending 8 hours in a certification class where I was the only girl, and no one wanted to sit by me. Well, someone sat by me and first, and then got up and moved. So, I already felt super awesome about myself, and by the end of the day, I felt too pissy and angry to fail more at derby. But, we went and I'm glad we did.

By the end of the night, I was drenched in sweat, red in the face, and completely out of breath. Kind of like right after I eat a Whopper. We started doing some of the skills testing, which did not go as well as I'd hoped.

It's critical to be able to pass the skills test because...gulp...our first official public scrimmage has been set for April 2. When they announced that, I pooped my pants a little because I'm nowhere near ready to make my public debut as a top spinning out of control. But it means I still have about five weeks to get up to par.

The skills testing consisted of us skating around the track while our Fresh Meat Mamas called out different things for us to do: falling on one knee, the rockstar fall, the baseball slide, weaving, squatting, jumping...and I'll tell you how many of those things I felt confident doing. Exactly one. After seven weeks of training, I finally feel comfortable going down on one knee and popping back up. The other falls? Not so much.

I skated off to the side and watched as my fellow tofutti cuties and the vets were circling around, effortlessly throwing their bodies down to the track and getting back up again, doing baseball slides and rockstar slides. Over and over, they went around and around and I just stood there and watched, looking like a scared kitty in the river, clutching to a branch to prevent getting swept downstream. I gnawed on my mouth guard and pretended to adjust my laces so that no one would think I was just giving up. But the Fresh Meat Mamas are way too smart for that, and they immediately called me out on it.

England's Glory (who's butt is totally my inspiration to keep going - have you seen that thing? Amazing!) called out to me and asked if I'd learned how to do these falls. I said yes, technically I'd "learned" them, but I just couldn't "do" them. All in a whiny, helpless voice which totally solidified the scared-kitty-in-the-river feeling I had. Then Wanton and Daisy skated over and I knew I was about to get chewed up and spit out right back into the river.

The Fresh Meat Mamas are all so incredibly nice, but firm. They don't put up with half-assing it, and you're never allowed to say "I can't" to them. They could see the apprehension on my face, and Wanton said, "I don't expect you to be perfect, I just want to see you TRY." And Daisy chipped in with, "Here, I'll skate along with you and we'll do it together. You just need to get out of your head, and think "seduction..."

Seduction? What part of baseball slide says 'seduction'? My version of the baseball slide was skating as fast as I could (read: not very fast at all) then throwing my body down until I eventually come to a stop in a heap. Daisy's version was skating as fast as she could (read: really really fast) then gracefully laying herself across the track like a pin-up girl posing on a couch. It was incredible.

So I gave it a few more tries, using my mental version of seduction, and I don't care how I actually looked in the end - in my mind, I looked just like Daisy. Watching the veterans and mentally making my body move just like theirs gives me more confidence. And yes, I DO know that my mental-me and my reality-me are very very far apart.

So Wanton and Daisy made me get back out on the track and at least keep trying. Which I did, far be it from even close to passing the skills test, but I tried. Sometime during the night, I did a fall and cleated my left shin with my right skate. I figured it was just a bruise and kept going. Later, I got my skates tangled with another girl and flipped ass over teakettle and accidentally went right into a baseball slide! So I didn't really get hurt on that one.

When I got home, I realized that by cleating myself, I'd actually managed to draw first blood. My shin was swollen like a baseball and turning green all the way around. Of course in pictures, it looks like I just cut myself shaving, but trust me, it's green. Hopefully it will get more colorful and the pictures will turn out better. But I promise, it's not from shaving.

Ok April 2, here we come!

You Be The Judge

2011-02-09T14:14:00.002-07:00

So, I'm having a fight with my sister on my Facebook wall. It goes like this:

Bone Junior: My sister wants me to love The Vampire Diaries, but my heart belongs to Puck.

Bone Senior: It's okay, you can love them both...Vampires are on on Thursdays.

Jr: But Puck loves fat bottom girls...he sang it, so it MUST be true. What do vampires love? Blood, that's what. Blood, and being pale. Neither of which appeals to me.

Sr: Let's just see what happens when Damon shows up at McKinley and gets ahold of Puck. What's he going to do, sing a stake through Damon's heart?

Jr: Puck won't even need a stake to put through Damon's heart, because men's hearts crumble when Puck sings.

Sr: I got nothing. Maybe they should do a mash up of Glee and Vampire Diaries just so we can compare abs.

Hopefully by now you know that I'm talking about Puck from "Glee", not Puck from "The Real World" like fifteen years ago. Gross. Also, if it came down to a battle of abs, I think my head might explode.

I don't know if my sister and I will ever agree on which guy is hotter, but here's what I do know: Lady is a master designer. Thanks to her, please to enjoy my Valentine's Day Portrait, which encompasses all that I love.

Roller Derby: Week 5

2011-02-04T16:52:00.002-07:00

You may be wondering why there's no post about week four, and the simple answer is that week four, I played hookie from derby. That day at work had been one of the most frustrating, feeling like I'm banging my head against the wall, with no one taking my input or opinion seriously; and I was just so burned out that derby seemed like a hurdle I couldn't clear. Everyone tried to tell me that I should still go, that it would be a release for my anger and aggression; to which I replied that sure, if I were good at skating and derby, I could see how it would be a cathartic release for my anger. But, given that I still stink at skating and still get extremely frustrated with myself during practice, I felt that "skating out my aggression" would be about as fulfilling as slamming one of those doors that has the catch mechanism on it, so that you literally CANNOT slam the door. And that makes me even more mad.

Long story short, I was on the verge of a meltdown, and the last people I want to melt down in front of is these bad ass, tough as nails Red Rockettes. I'm still trying to convince them that I have what it takes to be a derby girl, and I didn't think that having a throw-down-bawling tantrum in the middle of practice would pretty much ruin my street cred. So, no derby for me last week.

Week five was really fun, we almost never stopped skating around the track, practicing all the skills we've learned so far. My Fresh Meat Mama, Wanton, wasn't there, so our OTHER Fresh Meat Mama, England's Glory, took over and was very patient with us newbies.

We skated laps, laps, laps, and more laps. We were supposed to alternate sprinting (skating as fast as we can) and "regular skating", which is really more about coasting along for me. I practiced gliding on one leg, stopping, jumping - which really did not go well - and some of our falls. Last time I tried a one-knee slide, I felt like my quad ripped in half and then I couldn't get back up, so I was pretty apprehensive about trying it again this week. But, my sister's words echoed in my head: "Don't be scared!", and I just went for it. And guess what. I got back up! I went down on one knee, came to a complete stop, and I GOT BACK UP! I was so stoked that I even tried it a few more times. Score one for the Bone.

Then we learned how to hit, and how to take a hit without losing control or getting penalties. You're supposed to use your hips and upper body to bump the girl without losing your balance, tripping over their skates, flailing your arms, or falling. I was able to successfully bump girls and achieve all of the things we were trying to avoid: losing my balance, tripping over skates, and flailing my arms while falling.

The best part of the night was the pace line. We skate single file around the track, keeping pace with the girl in front of us, while checking over our shoulders for the girls behind us. The last person in line had to weave in between each girl ahead of her, and give them a hit as she passed. Skating in line and keeping pace was the easy part, and even taking the hits wasn't too bad. Then it was my turn to weave in and out and give the hits. That's when things took a turn for the worst.

I did ok weaving in and out of the first few girls. I was about halfway through the pace line when I tangled with a tall girl and she totally took me out. I flipped ass over teakettle, one of my legs went under me and my butt landed square on my skate wheels. That didn't feel too good, but I got up and caught up to the pace line to keep going.

Not too long after that, I skated up along side one of the tougher girls and tried to give her a hit. My skates got tangled in hers, I started to lose my balance, and in trying to save myself from going down, I was frantically grabbing at whatever I could. And by "frantically grabbing whatever I could", I mean "I pretty much violated all of her naughty parts in the process." So my sincere apologies to Becky for grabbing just about everything in her no-no square.

In all, it was a really fun night of skating and although I'm sore today, at least I'm able to walk. Now I just have to worry about passing the skills test next week...

Week 3 Videos

2011-01-24T17:28:00.021-07:00

Ok so my sister and Blake convinced me to post video clips, and after I gave it some thought, I figured - when have I ever held back from blogging because of self-respect? I've blogged about having my bum waxed, for crying out loud. So here are some videos from week 3, with a recap of week 5 coming soon.

My first spin, and my first near-fall of the night.

This is my favorite video. When the whistle blew, we were supposed to hit the ground. Notice how the whistle blows...and I just keep skating...and skating. Also notice the scared look on my face the whole time.

But eventually, I was able to kind of get the hang of something. Check out out, spinning and kind of stopping all fancy-like.

Roller Derby: Week 3

2011-01-21T23:38:00.011-07:00

Should I start with the good news or the bad news? Maybe I should just start with a picture that truly encompasses me, as a roller derby skater, in my element:
That's me. While everyone else is in derby stance, looking like they're ready to rip someone's head off, there's Bone Junior, struggling to just stand on my skates. Arms flailing, face in complete panic, losing my balance - this sums up my third night of roller derby. I'll give you a minute to stop laughing and let that sink in.

The good news is that I have actually been able to walk after Thursday night's practice! The bad news is, I'm sure the only reason I can walk is because I half-assed it at Thursday night's practice. Aside from my normal apprehension, I was extra-scared because I strained my groin earlier in the week. I wish I could say that I strained it from practicing skating, but in true Bone Junior fashion, I strained it by trying to drop down and get my eagle on. And then I couldn't get back up.

So, all week I was moaning and groaning and contemplating skipping derby. Have you ever had a strained groin? I didn't realize how much I use my groin muscles until this week, because every movement hurt. All it would take is one flailing fall, and I was going to feel like I'd been split up the middle. I was terrified of derby this week.

We learned some new skills this week, like jumping over cracks in the concrete. I'm pretty good at tripping over the cracks, but jumping...not so much. My brother's girlfriend Blake came to watch, and she got some really good videos that I am way too embarrassed to post, but she also got some good pics that still embarrass me, but oh well. What fun would my blog be if I wasn't willing to embarrass myself?

