This past weekend, I spent two and a half days in the Russian River Valley of California. Friday afternoon, we arrived at the Mediterranean villa where we would spend the weekend and found it secluded at the top of a very steep hill and complete with a heated pool. Luxurious, no? Then, we made it into town for our 5:30 p.m. reservation at a two-Michelin star restaurant. After canapés and champagne, we chose between an eight-course or five-course meal, and of course, the wine pairing was optional. So if you know me, you know I didn’t hold anything back. I even added the black truffle to the chicken course for an additional $12 or something like that. When you are spending that much money on dinner, you don’t worry about the price of the black truffle addition. (You do worry about the fact that, for your daughter’s upcoming birthday, you will need to get creative about what we are serving the guests, and I mean creative in the Cousin Eddie sort of way.) I can’t pick a favorite course, but my favorite part of the night was when the waiter said, “And for your first dessert…” Aaaawww, yeah! (Already working on the redneck thing.)

On Saturday, we hired a driver to cater to our every whim for six hours of wine tastings. If you have never been to wine country or at least the Russian River Valley, a driver is a must. The road on which the seven or eight wineries we visited sit is extremely narrow and winding. After seven or eight (I really can’t remember which) wine tastings, you do not want to be driving this road to the top of the hill where your heated pool and Mediterranean villa await.

I do remember my favorite winery of the day. It was a quaint little place that could barely hold us five crazy women. Their wines are only available on site, and I brought home a wonderful Voignier. This sweet guy guards the door of Porter Creek:

And this Texas girl who does not drink wine cannot wait to go back and visit him.

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?

Two weeks ago, we hired a friend to paint our living room, dining room, and atrium. It was taking longer than he expected, and he planned on finishing up the Tuesday before the party. Sure, no problem, plenty of time to get things back into place.

Tuesday, I was picked to serve on a jury, expected to last through Friday. Well, that’s just great. I was counting on using Friday, my beautiful 9/80 Friday, to get my house in order and spend some time with my best friend before the party. Still, no problem, we can do this.

Friday, our deep-freeze packed full of processed deer meat and one lovely deer head stopped working. I didn’t notice it when I left the house at 7:30 a.m., but I sure as hell noticed it when I pulled in at 5:30 p.m. Gah, the stench! But what could I do? I still needed to pick up The Kitten at Gramma’s, and The Tomcat was still in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico. (Actually what I think happened is my wonderful husband left the door open when he took ice out for his deep sea fishing trip at 4:00 a.m., but he will never admit that to me.) When he finally got home, the Clorox and Lysol treatment on the freezer and the floor started and lasted all day Saturday. We encouraged people to avoid the garage during the party, and we are still afraid to open the freezer door.

Even with all this conspiring against us, we managed to have a fun-filled party on Saturday night. Only one thing is missing, and one thing in the house is broken…miniscule in the grand scheme of things. And I was able to blame my hangover on a severe sinus attack. That’s not wrong at all; that’s just right.

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 other exciting news, I set the theme for the party I’m hosting in late June and got some evites out last night. This late June date is almost halfway in between my best friend since 7th grade’s and my birthdays. We were born exactly four months apart in 1970, a Taurus and a Leo. People actually believe we’re having a S&M party, because the theme is “40 is Fabulous with S&M”. Her name is Staci; mine is Marie. Things happen when the two of us get together that are beyond your worst S&M nightmare. Be afraid; be very afraid.

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.

It’s not gray. It’s the fucking lighting. So bite me, 40.

This is the cake that my mommy bakes for me every year. I hope my mommy keeps doing it for at least another ten years.

I almost died from excitement when I found out somebody else paid for me to drive a race car. Yessss! Best gift from my husband EVER (other than the ring, of course)!!!

Like I said, bite me, 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!