Auntie Maim

Two unrelated items to get started:
1. There’s an effing baby here. Barf. Now everyone is going to get sick. Yay! Drool on my desk – yay! Did I ever tell you how much I L-O-V-E the sound of crying? Jesus Christ, it keeps getting closer and closer to my desk.

2. I have free hosting and therefore, I can’t link to things. This means that I have poor etiquette but it also means that I don’t have to burden people with links, which can be overwhelmingly annoying. I figure that if someone sees something he or she likes, copy it and paste it into Google to learn more about it. Sorry, but I’m a broke-ass.

With that said, here’s the real read:

Roller Derby. It’s pretty popular here in Tucson and my favorite bar, The Surly Wench, has a team called the Furious Truck Stop Waitresses. If the Derby was like softball, you know, generally non-contact, I would totally join. I'm actually strongly considering joining despite, or maybe because of, the contact aspect of the sport.

And my name will be Auntie Maim.

I would wear my big pearl choker and sew a fur stole onto my uniform. I would skate around the track during my intro with full length gloves:
“LAAAAYDIEEEEEEEZ and GENTLEMEHN, the most glamorous woman on skates: ANNNNNNNNNNTEEEEEEEEEE MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIM” and I’d take my lap with a cigarette holder in one hand and a martini in the other while the crowd goes nuts and holds up signs that are embellished with rhinestones and fake pearls and fur and stuff while I smoke and drink my way toward game-time.

I have got to learn to skate better.
This is shaping up to be too awesome of a fantasy to let slide into the abyss of “One time, I had this great idea.” The trouble is that I am not even remotely close to being tough enough to be a rollergirl. They practice at the skate park right by my house. You know what though? I am strong, I am decently in shape… I can run a mile, can you?

But the Derby would probably eat me alive unless I can give up my hippy-yoga shtick and tap into the part of me that would benefit hugely from a contact sport in which I am encouraged by my team-mates to stand up for myself by using my fists. Maybe not, though. The Tucson Roller Derby slogan on the website is “Rollergirls Don’t Cry.”

I’m out.

I cry every day and no… I’m not even kidding.

When I think about it though, I sort of wonder if I have this seething, raging mess that needs to be directed somewhere. I mean, why not direct it toward opponents that I physically assault while roller-skating? I’d get a cool name AND I’d get to unload what might be turn out to be simple aggression, as opposed to neurotic stress. I’d have to talk to them about that crying rule, first.

I might be Auntie Maim but maiming is tough and sometimes, a good cry probably felt great for such infamous Maimers as Vlad the Impaler, both Alexander and Catherine the Great(s), and a number of people on whom I have had crushes who took my love and threw it out the window so that it shattered into a hundred tiny pieces but didn’t kill it.
I bet that a good cry was just as cleansing for them as it is for a Maimer in training, aka, me.

In college, there was a floor hockey intramural league and as I recall, I was awesome. I was awesome, in the position of being one of the two people who stand back near the goal, trying to keep the puck away from the goalie so that the goalie could be as stoned as he wanted to be and would not need to worry about the puck, ever. I honestly didn’t see too much action on the field but I did take every opportunity for physical violence that was presented to me.
College wasn’t my best, I can own that, and hockey? It’s reputed to be a violent sport but I guess I might have taken some liberties with my interpretation of hockey. Hockey is, apparently, meant to be violent for the professionals, who are playing on ice and making a whole lot of money from the people who paid a lot of money to watch them fight. It's a show.
21-year old girls with maturity issues don’t need to worry about drawing blood from a Sig Ep on the intramural floor hockey schedule. I guess it’s not generally considered to be a spectator sport, unless you're at a pro game. I was wrong about there being a NEED for unnecessary violence. Intramural floor hockey wasn't actually the show that I wanted it to be. Roller Derby is.