This is me showing off the one skill I've been able to master: hands over the vag. That's one of our mantras: always keep your hands over the vag; otherwise, flailing elbows can get you a penalty.

The other mantra we have is in regard to proper derby stance: tits over knees over toes. This is me and Gina doing derby stance, in pain. Notice how well I have my hands over the vag. At least I've got that basic skill down.

Hey look, I actually look like I'm having fun!

Stretching out with some of the veterans. You can tell they're vets because of the cool stickers on their helmets, as opposed to my brand new shiny helmet.

So I've got three more weeks before the skills test, which means I've got a lot of work to do. Stopping, getting a running start, controlled falling, jumping over objects - it seems daunting and I still get really frustrated with myself for not being better. But I'm still not giving up.

Roller Derby: Week 2

2011-01-14T11:32:00.004-07:00

I think that my second night of roller derby can be summed up in a few words: My everything hurts. Everything. I've been holding my pee for like four hours because it hurts too bad to walk to the bathroom, let alone squat down on the toilet. Just the thought of squatting down makes me hurt.

And yes, this is after only two hours of roller derby training, one night a week. I am so out of shape. Oh and also, I kind of stink at the basics of skating so far.

After the first week, Gina and I were totally pumped to come back. I got my own helmet and pads - I even molded a mouth guard, which I haven't done since ninth grade field hockey. We showed up last night stoked and ready to go. Here's how we started the night:
Aaaaaaaaannd here's how we ended the night:
I think the looks on our faces pretty much says it all: derby kicked our butts. Well, I can't speak for Gina because as we know, she is a master blader (giggle giggle), but derby didn't just kick my butt; derby made me its bitch.

We were taught three different ways to fall: the one-knee slide, the guitar rockstar slide, and the baseball slide - they all look exactly how they sound. Guess how many I mastered? Exactly zero.

We were taught two different ways to get a running start on your skates: tip-toe using the toe-stops, and the duck walk. Guess how many of those I mastered? Also exactly zero.

Maybe I should clarify the word "mastered". I know they don't expect us to master these skills on our first attempt. Our instructor last night, Wanton Rebellion, really stressed that point by saying, "I don't expect you to be perfect, but I do expect you to try." That's what I love about this league - every single skater there is so nice and no one judges anyone else. When you fall, everyone applauds; everyone encourages each other to get back up and keep going. I don't think I could do it without that type of atmosphere.

Because here's why: I fall. A lot. It seems I have no trouble falling when I'm just skating laps, or trying to stop, or trying to learn how to cross over on the turns. I'm really good at falling all on my own. But when I tried to do the controlled falls? Yes, I still fell, but not the way I was supposed to fall. And Wanton Rebellion made them all look so easy, so simple. Everything the veterans do, they make it look easy. When I'm not picking myself up off the concrete, I'm watching the veterans, salivating in envy of their mad skillz. I gaze at them dreamily, thinking, "I want to go to there."

But back to the falling. While I now have a whole new respect for guitar players who drop to their knees and slide across the stage, I am convinced that either the stage is completely greased up, or they're wearing super soft flannel pants. Because when I tried to rockstar slide? It was more of a rockstar screeching-halt-then-upper-body-flop-forward kind of thing. When I dropped to my knees, there was no sliding happening, only abrupt, painful, hilarious stopping. Not at all what I was going for, and it wasn't long before I started to feel the pain in my knees.

Then came the baseball slide. I perked up when I saw this demonstrated, because I grew up playing softball and I thought, "Oh I GOT this, no problem! I totally know how to slide like that! Finally something I can DO!"

Well, as it turns out, baseball sliding is a hell of a lot easier on dirt, and in cleats, as opposed to on concrete and in skates. Are you as shocked by that revelation as I was? I kid you not, I was shocked when I tried to slide and instead ended up ass over teakettle, and flat on my back. I just laid there for a minute, contemplating my bruise-filled future, and getting pissed off at myself that I couldn't do it right.

When it comes to derby, I'm finding that my biggest problem isn't that I can't skate, I can't stop, I can't fall properly, etc; my biggest problem is getting mad at myself and discouraged because I can't get something right on the first try. I beat myself up for not being able to pick up the skills as easily as I thought I would, and I'm incredibly impatient because I'm not instantly gliding around and stopping with ease like the veterans.

Which is the exact point I was making to Janay this morning, when I was moaning about how I could hardly move.

Janay: Give yourself time to suck before you start to get better. Remember when we played Commando and you wore your Batman costume and you flittered across the lawn so quickly that we could hardly see you? See? You have the necessary skills.

Bone Jr: Yeah but then remember how I jumped off that wall and tripped on my Batman cape and broke my foot?

Janay: Yeah well, falling is not your strong suit.

Bone Jr: Only when it's supposed to be a controlled, planned fall. The other kind of falling is no problem for me.

And she's right - I need to be patient with myself and give myself time to get better. I need to stop yelling the f-word and getting mad at myself every time I fall or have trouble learning a new skill. There are girls there who shuffle along and biff it just like me, and they pick themselves right back up and try again. One gal landed square on her tailbone at least three times, and she got up every single time and kept going. And you know how bad it hurts to fall on your tailbone. But when I wanted to give up, I'd look at her and think, if she can do it, so can I.

So I survived the night, making it through with a couple bruised knees and legs that feel like jello and arms that hurt to lift. But, I survived and I'm looking forward to next week.

Cross That Off the Bucket List

2011-01-13T16:00:00.004-07:00

Life Goal: Roundhouse kick something. Anything.

Today, the opportunity to achieve one of my life goals presented itself in the most unlikely place: monthly staff meeting. We were split into teams for the obligatory Team Building Exercise, in which we had to build the tallest free-standing structure using nothing but 50 sheets of paper and masking tape. I had the Engineer on my team, so I felt very confident about winning. And we SHOULD have won, but the other team made a ghetto long skinny antennae-like thingy out of tape and stuck it to the top. Lame.

We also should have won because our tower stood intact throughout the whole meeting, whereas the other team's tower fell after about ten seconds.

After the meeting, Gina was taking obligatory pictures of our tower, with me standing alongside for height-reference. What happened next can only be described in the words of Pete Mitchell, call sign Maverick, in the epic movie Top Gun:

Sir, I had him in my sights. He saw me move in for the kill. He proceeded below the hard-deck. We were below for just a few seconds. I had the shot. There was no danger, so I took it.

Thank goodness Gina was there to capture ~~me looking like a top spinning out of control~~ the perfect action shot.

I think even Maverick would agree - that's damn nice form.

My Body Hurts

2011-01-10T11:15:00.009-07:00

When my friend Gina asked me, "Hey, do you want to join a roller derby league with me?", I thought Sure! Why not! I used to skate circles in my basement when I was little, I went disco skating once in college, how hard can it be? Sign me up!

The Red Rockettes are more of a training league, open to skaters of all levels, and it looked like a lot of fun. I bought some skates, got some spandex, borrowed kneepads from Gina, and off we went. We walked into the derby warehouse and my first thought was These girls are going to eat me alive. Most of them were wearing booty shorts with fishnets or crazy striped leg warmers; some had bad-ass tattoos and baby bangs. And they all looked like they could snap my femur with their bare hands.

But there was no way I was going to chicken out in front of Gina. She's a master blader (giggle giggle) and I wanted her to think I was just as tough as she is. There were a few girls already skating laps and it just looked so easy, I thought, Ok, I can do this.

Oh how sorely mistaken I was. I knew as soon as I got on the track, I was in trouble. We started with five minutes of warm-up laps, and my shins were burning halfway through lap one. That might be because I was more shuffle-rolling as opposed to smoothly skating.

I stayed to the outside of the track as veteran skaters zoomed past me and I swear I felt like a car pulled over on the side of the freeway, rocking every time a car speeds past. Every gust of wind threatened to throw me off balance. Not to mention the hazardous strips of tape and bumps in the concrete - I looked like a top spinning out of control, flailing and flapping my arms, desperately trying to just stay on my feet.

After those first five minutes, I was panting, sweating, red-faced, and my legs were burning. Let me re-emphasize that we'd only been skating for FIVE MINUTES. We did some stretches, introduced ourselves, then we were split into two groups: veterans and rookies.

Us rookies worked on skating drills like weaving in and out of cones, perfecting the "derby stance" (boobs over knees over toes), wall squats, lunges, and of course, stopping. Otherwise known as that-which-put-me-on-my-ass-nearly-every-time. The veterans raced around the track, stopping on a dime, knocking eachother over, and I was totally jealous.

They taught us three different ways to stop, and guess how many of them I mastered? None. Not one. I cannot stop once I get going. This could be a problem.

So now I'm committed to twelve weeks of trying to stop myself before I hit the bleachers or the wall or the floor. Every week we'll learn new skating and derby skills and then we have to pass a test after six weeks. This week, we're learning how to fall. I told them I think I already have that part down.

I have exactly one picture of me looking semi-confident and bad ass.

The rest of the pictures are me shuffling along, trying not to flail my arms wildly.

Stay tuned.

Perhaps I Tend to Focus on the Dramatic

2011-01-05T22:00:00.006-07:00

To be fair, the Bone Family Christmas really wasn't all bad. If you know me, you may know that at times, I might have a slight tendency to focus on the negative of any situation. Which, while often hilarious, isn't always fair to the other people involved. And I have been known to be over-dramatic in certain situations - although I completely stand by my mature decision to eat an entire bag of Herr's potato chips just to get back at my dad. Totally justified and reasonable.

Christmas vacation wasn't just about the drama, the ER, the racist dog, the pouty dad...it was really about spending time with my family and realizing that no matter how dysfunctional things may be, we are still a family that sticks together. I am so blessed to have a family that loves me unconditionally, supports me even when they don't agree with my decisions (buying a Mustang and ginormous bazoombas), isn't afraid to tell me when I'm acting like a typical middle child, and most importantly, they accept and love me for who I am. Mustang, implants and all.

