My 25-point jam was described as “the biggest jam of the night.” Woohoo! (That’s not a picture of the jam above, but that one was fun too!)

This is also a favorite pic…besides the fact that my right ass-cheek looks awesome, I’m skating next to an old derby friend, Crash McQueen of the East Texas Bombers. I really wish I could have made it to the afterparty to spend some quality time with her. And when I put Crash in the same sentence with quality and afterparty, you should know what I mean.

Crude City won by a blowout, but it was a fun bout between two leagues who respect each other. Wish they could all be like that.

If you were planning on a road trip this weekend, why not stop by and say hi?

I skated in about five jams before I was ejected. Yep, that’s me…the low block. That low block was actually a swift kick to a skate. Just what you’d expect from a mature, experienced skater.

Instead of going into the history of me and my former league (which is already documented here), I’m going to delve into the ancient history of me and my uncontrolled emotions. It all started when I was called into the office in fifth grade for laughing at a classmate during a school program. Yes, my class was on stage in front of the entire student body and parents, and I laughed out loud when somebody forgot their lines. Mostly because I knew everybody’s lines. I was a smartass punk when I was ten. Anyway, our principal caught me afterwards, told me to come see him in the morning, and spent what seemed like an eternity explaining how I should learn to control my emotions. Either that was too much for a fifth-grader to comprehend or I’ve spent the past thirty years rebelling against that first trip to the principal’s office.

In high school, my emotions often got the better of me on the basketball court. I can’t tell you the number of times I was ejected from games from technical fouls. I remember most clearly throwing the ball directly into the stomach of an opponent because I was tired of her rubbing her flab all over me. I mean, really, that’s just disgusting. When you enter my egotistical world in such a fashion, you get what you deserve.

Surprisingly, there weren’t any outbursts during my tackle football stint. Maybe I didn’t feel as noticable. I wasn’t the smartest or the fastest or the best rebounder or the best blocker. I didn’t stand a foot taller than everyone, for the most part. When I go unnoticed, it’s easy for me to stay that way. When I stand out like a sore thumb, it gets a little dicey.

So as you can imagine, my derby career has been one lesson after another in controlling my emotions…lessons I usually fail. I don’t regret anything, and I don’t see any reason to apologize for being myself. I do wish I wouldn’t have let my team down, but I have a few more chances to redeem myself this season before I decide to move on yet again. Maybe I was born in the wrong roller derby era, and my heart really belongs to the spectacle it was thirty years ago instead of the sport it’s trying to be now. Does anybody know where I can get involved in that? Yeah, never mind.

And now back to my 3-day, all-day meeting that’s building up some unspent energy and repressed emotions…

(yeah, I told you it’s going to be good…)

In January, I committed to 60 days of Insanity (you know, that Sean T. Beachbody workout?), so that I could fit in my rodeo jeans. Of course, I didn’t do 60 days since rodeo season kicks in around the last week of February, but I got back in the jeans and received a ton of compliments on my semi-rockin’ bod. For the past month and a half, I’ve been trying to get back on my regular Insanity routine, while my body has been slowing moving southward again, and I was almost there when a huge project landed in my lap.

I’m trying to turn this into this before the bout. Throw in a couple of family birthdays, Mother’s Day, setting up summer tutoring for The Kitten, and coordinating some home renovations, and when do I have time to workout? Maybe after I get back from my third business trip this year the third week of May?

I think the only opportunity to flex some flab over the next week will be an intro to pole dancing class on Monday, and only because I’ve already paid my $40.

BTW, we won by like 150 points or something like that. I promised myself not to get caught up in that this time; I’m just doing it because I can, not because I’m trying to prove anything. Although it was nice to have two 18-point jams in one night.

Tonight, I’m starting on my first celebratory weekend. It won’t be as good as last year’s first weekend, but I get to see one of my favorite bands with my favorite sister (okay, my one and only sister, but she’s bad-ass like me). Then, tomorrow night, I get to scout out the team I’ll be skating against next month.

Good friends, good music, good hits for bad bitches….awww yeah!

Flat-track skaters sit around bitching and moaning about how flat-track derby is not your momma’s roller derby and it’s a legitimate “sport” with rules and what-not and blah blah blah. Then we all turn around and kiss Drew Barrymore’s ass because she learned how to roller skate and made a movie about it. How about this little gem from one of the “trainers” who explains she couldn’t even do a 360 when teaching the movie stars? That’s the crap you’re telling Hollywood it’s ok to spoon-feed us, when you’ve got derby girls in your own backyard who can do so much more.

I just don’t get it. Flat-track puts all these rules in place, practices as much as professional athletes do to set up a grassroots sport, distances itself from the history of banked-track, and lets Hollywood come along with a gimic to put it right back where it started, with a new generation of fans believing roller derby is still the same ol’ stuff.

OK, fine…that actually suits my style better. I have nothing against banked-track; in fact, that’s what I grew up dreaming of doing. Still would if I had the chance, but life goes on for the common (wo)man and sometimes dreams just aren’t a part of it. But I spent three years of my life trying to do something more rewarding, and it’s hard to reconcile the two for me. I’m sure it’s a great movie, but it’s not about what I lived or what thousands of other flat-track skaters are still living. I just wish it was about “modern” roller derby. I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who feels this way.

So bring on the hate mail. I can take it. I’m a real derby girl.

Still, my candy-cane legs can’t top the marks I received from skating the Pride Parade Saturday night. Before the parade even started, I hit a car. Poor car! It was just minding its own business, and I came along and tripped into it. It was too dark to see how bad my Catazonianess damaged it, but the bruise on my upper arm says there might have been a dent in the passenger door. The bruise is even bigger than the one when I fell in the clothes hamper, which you can actually see in the picture on my Blogger profile. Nice!

By the way, I’m waiting to see pictures from that night, so if you have any of the roller derby girls rolling down Westheimer, either on wheels or on the ground wrastling, put ‘em out there! And thanks, Rushin’ Cleavage, for such an enjoyable evening.

I didn’t think the week could get any better than once again getting the crap beat out of me by stationary objects, but then I went to a Roger Creager concert yesterday evening, right smack-dab in the middle of what I like to think of as my old ‘hood (Oak Forest), and I know it’s hard to believe that only about 75-100 people would brave the heat wave from hell to see him at such a great venue (a little league ballfield), but the few, the brave, the crazy were rewarded with a free beer from Roger himself. Awesome.

I was reminded of some of the reasons I quit. My husband having to drag my daughter away from me, kicking and screaming because she wanted to stay and have fun. Being put in the penalty box for two things that I know I didn’t do and not even getting a minor for blatantly (although not purposely) tripping the jammer. (Don’t get me wrong on this…I respect the refs, but I think we’ve made their job next to impossible.) Knowing that no matter how hard I try, it’s not going to be enough for somebody, anybody.

What really brought me back to reality though is seeing for sure that all the weight I lost while on the cardio program is back. I can’t wait to get in that leopard-print tankini I ordered! Meow!

Soooo…if you sat around for three years talking about how you were going to see me skate one of these days, now is your chance…probably your last chance. I can’t guarantee it will be pretty, but who really wants derby to be pretty anyway?