I learned from floor hockey that maybe I really would prefer to be part of a sport where violence is par for the course. Or track, as the case may be. The trouble with Roller Derby would come in when my pretty, pretty princess self-righteousness was challenged and I get stuck being pummeled in public with little to no recourse but to pretend that it’s cool. I would have to pretend that I am cool with a crowd seeing my chubby thighs getting rolled under some huge Texan roller skate, you know? And that’s when the tears would start and knowing my luck, I’d get fined by the league or something. I’d have to make up some kind of medical reason for the constant tears. I KNOW that I would trip and fall, totally my own fault, and skin my knee and the tears would start and I’d really have to learn how to shake it off. Not the pain, silly! I would be numb to the physical pain! Tears are my first reaction to everything! In this example, my answer to public humiliation. I would almost cry a lot, I bet.

But then think how cute I would look in my bad-ass little roller derby outfit, shakin’ it off.
“Skate it off, Maim, skate it off,” my teammates would cheer.
I’d skate off by myself a little and roll around with my hands on my hips and my head down, my breath coming in short spurts and the tears about to explode. Nobody could touch me because that, for sure, would make me cry. After a minute or so, I’d look up and flash a sneering smile when I give me team the high sign – a double-flip of the bird and I’d skate back to my designated position, totally centered and ready to block as if my life depended upon it. Which, as I understand roller derby, my life would be at least a little dependent upon blocking jammers who want to push me out of their way.

You know, the more I think about this, the more convinced I am that I could actually do it. I AM really strong and I have a low center of gravity. From three years of shining the fuck out in a yoga class, I have serious balance and focus. I’m not small, either, so good luck pulling me down, bitches. I’m also in reasonable shape. I mean, I’m not a good skater by any stretch but I bet I could be if I started skating all the time. The fact that I can still skate at my age is a testament to a good foundation, right?
Instead of running with the dog, my new plan, or walking her, my current arrangement, I could skate the dog.
Conveniently right around the skate park where the rollergirls practice. They practice right by my house, so there’s a sign, obviously.

Plus, the kick-ass name that I thought of, that’s totally a sign.

It’s no secret that I need a hobby and I’m pretty sure that the Derby would require extensive protective gear. I’m not worried about getting hurt, to be honest. I’m more worried about not being tough enough or cool enough. Like, what if I got to try-outs and I’ve been skating the dog twice a day and practicing jumping and going backwards and I’ve been in the gym, pumping some iron to get maximum intimidation-effect in a cool uniform and I get there and the chicks are like, ”Yeah ummmm…. Can you get tattoos that we can see?”
I imagine the interview to go like this:
“Do you have to dress up for work?”
“Can you easily explain black eyes and broken teeth?”
Uh, yes? (Work would totally understand about the Derby.)
“Do you have health insurance?”
Yes! And my Accidental Death and Dismemberment covers me outside of the workplace!
“Okay…… Can you meet for practice on Wednesday and Sunday nights?”
Oh. Well, Wednesday is bad because that’s ‘Lost’ night on the TV and Sunday, I go to the yoga studio and chant the many names of god. What time do things usually wrap up? Maybe I can figure something out?
“Finally, what makes you want to join Roller Derby?”
TV. Laguna Beach is my favorite TV show and I saw that Go Go Lucky, the geniuses behind that show were making a show called Rollergirls, about Roller Derby in Austin? So I watched it and those chicks are WAY COOL.
I realize that I can’t ever be a teenager doing a lot some underage drinking at bonfires on camera, but I can TOTALLY be a Rollergirl. Except for the ‘no crying’ rule. Which, by the way, can we talk about not crying? Don’t you like to cry once in awhile? I think it’s healthy.”

I would then flip my hair and flash the dimple and even though they are kind of thinking about not letting me play, because of the crying issue, I am kind of a good skater and I do have a cool persona ready to roll and….hello?
I’m irresistible if I throw out two moves at once to someone who’s kind of on the fence.

Importantly, if I go through with this, I will totally have proof that TV can be good for you if you watch enough of it.
And when I break my coccyx for the ninth time, all of you will totally have proof that watching TV is not good for you if you are an easily-led person and you see something on TV, assume you can do it, proceed to do it, and wind up causing severe bodily-harm to your aging body.

I am going to at least try to find some skates.
I mean, seriously.
I am a rare physical specimen who was BUILT for this sport, I need a hobby, and I already have the coolest stage name, EVER.

This could be destiny people.

arizonasarah at 12:38 p.m.

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