This year, in between all the gifts and food and arguments, I realized that my family really is the most important thing in the world to me. Yes, we disagree, we fight, we (I) act like children, and there will always be difficult times. But what remains is that we are eternally bonded, for better or worse, good and bad. And I am so lucky to be part of this crazy family, because you know what I realized? Every family, no matter how perfect they may seem, has their own issues. They don't always manifest as a racist dog - but there are always issues. The trick is to forgive, love, and support no matter what.

Please to enjoy a few of my reminders of what's really important.

My favorite little guy. It took about ten pictures to get one of him actually looking at the camera.

James!!

Pop Pop came through with the only thing Li'l Mil really wanted - a lellow crane. He spent most of his time hooking the crane to whatever he could find - Mater, Nano's belt loops, Pop Pop's trains. You name it, he hooked it.

The iArm Forearm Mount. You can attach anything to your arm and still have your hands free. Luke was politely excited until he realized this was just a gag box, with a Flip Video inside. I secretly wish that the iArm Forearm Mount actually existed.

This is the picture that makes me forget about all the drama.

Another fifty attempts to get Li'l Mil looking at the camera. Nano was absolutely thrilled with her bi-racial babies and stroller.

Bone Senior thinks that the stroller baby is an accurate prediction of my future offspring.

I admit, I was tempted to yank the bread out of her mouth just to witness one of her famous meltdowns...

But her death-to-you-if-you-touch-this-bread look made me think better of taking it from her.

She wants whatever you have whether it be your camera...

...Daddy's Phillies hat...

...or Sashie's trail mix.

Not enough hands to hold all her presents at once, but she gave it a shot.

Here's to a new year of remembering and being grateful for the things that really matter.

The Bone Family Does Christmas

2011-01-03T22:26:00.005-07:00

The Bone Family Christmas could be known by many different names. For example, The Week I Found Out My Dog Is Racist; or, The Week My Dad Sulked and Pouted and Didn't Talk To Me All Week.

Perhaps specific events could be known as The Christmas Eve That Half My Family Went to the Emergency Room; or The Night My Brother-in-Law Passed Out and I Kept Eating While My Sister Supported the Dead Weight of His Body.

Or The Moment My Dog Went Batshit Crazy and Bit My Step-Sister's Fiance Who is Vietnamese, Which Created a Trail of Blood Leading to the Kitchen Where My Brother-in-Law Passed Out and I Kept Eating While My Sister Supported the Dead Weight of His Body Which All Ended With Half My Family Going to the Emergency Room and also a Three-Day Hospital Stay for a Staph Infection.

Other memorable moments could include The Night I Stayed Home to Make Peace and Watch the Eagles Game With My Dad but he Sulked and Watched it Alone In His Room, So I Ate All of His Favorite Potato Chips to Get Back At Him. Or The Night We Tried to Have a Civil Grownup Responsible Conversation With My Dad About How My Racist Dog Needed to be Put Down Because He's Bitten So Many People and My Dad Announced That He and the Dog Would Be Moving Out to a Place of Their Own.

I have no idea where I get my dramatic-over-reacting streak from. No idea at all.

The long, cold, silent week ended with me on a plane back to Utah, still angry at my Dad for pouting all week, and still laughing about my brother-in-law passing out.

Good times.

Take the Easy Way Out

2010-12-16T10:33:00.003-07:00

I think it would be fun to have a doppleganger. A mini version of myself, and all that entails: an over- emotional, strong willed, my-way-or-no-way, hilarious, dramatic, over-reacting, super cute, super sensitive, adorable, tantrum-throwing, scowling, evil-eye-giving, when-I'm-not-happy-nobody's-happy little replica of Bone Junior. How fun would that be?

But creating a mini-me would involve a lot of work - find a guy, convince him to bed me, get all big and pregnant; and then there's the whole giving birth thing, which makes me want to throw up in my mouth.

So I figured, why go to all that trouble when my sister can just do it for me? It's a lot easier to have someone else create an over-emotional, strong willed, my-way-or-no-way, hilarious, dramatic, over-reacting, super cute, super sensitive, adorable, tantrum-throwing, scowling, evil-eye-giving, when-I'm-not-happy-nobody's-happy little replica of Bone Junior.

Life's going to be fun with this little doppleganger.

The Night All My Dreams Came True; or, Forget Diamonds - Spanx Are a Girl's Best Friend

2010-11-22T16:22:00.016-07:00

When my roommate Tiff called me last Friday night, I was standing in line at Walmart. When she asked, "Do you want to go to the AMA's with me on Sunday?" I literally screamed, "OH MY GOSH THIS IS THE MOST EXCITING THING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED TO ME!" The details started to come out, and that's when I first started to pee myself. We'd be flying to LA on Sunday morning, getting all whored up and sexy-like, walking the red carpet, going to the show, then going to a fancy dinner afterwards and flying back Monday morning, all on someone else's dime. Cause Tiff just has the hookups like that.

That's also the moment when I started to panic because I had absolutely nothing to wear, on top of the fact that I am not classy or cultured enough to walk a freaking red carpet and pull it off without tripping, sweating, swearing, embarrassing Tiff, or all of the above. But when in my life would I ever get this chance again?

48 hours and one big shopping trip later, I was following Tiff off the plane at LAX to a big fancy black car with a big fancy driver. We only had a short time at the hotel before we were supposed to make our red carpet debut, and I knew it would take a decent amount of time to wrangle myself into my Spanx, so the primping (read: whoring-up) began immediately. Please to enjoy a photo journey featuring my shameless begging for pictures with celebrities, about a million gratuitous shots of my ginormous bazoombas, and the moment when my wildest dream came true.

We REALLY WERE on the red carpet.

And we REALLY WERE at the AMA's.

I love how absolutely NO ONE with a camera behind me is the least bit interested in me. Seriously, look closely. Not ONE person is looking at me.

Again, not a SINGLE person looking at us! How is the kid in skinny jeans getting interviewed and we don't even get a look?

I'm sure you're looking at this picture, thinking to yourself, "Who IS that guy? He looks familiar but I can't tell who it is..."

Yes, you are correct, it's The Situation. I know, I know. I ran all up on him and was like shouting in his face, MIKE CAN I GET A PICTURE WITH YOU! which you will find was a recurring theme throughout the red carpet walk. When I texted Johanna that I'd met THE ACTUAL SITUATION, the first thing she wanted to know was what he smelled like. Pure animal magentism. And Cover Girl makeup, because I'm pretty sure he was wearing more foundation than me. Notice the lines shaved in the side of his head. Of all the times I needed to have a "You're a Douche" card...But who am I to talk? I accosted him and forced him to take a picture with me - I freely admit that I have no shame. I would also like to point out that I haven't been to a tanning bed in a looooooooooooong time, and I'm still the same color as him. Win.

I got thisclose to Heidi Klum. She was so glamorous and tall when she breezed by me, all elegant and gorgeous and I just screamed HEIDI! at her. I know.

Then I got thisclose to Usher. That cascading blonde hair on the left is Tiff, trying to get thisclose to Usher but...

... his bodyguard literally manhandled her out of the way. There's me on the left, doing the dinosaur roar / excited laugh and probably screaming USHER! USHER! Also, Usher is a lot smaller in real life than I thought he would be.

I don't know who these guys are, but everyone else was taking their picture, so I started to panic and think that maybe it was someone super famous and I was too busy sweating to realize who it was, so I took their picture too. If you recognize either of these people, please let me know.

With our host, Jeff.

And now, a break from the photos so that I can relay the story of The Most Amazing Moment of My Life or At Least Top Five. When I was thirteen, I was IN LOVE with Gavin Rossdale. You might remember him as the lead singer or Bush, or as Gwen Stefani's husband, or more recently, as the guy who sang the song for the trailer of that really horrible awful movie "Nights in Rodanthe", which, if you couldn't tell, I totally hated that movie. But I still totally had love for Gavin.

I never got to see Bush in concert, I just loved him with all of my heart and soul and being from a very far distance. My sister can attest to this. I. Loved. Him. I cannot emphasize this enough. "Sixteen Stone" was the first CD that my sister and I bought. Did I mention that I loved him?

So we're standing on the red carpet and the fire marshal starts ushering us to keep moving. Then, I spotted him. I was sweating and shaking and then I started screaming THAT'S GAVIN ROSSDALE THAT'S GAVIN ROSSDALE OH MY GOSH IT'S GAVIN ROSSDALE! And the fire marshal kept pushing us along, and ushers were literally shoving us to move.

I was desperate and panicky that I'd come all this way just to SEE Gavin from a distance, just like I'd loved him all these years. And there was no way that I had loved him for like twenty years and spotted him on the red carpet and was just going to get pushed away.

I turned to the marshal with tears in my eyes and begged, "Sir, you don't understand! That. Man. Down there? He was my first rock star love. His was the first cd I EVER bought. I HAVE to meet him! Please! PLEASE!!!!"

I'm not sure if it was understanding or pity, or if the fire marshal just thought I was so pathetic that it was easier to let me have my way then it would be to deal with the repurcussions. Because if he'd said no, I probably would've dropped to my knees and begged and cried. But he let me go back to wait for Gavin to finish his interview so that I could verbally and physically molest him.

As had been par for the course with every other celbrity I saw, I pretty much rushed Gavin as if I was a linebacker trying to sack him, and then I verbally vomited all over him. Do you ever have those moments when you hear yourself talking, and in your head you're thinking SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP JUST STOP TALKING! but for some reason you just keep talking? That was me.

"GAVIN OH MY GOSH CAN I PLEASE TAKE A PICTURE WITH YOU!?!?!?? YOURS WAS THE FIRST CD I EVER BOUGHT IN MY ENTIRE LIFE AND I LOVE YOU SO MUCH SERIOUSLY THIS IS THE GREATEST MOMENT OF MY LIFE!" I think I might have been crying when he actually put his arm around me. This photo is the definition of pure elation.

And that's the story of the greatest moment of my life.

Inside, waiting for the show to start.

This is how Tiff and I looked after Justin Bieber won for like the millionth time.

The show was awesome, the performances were SO fun to watch, I was on cloud nine and I didn't think things could possibly get any more amazing. And then? NKOTBSB took the stage. That's New Kids on the Block / Backstreet Boys, for those of you who are not twelve year old tweens. And this is the moment when I myself transformed back into a twelve year old tween, screaming and absolutely freaking out. And I continued to scream and freak out for the entire performance. You might remember that I have major love for the New Kids as well. Some loves just never die.

We went to a fancy sushi restaurant after the show, where we spotted A Black Eyed Pea. Just one of them. (Will. I . Am). Notice how I have a fork in front of me? That's because we were only about ten seconds into the first course when Jeff noticed that I can't use chop sticks, but I was trying to fake it anyway because I didn't want to appear un-classy. I was more or less stabbing the sushi with the chop sticks, and Jeff was probably embarrassed so he asked the waiter to bring me a fork. Fail.

You're probably looking at the picture and thinking, "If you didn't want to appear un-classy, perhaps you should have re-thought the whole holding-the-giant-lobster-claw-for-the-picture thing." And you'd be right, because after taking this shot, Jeff was like, "Um, how about one withOUT the claw?" Fail.

By the end of the night, my feet hurt so bad that I was leaning on whatever structure I could find for support. This is the lobby of our hotel, where every person walking around looked like they could potentially be famous.
One last parting shot to document that once upon a time, I was pretty dang hot. And I didn't spend twenty minutes sweating and forcing myself into Spanx for nothing. A million thanks to Tiff for letting me be part of something that was so awesome.

Happy Birthday Sister!

2010-11-15T23:15:00.004-07:00

Bone Senior hits a milestone today - she has officially left her twenties behind. She's the older, wiser, more logical, less emotional of the Bone Sisters. She knows me better than just about anyone else in this world. She knows when I need her to listen to me cry, and when I need her to crack open an egg of wisdom over my head when I'm crying. She is my best friend, and I don't know what I'd do without her.

She's the most amazing mother to her kids, and she inspires me every day. She can make just about anything - key lime pie, throw pillows, Halloween costumes - you name it, she can make it. She even learned how to crochet this year.

Speaking of milestones, I thought I'd post a few pictures of some of my favorite Bone Sisters milestones. Sorry for the poor quality pictures, but I think you get the jist. The jist being, of course, that we have always been this freaking cute, and she has always had those adorable dimples. And also there was a time when we looked like boys.
Happy Birthday Sister! I love you like a fat kid loves cake.

'Tis Officially the Season

2010-11-15T21:44:00.005-07:00

You know how I know that it's officially the holiday season? When I hear my first "Feliz Navidad" of the year. It's the song I hate more than any. Other. Christmas. Song. Ever. As Dane Cook would say, it's the sound that makes me want to punch infants.

How much do I hate "Feliz Navidad"? So much that as soon as it came on the radio, I texted my good friend Jen.

Me: I'm listening to my first official "Feliz Navidad" of the year. Even worse, it's CELINE DION.

Jen: Ugh! She should definitely stick to French!

Me: She should stick to pounding herself in the chest.

Aaaaaaaaaand that about sums up my feelings for both "Feliz Navidad" and SA-leen DEE-yon.

Happy holidays.

Can I Just Vent For a Minute?

2010-11-07T23:19:00.002-07:00

There are times when I go weeks without blogging because nothing happens that I feel is funny enough to blog about. I feel like my blog should only have witty stories, or that no one would want to read anything from debbie downer. I feel like I'm expected to always be upbeat and humorous.

But tonight, I am debbie downer, and I just need to bitch a little, so bear with me.

I realize that most of the people who read my blog are my friends, or they read it because it makes them laugh, and there are people who I don't even know that read it and maybe they think hey, this girl is pretty kick ass. But I also realize that there are people who read my blog because they like to make fun or me, or tear me down, or talk about me in their circles of friends. There are people who take any cheap shot they can get, and they use my blog as a way to make themselves feel better because ... that's just what they do. Like my ass-hat ex-boyfriend who so bravely commented "anonymously" that I should have gotten liposuction instead of getting a boob job. You know, high caliber people like that. Haters.

Those Haters will probably revel in this post and use it as one more example for them to prove that their better than me, happier than me, prettier than me, thinner than me, on and on and on...the truth of the matter is that Haters will always find a reason to hate, and I revel in the fact that I've never stooped to their level.

But I also realized that I've held back from blogging a lot of things out of fear of the Haters. Fear that they'd find one more thing to make fun of, one more piece of evidence to support their belief that they're better than me, or to add one more tally mark to their count of how pathetic I am.

Here's the truth: I'm human too. I have bad days, I have good days, I have really bad days, and I have batshit crazy moments. I have ups and downs and funny stories and sad stories, and I only ever blog about the good stuff because I don't want to give the Haters any more ammo against me.

And then tonight I thought, why do I care? Why do the opinions of a handful of people bother me to the point where I'm not able to be my true self on my own blog? By allowing them to censor me, I'm only empowering them further.

No more.

I am who I am, and you can take me or leave me. If you don't like me, stop reading my blog. Stop checking every day to see if there's something you can make fun of, because guess what: I make fun of MYSELF way more than you ever can. The difference is that I'm not doing it out of spite or hate. I laugh at myself because sometimes that's the only way to get through life. I'd rather laugh my way through my miserable life than tear someone else down to make myself feel better.

So Haters, go ahead and scoff at my pictures, call me fat and ugly and whatever else makes you feel better. Because your opinions do not dictate how I live my life, and certainly do not dictate how I feel about myself.

There will always be people that don't like me - that's a fact, and that's just the way it is. There will always be people who think my blog is stupid, who think I'm lame, and who will tear me down because really, they are miserable. And I feel sorry for them, because sure, there are people I don't like, but I don't pick apart their faults and tear them down just to make myself feel better. I recognize that if I'm not happy with myself, then ripping someone else apart isn't going to make a bit of difference.

Things have been hard for me, and I'm sure the Haters will love to hear that. But that's the absolute truth. Through this hard time, I've accepted the realization that I cannot change other people. All I can change is how I react to them. Change myself, change MY attitude and perception, and maybe the Haters will no longer affect me.

So that's my conscious decision. Hate all you want, gossip all you want, nit pick and tear me down - it's all on you, because I choose to no longer allow your negativity to bring me down.

Please consider this my double-fingered crotch-check, my final farewell to fear and haters. Enjoy the view.

How to Pull Off the Greatest Prank Ever

2010-10-19T13:22:00.061-06:00

Setting: Road trip to Las Vegas for Lady's Birthday Weekend Extravaganza

Location: About 50 yards off random frontage road in the desert

Coordinators: Bone Junior and Gina

Materials Needed:
- Flashlight
- Shovel
- Gloves
- Black trash bag
- Duct tape
- Metal detector
- Elvis torso
- Two friends from Philadelphia (Lady and Fred) who have never seen the actual desert, and who want to go treasure hunting

Prep Time: About thirty minutes.

Actual Prank Time: About ten minutes, plus drive time.

Payoff: Priceless

Phase One: The Setup

1. Strap in creepy Elvis torso for the ride.

2. Drive towards Vegas.

3. About ten miles outside the strip, choose a random frontage exit that looks remote enough to make it feel like you're actually in the desert, but not so remote that you feel like you might actually get chopped up and buried out there.

4. Make ready the materials.

5. Put Elvis in the trash bag.

6. Wrap duct tape around his neck and torso.
7. Rip a hole in the top of the trash bag and pull some of Elvis' hair through it.

8. Stumble through broken glass, tumbleweeds, and pricker bushes, testing the ground with the shovel, until you find a suitable spot to dig.

9. Start digging until you hit bedrock about two inches down, then move to another spot.

10. Repeat steps 8-9.

11. Finally resort to more or less covering Elvis with rocks and dirt, convincing yourself that it totally blends in with the rest of the desert. And it kind of does.

12. Test the metal detector to make sure you can find Elvis again.

Phase Two: The Build Up

1. Spend the next two days talking to Fred and Lady about how much fun it will be to go treasure hunting in the desert.

2. Continue insisting that it really will be fun.

3. Seriously Fred, I don't care how tired you are, we're going out to the freaking desert.

4. Don't take no for an answer.

Phase Three: The Payoff

1. Drive back to random frontage exit that looks remote enough to make it feel like you're actually in the desert, but not so remote that you feel like you might actually get chopped up and buried out there.

2. Spend a few minutes nonchalantly moseying around, waving the metal detector around in the manner of a treasure hunter.

3. Gradually nonchalantly mosey your way over to the burial site.

4. When the metal detector starts going crazy, jump around excitedly and insist that Fred start digging.

5. Maniacally giggle to yourself as Fred jumps on board, shouting, "This could really BE something!"

6. As Fred uncovers a garbage bag and tuft of hair, start to freak out. Also, start filming.

7. Continue to freak out as more of the torso gets unearthed. Then start to feel bad / laugh when Lady starts to really freak out- pacing nervously and declaring, "WE NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE RIGHT NOW! WE ARE GOING TO GET MURDERED! LOOK AT MY EYE! LOOK AT MY NERVOUS EYE! MY NERVOUS EYE IS WATERING! WE NEED TO LEAVE RIGHT NOW!"

8. Laugh so hard that you start crying when Lady and Fred slowly start to realize that this is not, in fact, an actual dead body.

9. Apologize profusely to Lady, who is still shaking like a leaf. But don't really be sorry, because you just pulled off The Greatest Prank Ever. And you have the video to prove it.

How Bone Does Classy

2010-10-03T23:40:00.021-06:00

Last Thursday was Tiff's birthday. (Tiff is my gorgeous roommate, and she asked me to make up a fake name for her on my blog, but the only thing I can think of is Fitt, and that makes it sound like she has palsy or something, so sorry Tiff, we're sticking with Tiff.)

So, last Thursday was Tiff's birthday, and one of her other friends was hosting a dinner party on Friday. We'll call this other friend "The Hostess". Friday morning, I called The Hostess and asked her if there was anything she needed me to bring. She listed off a few items, no big deal, and then, almost as an after-thought, she said, "Oh, and can you bring a classy centerpiece as well?"

Pause.

Me: "Um, could you be more specific?" Read: Have we ever met and do you realize that my idea of a classy centerpiece is an Oscar cake that always has the potential to come out looking like a penis?

Hostess: "Well, some type of centerpiece for the table. Maybe a hanging balloon chandelier? The colors are green and whhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhite..."

Me: "Oh. Ok. Um. When you say 'hanging balloon chandelier'.....?" Read: Seriously, have we met?

Hostess: "You know, with fancy balloons."

Pause.

Me: "Fancy balloons?" Read: Like the huge mylar ones shaped like animals?

Hostess: "Right, like the really metallic, shiny, fancy balloons."

By this time, I'm picturing the balloons that were in my senior prom photo backdrop.

Me: "And there is a color scheme? How fancy IS this dinner?" Read: Because seriously, if you're expecting me to wear a dress, you are sorely mistaken.

Hostess: "Yes, the colors are green and whhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhite. Like a granny-smith-apple green."

Me: "Great. Ok. Sounds good." Read: All I heard was 'granny smith apple', so that's what you're getting.

At this point, I dialed Bone Senior in a panic and shouted at her, "WHAT THE HECK IS A HANGING BALLOON CHANDELIER!" and I felt much better when she'd never heard of one either.

She suggested that I get a wide vase and fill it with granny smith apples. And then my mind began to wander to a wonderous place. A wonderous place filled with green apples and marshmallows.

And that's exactly the kind of classy centerpiece The Hostess got. I wish I'd taken a picture of her face when I showed up with it. Actually, I wish I'd taken a picture of a LOT of her facial expressions aimed at me that night, but we'll get to that in a minute.

Back to the classy centerpiece. I told The Hostess that it was 'agriculture chic', and pointed out that it was, in fact, completely in line with the color scheme. But she didn't seem amused.

I went out to the back patio and proudly put my centerpiece at the center of the fancy table. I stood back to admire my work, then went back inside to await Tiff's arrival.

The beautiful table spread.

What's that? You don't see the classy centerpiece I made?

Can you see it now? No? Oh wait.

Maybe you can't see it because when I went inside, The Hostess went outside, and banished my centerpiece to the table that would be used for our dirty dishes.

I was not happy.

As the dinner preparations went on, I became even more unhappy. Particularly because everything that The Hostess asked me to help with, I didn't know how to do. Such as make whipping cream. (Shut up, I KNOW, ok?!) I thought all you had to do was whip it. When I asked The Hostess to confirm this and confessed to her that I'd never made whipped cream before, I swear her jaw hit the counter.

The blender and whipping cream were promptly taken away from me and given to someone more capable. And The Hostess gave me a new job.

"How about you go over there and keep an eye on the rice?" she politely asked. Note: the rice was cooking in a rice cooker.

"Ok, do I have to stir it or anything?" Read: I meant this as a serious question, because if I've never made whipped cream, what makes you think I've ever used a rice cooker?

"Nope, just keep an eye on it. It will shut off by itself when it's done, then you can just scoop it into this container."

"Um. Ok." Read: Just because I don't know how to make whipped cream, doesn't mean that I can't recognize a bullshit job when I'm given one.

Seriously? Keep an eye on this rice cooker that will shut itself off and you don't have to do anything except literally STAND HERE AND WATCH IT? I know that I don't know how to cook, but even I'm not dumb enough to think that watching a rice cooker is meaningful or helpful in any way.
So that's what I did. I literally watched the rice cooker.

And watched it some more.

Thank goodness Tiff showed up. Goodness knows what might have happened if I hadn't kept an eye on the rice. The whole night might have been ruined.

And she appreciated my center piece. And in all the group photos, I insisted on holding the center piece in front of me. Yes, I really did.

That's just what you get when you put me in charge of something "classy."

You Don't Need to be Snooki to be Dirty Hott

2010-09-13T10:42:00.006-06:00

In anticipation of Lady's Super Ultra Fantastic Wish Time Birthday Extravaganza to Las Vegas in October, we have all been busily making preparations.

For example, Lady asks, "What should we do while we're in Vegas?" My response was, "Hold a candlelight vigil where TuPac was shot." Which is when Lady promptly created a shared Google Doc so that we can compile a Super Ultra Fantastic Wish List for Vegas.

Lady proposed Item #1 being that we must have white sunglasses like Angelina from Jersey Shore to wear at night in Las Vegas.

My addendum to Item #1 being that we can do one better than just plain white Jersey Shore sunglasses. We can do Snooki Bling Bling glasses.We were pretty sure we could make these beauties with nothing more than safety glasses, glue, and some fake bling.

Bone: But how will we see?

Lady: We'll worry about that later.

Hence, a crafting night spent with Gina, safety glasses, glue, and some fake bling.

I think we did a pretty good job, if I do say so myself.

What I Fear the Most

2010-09-08T17:29:00.004-06:00

Bone: I was just in the bathroom and there was a teeny tan spider on the wall and my first fear was that it was actually an STD crab.

Yanaj: So your fear of STD's is greater than your fear of spiders?

Bone: It would appear so...I like how you drew that conclusion.

Yanaj: It seems pretty obvious to me.

Oh Yanaj, you and your logic.

I'm Not Too Proud To Admit...

2010-08-25T14:01:00.004-06:00

I own a pair of Spanx.

That's right. I'm crossing the point of no return by admitting that I don't just own Spanx; I wear them.

I used to tell Yanaj that wearing Spanx made me feel like a baluga whale stuffed into a pantyhose.

Now?

You know the part in National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation when they cut the rope that's been holding the Christmas tree together, and the branches explode forth with such force that they break through the windows and knock everything over?

That's how I feel when I take my Spanx off at the end of the day.

I'm just saying.

Classic Juneyah

2010-08-16T15:08:00.008-06:00

Let's try to get back into the groove of blogging, shall we?

Last week at work, my friend and co-worker Gina was cleaning out her office and she came out with a strange object.

Gina: What IS this?

KC: It looks like some kind of stand or something.

Bone: Clearly, it's a cell phone clip for your pocket.

Gina: What? No way. There's no way this is a cell phone clip.

KC: There's no way that would work. I have never seen a cell phone clip like that.

Gina: You're totally making that up.

Bone: Clearly, neither one of you are as tech savvy as me. My brother in law has one just like it. Watch and learn bitches.

Lesson learned: never question the Bone.

I'll Tell You Where You Can Stick Your Cliches

2010-07-06T17:33:00.002-06:00

So, today I was complaining to Yanaj about being single. Yanaj is not single. As much as I love Yanaj (and all of my other non-single friends / relatives), I think my first mistake is complaining about being single to people who are not single.

Yes, they were single at one point; and yes, they have some eggs of wisdom to crack over my head. But for the most part, after all the sentiments and encouragement, the fact still remains, I am single and they are not.

This is how my conversation with Yanaj went:

Me: Seriously, what is wrong with me? Why can't I find a boyfriend, let alone a date, let alone a guy who just LIKES me?

Yanaj: Maybe you're looking too hard.

Me: That would assume that I'm actually looking. I'm more of the wait-for-him-to-fall-into-my-lap sorta gal.

Yanaj: You're so focused on finding someone to like you that you've forgotten about giving them something to like.

Me: I feel like I've tried really hard to give them something to like. As in, 1400 cc's of something to like.

Yanaj: But if you're not happy now, you're not going to be happy with a guy either.

Me: I know you're right, but I'm sick of hearing people say that. EVERYONE says that.

Yanaj: Yeah. It's true but it sucks. The guy is not the solution. I think that's the point.

Yes, that may be the point. And if Yanaj hadn't sent me the following article, I probably would've huffed and puffed at her, just like I do to everyone else who tells me that I'm the problem.

19 Things You Should Never Say to a Single Person (Complete with commentary from contributors)
By Erin Meanley

1. It happens when you're not looking.
"This is just bull. Some people find people when they're looking; some don't. You're not doing anything wrong by going out and meeting people." —Beth

2. There are plenty of fish in the sea.
"I dated a guy whose last name was Fish. People just had a BLAST with that one." —Kelly

3. So, why are you single?
"I generally dislike this question. I mean honestly, if I knew why, I don't think I would be single right now, now would I?!" —Erica

4. You're too picky.
"This may be true, but it feels like I'm getting criticized for my taste, vision, and close-mindedness — when I'm already down." —Sarah

5. You'll find the right person for you. —Kelly

6. He's out there. —Kelly

7. It was just bad timing.
"Like it's so easy to dismiss a guy on such an emotionless and objective reason." —Taryn

8. Just have fun with it!
"Um, don't tell me how to date in my thirties when you got married at 24." —Maya

9. Have you tried online dating?
"Don't even go there." Bone Junior

10. He just wasn't the right guy for you.
"I know! That's what I'm complaining about!" —Elisa

11. Well, when my boyfriend and I first got together…
"Wait, I still want to talk about me." —Elisa

12. When the time is right, you will meet someone.—Betsy

13. Wow, I wish I were single and in your shoes!
"Really?! I'm pretty sure you CAN be single if you actually want to be. That there is an attainable dream, so if you aren't messing with me right now out of pity (which I suspect you are), please go for it!" —Kim

14. Your turn next [at weddings]. —Natlondon

15. It will happen when you least expect it. —dlegas05

16. Some guy is going to come along and ruin your career/life plans.
"I am 32 and no one has ruined the last 10 years of plans." —frolicblog

17. But you're so pretty! Why don't you have a boyfriend?
"There's just no graceful way to answer that." —earnesteats

18. It just wasn't meant to be.
"Any of these platitudes are exponentially more annoying when coming from the mouths of smug marrieds." —Reberoodle

19. Sure, my guy rescues kids from abusive homes, donated my sister a kidney, and picks up fresh flowers for me daily on his way home from work, but will he QUIT IT with the sports on TV already?
"Single people just hate to be complained to about petty relationship stuff. If you do this, I'm not going to want to hang out with you. (In fact, maybe I'll call your boyfriend and ask him if he wants to grab a beer and watch the Yankees game?)" —Kim

"Oh wait. I bet, "Send them a list of the top worst things to say to a single girl" is on there too. " - Yanaj.

So next time your single friend complains about being single, try to keep these handy tips in mind.

What a Great Deal

2010-06-23T10:03:00.002-06:00

I knew it was going to be a good hump day when I snapped a picture of this sign on my way to work today.

Enough said.

They Used to Like Me

2010-06-17T15:12:00.006-06:00

Over Memorial Day weekend, I flew to PA to spend some much needed time with the family. The family and Classic Diner. Turns out, my neice and nephew don't seem to like me as much when I'm not giving them Christmas presents. Please to enjoy.

This pretty much sums it up.

Her crying, and him scowling, with a tractor-trailer buffer between us.

This is the face I got whenever I asked him to share his food with me.

This is the face I got whenever I asked her if she loved me.

A Text I Sent Last Sunday

2010-06-08T09:01:00.003-06:00

Dear Emily and Yanaj: I think you should know that your good friend, Bone Junior, has just eaten an entire jar of peanut butter with a spoon in less than 24 hours. This information will probably be useful when my autopsy reveals that my throat is clogged with peanut butter.

Emergency Action Plan

2010-05-13T16:58:00.003-06:00

Imagine a fifty-page document that lists every possible emergency- natural or otherwise - and then lists the appropriate actions to be taken during said emergency. It describes everything from severe storms to sabotage - sabotage! - and then outlines a detailed action plan. Every city is required to have one. This is called an Emergency Action Plan (EAP) and just may be one of the most interesting documents I've ever had the pleasure of reading, editing, and retyping. All fifty pages.

And by interesting I mean, seriously, do people have absolutely no common sense? I understand the need to have a comprehensive listing of emergency names, phone numbers, etc., but does it actually have to be written out that "if the dam fails, step number one is to get out of the way"? I'm not even kidding.

Apparently we need a handbook that spells out, if the dam bursts and the whole valley starts flooding, first and foremost, get out of the way. And this was written by official government people.

It was that little pearl of wisdom that inspired me to create my own emergency scenarios and procedures, and hide them in amongst the legitimate ones. I did this for a few reasons:

A) I was the one stuck retyping this stupid thing;

B) I was getting really bored just retyping it;

C) I wanted to see if the supervisors would even notice that I added anything when they looked over it, or if they would just pretend that they'd read it and give me the go-ahead to submit it to the state board. Then I'd have the perfect opportunity to shout, "I KNEW YOU WOULDN'T EVEN READ IT! IN YOUR FACE!" and I don't know what point that would prove, but I knew it would feel really really good.

So with the help of a few good friends, and some downright plagarism from the Zombie Identification Field Book, please to enjoy the following emergency scenarios that were embedded amongst the serious ones like landslide, earthquake, and nuclear warfare.

SCENARIO #4: Godzilla
Any ancient lizard type sea creature more than 3 meters in height stomps through a populated area. Godzillas or potential Godizillas that may attack large metropolitan areas should be reported.

Any Godzilla which may affect the US economy, Tokyo manufacturing of tiny phones, or the career of Mathew Broderick should be reported to the Federal Bureau of Investigation, X-files Department, Special Agent Moulder.

ACTION
Determine:
• Size (please keep in mind the 3 meter rule. Any godzilla (little g) under 3 meters is not considered a threat and will be marked as a tourist attraction)
• Possible cause (ie angry that ancient rites are being ignored)
• Probability of additional Godzillas
• Any other facts believed pertinent

NOTE: Use extra caution when approaching mating Godzillas; they are extremely temperamental during mating season and have been known to shout racial slurs at onlookers.

Evacuate:
• Main streets littered with cars; cowering behind cars is NOT a solution
• Any location where Matthew Broderick might be
• Japan
• Your senses

Contact the Legion of Care for Misunderstood Sea Monsters for assistance.

SCENARIO #7: Invasion of Robot Army
Ten or more armed robots seen in formation within the City boundaries.

ACTION
Construct several magnet sticky bombs. These are industrial size magnets imbedded in a sticky substance. Use a potato gun or other trajectory weapon to launch the magnet sticky bombs at several different robots. The magnets will draw the robots to each other and then bind them, rendering the robots immobile.

Use fire hoses to completely douse the robots with water. This will cause rusting, and in turn, a slow death.

SCENARIO #9: Zombie Apocalypse (Z-Day)
A widespread rise of zombies hostile to human life engages in a general assault on civilization. Victims of zombies become zombies themselves, causing the outbreak to become an exponentially growing crisis: the spreading "zombie plague" swamps normal military and law enforcement organizations, leading to the panicked collapse of civilian society until only isolated pockets of survivors remain, scavenging for food and supplies in a world reduced to a pre-industrial hostile wilderness.

ACTION
Identify a zombie using the following criteria:

- Is the individual drooling a thick, gelatinous goo with no apparent concern about getting it on their shirt? Do not offer them a moist towelette. This is probably a zombie.

- Is the individual leaving a seemingly endless and chunky blood trail? If you find a blood trail, do not follow it. Often it will lead you to a zombie and rarely, candy.

- Is the individual carrying a torn-off limb in a manner that could only be described as casual? Before they rip your limbs off, run like hell.

- Does the individual continue moaning, even when it’s making those around them obviously uncomfortable? Zombies ignore numerous social norms, like not eating others.

- Is the individual trying to eat you? This is definitely a zombie. Hit with hammer, repeat as necessary.

----------------
By this time you're probably dying to know what happened when I actually submitted the EAP for final approval. Suffice it to say, yelling, "IN YOUR FACE!" actually does feel as good as I thought it would.

Never Google Your Symptoms

2010-04-19T19:41:00.003-06:00

Bone Junior: So, I've been getting really bad night sweats. I wake up every couple hours, completely drenched in sweat, but shivering and shaking because I'm so cold. One time, there was so much sweat between my boobs that I thought I'd just drooled on myself. A lot.

Yanaj: HAHAHAHAHAHAH

Bone Junior: It's not funny! I just Googled my symptoms, and I'm either starting menopause, or being haunted.

Yanaj: Can you put on a helmet and then involuntarily slide across your kitchen floor?

Bone Junior: No, but it might have something to do with the creepy clown doll that's propped up in the corner of my room.

Seriously, I've learned to never Google my symptoms, because now I'm convinced that even my ovaries have given up on me ever getting married and having lots of sex and babies.

Whoring It Up Juneyuh Style

2010-04-13T08:24:00.011-06:00

Last weekend commenced the celebration of my 28th birthday. My actual birthday was on Easter, but who can compete with Jesus? Plus that's the day the Eagles traded McNabb, so that date is forever marred.

This year, we stuck with tradition (and by "tradition", I mean "the same thing we did last year") and got a big group together for dinner at PF Changs. The invitation specified black tie attire. Translation: whore it up. And whore it up we did indeed.

The official invite.

My roomies and I visited one of the local beauty schools to get our makeup done, including fake eyelashes. The eyelashes were an adjustment - it took me awhile to not feel like a Muppet.

Desiree

Tiff

I promise I did not say to the girl, "Make me look as clownish as possible, with just a dash of tramp." In my defense, the white above my eyes did fade, as the girl promised.

Super hot roomies

Bone siblings

Awesomely awkward but still hot prom pose.

I know it looks like I have my hand on Tiff's leg but I promise I don't. That would be gay. Whereas sitting on my brother's lap is definitely not gay.

Three days of tanning to pull off this color definitely paid off because I turned the same color as my Guatemalan friend, Henefir.

Ryan and Adam looking uncomfortably semi-gay.

Me, Gina, and Gina's animal print bra.

Blake and Erin

Let me explain how important this photo is to my self-esteem. Blake is six feet tall. Adam is six feet tall. Normally when I stand between these two, we don't all fit in the frame because I'm so much shorter than them. But I was wearing five-inch heels, and Blake was sweet enough to take off her heels so that I kind of look the same height as her. She asked if I would take off my padded bra so that our boobs would look the same, but I wasn't willing to do that. Sorry Blake.

The highlight of the night was when my friend Rachel gave me an awesome present: a pack of moustaches for ladies - one for each day of the week. Please to enjoy.

The Porn Stache

The Milk Moustache

The I Can't Wear This Thing Because Pink Fuzzies Are Getting Up My Nose Stache

The Ryan Ripped Mine In Half Stache

The I Was Trying to Take a Picture of Me and Henefir But No One Told Me the Zoom Was All Up In My Business And Not In An Attractive Way Stache

The Don't Mess With Us Because Clearly We Are Bad Ass Staches

The We Enjoy the Finer Things in Life Staches

The Mega Colonel Sanders Stache and The I'm Trying to Piece Back Together the One Ryan Ripped in Half Stache

In all, it was a fantastic night. I laughed so hard that my face hurt, and I was thrilled that so many of my friends could be there, and definitely missed the ones who couldn't be there.

Happy Birthday Li'l Mil!

2010-04-12T09:49:00.006-06:00

I cannot believe that my favorite nephew turns 3 today! When did he become a little boy and not just a baby? Nothing makes me smile more then when I call my sister, and Li'l Mil answers with, "HI SASHIE!!!"

But seriously, when did he start growing up??

Because I Can

2010-04-06T16:03:00.007-06:00

I totally ripped off this idea from a blog Bone Senior showed to me. Enlarge picture for best results. Rinse and repeat.

Someone is Stealing My Good Karma

2010-04-05T13:41:00.002-06:00

Dear Universe, aka, the Philadelphia Eagles:

Turning 28 and still being single didn't quite suck enough, so could you please smash my heart into a million little pieces and trade Donovan McNabb to the freaking Redskins on my birthday?

Thanks a lot,

Bone Jr.

I'm Starting to Feel Like They're Patronizing Me

2010-02-23T14:18:00.002-07:00

Pretty much everyone who knows me knows that I don't cook. Nobody knows this better than Bone Senior and Yanaj. Bone Senior because she's my sister and every time I ask her for a recipe, she says what's the point because she knows I won't make it; and Yanaj because we lived together for years and she's seen me add my frustrated tears to more than one recipe attempt.

They both know that I'm completely inept at cooking, and that I don't want to put any effort whatsoever into my food preparation. They both know I'll go to bed hungry before actually making something more than a bowl of cereal. And yet they love me anyway, which is why I don't get mad when they send me recipes that have been tailored to my special needs.

It all started when Yanaj sent me the following email last week:

Bone Junior. This salat will make your head spin in the glory of it's ease and tasty-ness. Trust me. For your own sake. You need to make this. I've given you lots of very specific directions just to preemptively answer any questions but make no mistake, this is REALLY easy to make. I PROMISE. DO NOT BE SCARED BY THE NUMBER OF INGREDIENTS!!

Bread Salat:
Get a tough/crunchy baguette and cut it up into bite sized chunks. (you can even let the chunks sit out awhile or put them in a 250 degree oven for a few minutes to make them harder)
-1 package of cherry tomatoes (or something similiar) cut in half, dumped into the bowl
-1 package of mozerella balls (found near cream chese and ricotta cheese. In a tub w/ lots of liquid) cut in half, dumped into the bowl
-fresh basil chop up leaves, dumped into the bowl
-olive oil (nicer stuff is better, but anything will work)
-basalmic vinegar (if you want really fancy get white basalmic because it'll keep it from turning brown, but not AT ALL necessary)
Put all the ingredients in a large bowl. drizzle with a decent amount of olive oil and basalmic vinegar. Add a little salt and pepper and VOILA. An amazing dish that's actually pretty healthy.

It really takes like 3 minutes to put together once you have everything. EAT IT.

I got such a kick out of Yanaj's super specific instructions, down to where to find these items in the grocery store. I was so amused that I forwarded it to Bone Senior. Big mistake, because when I asked her for some recipe suggestions for a work party, I got the following email:

Chocolate Strawberry Angel Fondue Bites without the Fondue

1. Go to the store.
2. Buy an angel food cake (found in the bakery section, or maybe in the produce section.)
3. Buy strawberries (in the produce section)
4. Buy chocolate dip (in the produce section, usually next to the caramel dip for apples)
5. Buy toothpicks.
6. Go home.
7. Get a sharp knife.
8. Cut up angel food cake into bite-sized pieces and put them on a big plate or in a big bowl.
9. Rinse strawberries (the day you’ll be eating them; if you do it the night before they might get puckery) and put them on the other side of the angel food cake plate.
10. Put the chocolate dip into a small bowl so it doesn’t look store-bought. Put the small bowl in the middle of the plate with the angel food cake pieces and strawberries.
11. Put toothpicks in another, smaller bowl or cup to put next to the food.
12. Allow people to stab cake pieces and strawberries with toothpicks, dip them into the chocolate (NO DOUBLE DIPPING!) and eat them like fondue. Without the fondue.

Ok, I thought she made her point. But she felt the need to really drive it home :

Chocolate Chex Caramel Crunch

Ingredients:
1 box Chocolate Chex cereal (found in cereal aisle)
¾ c packed brown sugar (use ¼ c measuring cup; scoop brown sugar into cup and pack it tightly, add more sugar until it fills cup; do this 3 times)
6 Tbsp butter (it’s marked on the wrapper where to cut it)
3 Tbsp honey (run the measuring spoon under hot hot water first and it will help the honey slide out of the spoon easier)
¼ tsp baking soda
¼ c white chocolate chips

Non-food necessities:
Wax paper or parchment paper; foil might stick so I wouldn’t use that
LARGE microwavable bowl
Measuring cup
Measuring spoons
Wooden spoon
Microwave
Oven
Cookie sheet

1. Pour cereal into a large, microwavable bowl. Line cookie sheet with wax paper/parchment paper.
2. In another microwavable bowl: put brown sugar, butter and honey. Microwave uncovered for 1-2 mins, stirring after each minute, until melted and smooth (no butter or sugar clumps). Take out of microwave and stir in baking soda until it’s dissolved (which means you can’t see it anymore). Pour this mixture over the cereal in the large bowl and stir it all up until it’s evenly coated (don’t worry, it’s not an exact science. Just mix it up as well as you can.)
3. Microwave the cereal mixture for 3 minutes, stirring after each minute. Take out of microwave and dump the cereal mixture onto the paper lined cookie sheet. Spread the cereal mixture out into one even layer. Let cool 10 mins and then break into bite-sized pieces. (Again, not an exact science, just break up the big clumps into smaller clumps with your fingers, no smashing necessary.)
4. Pour white chocolate chips into a small microwavable bowl. Microwave about 1 minute, until it stirs smooth (which means when you take it out of the microwave there will probably still be some chips visible but as you stir it up, they will melt. I’d start at 30 seconds and check it after that, then another 30, then 15, then so on. You just don’t want to burn it.)
5. Drizzle melted white chocolate over cereal pieces (this is REALLY easy if you just take a Ziploc baggie and spoon the melted chocolate into it, then cut off a bottom corner and squeeze it out of the cut corner. Or just use a spoon to drizzle. No biggie either way. It might be too much hassle to get the chocolate into the baggie.)

After all this trouble, I think I'm just going to bring Candy Soup to the work party. Which is, make a humongous ice cream sundae with a billion different types of candy toppings, let it melt, then indulge. Voila. Candy soup.

Another Gmail Chat Between Friends

2010-02-08T08:36:00.003-07:00

Bone Junior: So can I tell you a secret and you promise not to judge me?

Yanaj: Of course, but remember, you already told me about [something super embarrassing that will never ever be repeated ever]

Bone Junior: I'm having a movie quote war with my dad and I'm totally cheating. I look every quote up on Google. I don't think he knows how to do that.

Yanaj: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA that is so many kinds of awesome that I can't even handle it.

Bone Junior: He's giving me quotes from movies like "Patton". Really, dad??

Yanaj: ohmygosh.

Bone Junior: Then he gave me one from a freaking RADIO show. What the hell, dad. How am I supposed to prove my movie quote superiority when he's giving me lines from RADIO SHOWS?

Yanaj: HAHAHAHAHAHHA and he hasn't figured out that there's NO WAY you should be getting these answers?

Bone Junior: Nope, because I always throw in some smart ass remark about how easy the quote was.

Yanaj: Wouldn't it be hilarious to discover that your dad knew all along, he was just letting you win to make you feel good ?

Bone Junior: Yanaj. He doesn't even know what Google is.

I Totally Ate This

2010-01-07T13:06:00.003-07:00

"Do you ever wait and wait and wait to eat… and then suddenly you have a meeting and you have that feeling that you’ll know you’ll be sick if you don’t eat SOMETHING –but there is absolutely NO time to go get something? These casseroles work in a pinch. Really."

That's the email I got today from Chef Gina. You may remember Gina from the French Onion Cassarole recipe.

Cheddar Curd Crunch

Preheat oven to 350.

Ingredients:
1 handful of Harvest Cheddar Sun Chips
1 blob of lowfat cottage cheese (any size curd will do)

Crunch up the Harvest Cheddar Sun Chips and place on plate. Lick orange chip crumbs off fingers. Top crunched chips with a blob of cottage cheese. Stir around on the plate, turn off the oven and scoot up to it, crack the door and warm your hands while eating this delicious delicacy.

**Chef's Note: These chips HAVE NO MSG! Seriously, this is like a “healthy” recipe now.

Christmas 2009 Photo Extravaganza

2009-12-31T13:00:00.005-07:00

Remember how this one used to look like Benjamin Button? I think she's filled out quite nicely.

I gave pretty much the most awesome presents this year. Bone Senior got The Whiz.

Her hub got this magnificent t-shirt.
Li'l Mil got Cars. Lots and lots of Cars.

Oh, and also this little gem, cause I'm the coolest aunt ever.
And Nano got snotty crumbs all over me.

Look, It's Not a Square!

2009-12-30T11:48:00.002-07:00

Until last night, I could only crochet things that were in a square shape, or a variation of a square. Ok pretty much I could only do blankets and scarves. Lots and lots of scarves. Until last night.

That's right bee-yatches, I MADE THAT! It needs a few embellishments, but at least I figured out what to do with the hole in the top.

'Tis the Season for Pooing in the Potty

2009-12-21T17:38:00.001-07:00

"SASHIEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!! I WENT POOPY!!!"

Those were the words screamed at me by an excited Li'l Mil last week after he'd sucessfully pooed in the potty. After being bribed with a new Lightning McQueen by Bone Senior, and after the promise of a new Sally car hand delivered by Aunt Sashie if he'd go poop in the potty.

Bone Junior: You DID!!!!! Did you go in the potty?

Li'l Mil: YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!!! (pause) You bring me Sally now, right??

I wish I got that excited every time I pooed in the potty. Then again, I probably WOULD get that excited if Bone Senior bribed ME with new Lightning McQueen too...

And just to erase the mental image of me pooing in the potty, please to enjoy my annual self-centered Christmas card:

O Come Let Us Adore Me!

My Belly is Happy

2009-12-16T17:04:00.003-07:00

Just when I thought my day couldn't get any better, the UPS man arrived and announced, "I have Tastykakes for you!"

Blink. Blink. Whhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat? Tastykakes? In UTAH?? No way.

"Shut. Up. ARE THOSE FOR ME! ARE THOSE TASTYKAKES FOR ME! SHUT UP! SHUT UP RIGHT NOW!"

Not only were those Tastykakes for me, but they were even better than I expected because they were packaged in this:
Seriously! Do my friends know me or what. Thank you thank you thank you Lady for the wonderful Christmas present!!

Mission Accomplished

2009-12-16T09:58:00.000-07:00

Now I will officially be the coolest aunt ever.

Holiday Recipe

2009-12-14T13:43:00.003-07:00

Brought to you courtesy of one of my new favorite co-workers, Gina. This recipe came about as a result of our mid-morning-munchies. And yes, I can attest to its deliciousness.

French Onion Casserole

Preheat oven to 350.

Ingredients:
Lay’s Potato Chips from the end of the bag
1 scoop of French Onion Dip with MSG

Mix chip crumbs and dip together in a cup, turn off the oven and scoot up to it, crack the door and warm your hands while eating this delicious delicacy with a spoon, straight out of the cup.

How I Spent My Thanksgiving Vacation

2009-11-30T11:25:00.004-07:00

- Eating special chocolate Sarah Pie made just for me by Maggie, aka Erin's mom, aka Martha Stewart Incarnate. It was pretty much the most amazing chocolate pie I've ever eaten. It tasted like hot fudge in a pie crust, although much less runny than actual hot fudge. And I ate the entire remaining pie in about one day.

- Crocheting...a lot. I have a lot of scarves now. I am also now taking orders and requests. Please give me something to do.

- Crocheting while watching the entire Band of Brothers mini series

- Crocheting while watching lots of other movies

- Shopping on Black Friday, which lead to getting into an argument with a Victoria's Secret sales associate about how big my boobs were, and that the Hello Bombshell bra should not be worn in public by anyone with boobs bigger than a B-cup. No one needs to look like they are smuggling torpedos under their shirt. But according to the sales associate, they do.

- Searching, unsuccessfully, STILL for Sally

- Searching, unsuccessfully for tickets to go home for Christmas

- Cheering for my little brother at his arena football game

And that pretty much sums up my 4-day weekend. How thrilling and exciting, no?

Most of the Time, I'm Embarrassed for Myself

2009-11-24T08:13:00.005-07:00

Although it pains me to admit this...yes, I did attend a midnight screening of "New Moon" last Thursday.

I know, I know.

I've never gotten into the whole Twilight thing. I started to read the book a few years ago and got bored, so I never finished. I did see the first movie and spent most of the time being bugged about how much Kristen Stewart tucks her hair behind her ear. Maybe that's part of her character? I don't know, I just found it distracting. That and how she always looks half baked.

So I got invited to go with a big group of women for this midnight screening. They seated us in the theater around 10:30 and started raffling off all these prizes. First of all, I have never seen so many Bump-Its in one place before. It was like their mecca. I was fascinated. Second of all, pretty much everything being raffled off had to do with scrapbooking, so I was automatically not interested. But I decided that if I happened to win, I'd make the most of it. And every time I lost, I made the most of it too, by letting out loud, disgusted groans every time they called a number that wasn't mine. I'm such an awesome sore loser.

So when they called my ticket number, I'm not joking when I tell you that I screamed, whooped, jumped up and down, and ran down front as if I'd just been called down to The Price is Right. The only thing missing was an airbrushed "I Heart Bob Barker" tshirt. It was a nice change of pace from the other winners who simply raised their hands when they won. I won some kind of canvas ribbon organizer box thingy, which I promptly passed along to my roommate.

As for the rest of the movie experience? I have to quote the words of my favorite author, Jen Lancaster, who had an identical experience to mine:

"The second the movie started, the theater went quiet. No, scratch that - dead silent. I've never been in such a crowded place with so little noise. People weren't even shifting around in their seats. No one was pulling out cell phones to text message, nor was anyone whispering amongst themselves. I'm talking utter, rapt, undivided attention.

Which made it all the more obvious when the entire audience gasped as Taylor Lautner removed his shirt.

Which then made the entire audience laugh in embarrassment, and suddenly every Cougar for Cullen in that room started doing the kind of math that does not lead to any answer other than shame and possible jail time. The great irony is when Robert Pattinson went shirtless later in the film, the audience didn't let out a peep. You, with the pasty English belly - out of the way for the werewolf!"

The only thing that seemed to set my night apart from hers was the fact that right in the middle of a tender, emotional scene, someone in the theater busted ass SO LOUD that the entire audience started laughing. For about a minute. I, on the other hand, giggled into my hands for about ten minutes.

Because I'm just immature like that.

A Cry For Help

2009-11-12T09:35:00.004-07:00

Seriously, I can't find him.

T.I.L.T. - Things I Love Thursday

2009-11-12T09:01:00.003-07:00

For the past six months, I've been building a collection of Disney CARS for Li'l Mil. He is obsessed, and now, so am I. Last weekend, Bone Senior was in town and I was able to hand off a few cars for her to take back to Li'l Mil. Specifically she took Mack, Ramone, and a special edition blue Mater. Seeing his reaction warmed my heart.

Three delivered, about a hundred to go. Also, if anyone knows where I can find a Sally, let me know. Finding Sally has become the bane of my existance. She is one elusive bee-yatch.

T.I.L.T. - Things I Love Tuesday

2009-11-10T08:37:00.010-07:00

I started working on this post yesterday, when it actually was Tuesday. Deal with it. And, actually there was only one thing I really loved about Tuesday...

Fighting the man and winning. Back in August, my poor windshield was absolutely destroyed as a result of humongous construction trucks doing work on the freeway. After four months of phone calls, incident reports, insurance records, and a very strongly worded letter, the contractor finally agreed to replace my windshield. This is a huge victory for me, because over the past four months of litigation, no one believed in me. Everyone told me this was a lost cause, that I was wasting my time, that the contractor would basically tell me to go jump in a lake. To which I usually shouted, "This might be a losing battle, but I'm NOT GOING DOWN WITHOUT A FIGHT!" And I'm pretty sure I actually did shout that, while shaking my fist, at least once.

What everyone seemed to forget was that I usually get my way. As Yanaj once counseled the teenager behind the counter of the water ice place here (who wanted to charge me fifty cents to add a ribbon of chocolate syrup to the vanilla custard. FIFTY CENTS!), "You might as well save yourself the time of arguing with her, because she's gonna get what she wants anyway." And four months later, I have a brand new windshield. A small victory for the little guy.

In other news, I was able to enjoy a weekend in Seattle for Yanaj's wedding. It was a whirlwind 72 hours, filled with rain, thunder, lightning, more rain, and Yanaj's wedding. Please to enjoy.

Let's start with the gifts I bestowed upon Yanaj, shall we?

The ENTIRE SET OF ROCKY DVD'S! Also, I don't know why Nicole is flipping the bird...
Sexual position of the day book. My favorite is called The Ottoman Bottoman.

I think the title says it all.

Me eating lasagna for the first time in seventeen years.

See, Yanaj? I really DID eat your stupid lasagna.

The three old roommates.

Nicole introduced me to "threading". Surprisingly painless, despite how the picture looks.

Yanaj and Paul

Emily, me, Yanaj, Nicole

Nicole, me, Emily

And this is absolutely my favorite picture from the whole weekend. Because no one looks good and I think all of our faces are hilarious. And yes, Paul is wearing spats.

Happy Birthday, Lady!

2009-10-17T00:53:00.003-06:00

Wow, so it's really been a month since I posted last? I need to start making more interesting things happen to me, or else make the things that happen to me sound blog worthy.

But enough about me and my uninspiring life. Today is my BFF Lady's birthday, and I think it's only fitting that I take a moment to honor her.

Lady and I have known each other since tenth grade, and we kept in touch after high school, but we didn't really become close until the summer after my third year at college. I say "my third year" and not "my junior year" because it took me six years to graduate college. Shut up.

That summer, I'd moved back home with my parents and my second night there I was already going stir crazy. So I looked up old friends and Lady happened to be available. We went to the Strawberry Festival, and fate took its course.

She ended up getting me a job where she worked, and staged a fake engagement for me at the end of the summer when it was time for me to go back to school. Literally. I'd been hired under the assumption that I would be long-term, and since I needed the job, neither of us spoke up that I'd only be there for about two months. So when August came, she invented a fake boyfriend for me (Marco?), helped me pick out a fake ring from Walmart, and even sent me roses to work the day I announced that I would be moving to Arizona to join my rich fiance.

Yes, I'm serious. And everyone totally bought it.

But one of my favorite memories of Lady is our road trip to Memphis in August 2006. She wasn't even an Elvis fan, but she was up for anything, so we drove like a million hours from Philadelphia to Memphis to attend the official Elvis week festivities. It was hands down the best vacation of my life, and mostly because of Lady. Ok, it was like 50% Elvis, 50% Lady.

We made so many memories that week, and our stories have never ceased to make me laugh. The one I love to tell the most is how on the drive down there, we decided to use fake names for the whole time we were in Memphis. We spent hours, literally hours picking out names. Lady wanted her first name to be James, and we concluded that a female with a masculine name like 'James' definitely needed an extremely feminine last name to balance it out.

Once we reached that consensus, we spent a few minutes bouncing ideas off each other. Flowers? Cloud? No, no no. There was a pregnant pause as we both considered feminine options. And that's when Lady said the two phrases that still, to this day, make me pee a little.

Lady: James Fallopian Tube? James NuvaRing?

In the end, she went with Vader. James Vader. And spent the entire week correcting drunk hicks who kept asking, "James Spader? Like James Spader the actor?"

And every now and again, I get a text from Lady that says, "James NuvaRing".

And that is why I love her.

Happy Birthday, Lady! I wish I could be there to see you in all your mink-wrapped, leopard-skin gloved glory.

A Gmail Chat Between Friends

2009-09-15T16:50:00.003-06:00

Bone Junior: I'm typing up our agenda for the meeting tomorrow and under my name I put, "Who was the more worthy opponent for Rocky: Apollo Creed or Ivan Drago?" That's my discussion item.

Yanaj: I think that's a good one to start off with. You should prepare some charts/graphs defending each contender.

Bone Junior: I think that Apollo's latent homosexuality puts him miles ahead.

Yanaj: That's true. Because he has to fight not only the man, but the stereotype.

Bone Junior: Truer words were never spoken.

And that's why I love Yanaj.