Paid In Full.

Mother Nature did me a solid this week.

See, it wasn't all that long ago that I totally had her back. Pretty much no one was talking to her anymore, but I kinda hung in there... tried to help her along.

I wasn't really expecting anything in return, it was enough to know that I helped out a mythical figure in need. You know what I mean, doncha? Doncha??

So, imagine how surprised I was to encounter my great big cosmic ThankYou this week. It would be easy to chalk this up to chance, to some sort of fluke occurence... except this kind of thing never happens to me like this. See, for me? the whole "curse of being a woman" thing is really pretty much a curse. Not that I'm worse off than any other girl on the planet, just that I can pretty much count on it messing up every big event and thing I have planned. History kinda bears that whole thing out. First night staying over at boyfriend's place? Sports events? Large banquet type things where outfits must fit right? Outdoor Wilderness trips? Grad night? My Wedding Night? Oh yes... Mother Nature generally tries to eff things up for me on a grand and bloody scale. (Ugghh... I totally just said that, didn't I?? Sorry.)

In light of all this (not so) wonderful history, I honestly was not surprised to look at the calendar this month and see that the Crime Scene was scheduled for THE DAY OF MY FIRST DERBY BOUT. Not surprised in the least.

What was surprising was Tuesday.

High five Mother Nature. I hope this means we'll be working together from now on, cause it's been kinda sucky being on the opposite team.


Flip the Switch.

Derby girls are known for creating personas for themselves. We leave our mild-mannered identities at home and costume up in garish/sexy/subversive/punk gear. We assume a new name and identity in derby; become someone else for the purpose of performance and fun. Someone who is Bigger, Louder, Wilder, Meaner. She is our alter-ego; the "super" to our "hero".

She is the person the crowds cheer for and other players fear. And for most of us, she is the reason we keep coming back, hour after grueling hour of practice, hit after hit. Cause SHE loves derby. She IS derby.

With that, I'm pleased to introduce to my blog friends the chica that helps me flip the switch and become a derby girl.

Kitty Killswitch #266
Position: Pivot/Blocker

Bio: Born on the hood of a 390 GT Mustang, Kitty lives life as she entered it; kicking and screaming. Her love of fast cars and faster living was legendary in the small town she grew up in, where pedal to the metal was a way of life and the badges knew her by name. Tragedy struck early in life when her infamous Railway Overpass Stunt went horribly wrong and changed Kitty's life forever. Airlifted to Megacity's Military Hospital, it took over 30 surgeries and a dedicated team of crack Biosoft surgeons to bring her shattered body back to life. State of the art bionics and a cerebral-digital interface were intended to make her the ultimate soldier; but an unexpected bioware glitch marked her as defective. She spends her days skulking around the shadows of society and her nights burning up the track. Technology resurrected her body, but speed keeps her alive.

Favorite Saying: A sucking chest wound is nature's way of telling you to slow down.

Only FIVE MORE SLEEPS til the bout. Hoo-ah!


Hurts So Good.

I finished my first full CrossFit workout tonight.

I knew I was in for a crazy hurt when our "warmup" was a workout. Start with 3 rounds of Cindy.

See, CrossFit names their workouts like we name hurricanes. I guess cause they hit you like a storm, or something. Cindy consists of 5 pull-ups, 10 push-ups and 15 squats. She's a mini-hurricane, but enough to get the blood flowing and wondering what the real thing will be like.

Our coach further entertained herself by making us do 2 rounds of side-side jumps and something called "quick hands" which is sorta like a pushup, but isolating the work to each side of your body at a time, so much harder and not something I would look forward to doing again. I'm sure we'll be doing it again, though.

Then... on to the real Work.

5 rounds (for time, which means you gotta find your Hustle)

20 Kettlebell Swings (25 lbs)
10 Box Jumps (24" height)
10 Push Press (45 lbs)

I loved it and I hated it.

I was the only one of our group that actually did the box jumps. Everyone else modified to step-ups on shorter boxes. And I am proud of myself for that. Not only did it make the workout hugely more difficult but it was a total Head Thing for me that I overcame. I've always felt that I was a bit "vertically challenged", so to speak. And attempting and MISSING a box jump? Is an immediate ticket to Bloodied, Messed Up Shin World. So yeah, it was a big deal for me to clear that box for all five rounds. And the Push Press is just one of those things that feels so super hardcore when you do it, so that was pretty cool, too. I mean, you have to love it when your workout makes you feel like a powerlifter. Even when you're clearly not one.

p.s. This was my 100th post on this second incarnation of my lil blog. I really couldn't come up with anything better... sad, I know.



Fifteen days until my first roller derby bout.

I have butterflies already.

They're sitting on top of some pretty sore Crossfittin muscles and a wrecked up C3 vertabrae that I need to get chased back into place real freakin soon.

Crossfit. Loving it. Completed two Foundations classes this week and they totally blew my mind. Worked on some Olympic lifts which has been a long time goal of mine and generally felt pain in every part of my body. Thankfully, I get along with pain just fine and come back for more. Crossfit's mascot is Pukey the Clown. I have a feeling I may just meet him, yet, despite my cautious pre-workout meals.

Some highlights:
* Getting rid of a persistent "butt wink" at the bottom of my Squat. I could always Feel it, but never knew what to do to get rid of it.
* OLifting! Squats, Front Squats, Overhead Squats, Deadlifts, Sumo-Deadlift Highpulls, Push Press, Push Jerk, Thrusters. All surprisingly technical and so very effective.
* ZooWalking. Sweet zombies! Bear, duck, frog, crab, chicken... the list kept going and going and we kept going and going... length after length of contorting, balanced movements that seemed simple but brought the pain.
* Pull-Ups. New goal: to do these badboys unassisted.
* Turkish Get-Ups. Like lyrical dance with a 30 lb iron kettlebell lifted overhead. Full body workout in one movement.
* Kettlebell swings. Hell for the glutes and way too much fun.

Finally decided to see a chiropractor today about this neck issue. Took a crazy hit a couple weeks ago in a scrimmage and when I hit the ground I felt pretty much every bone in my spine crunch, ending with that icky little tippy top place under my skull. It was bothering me, some days more than others, and my usual "wait and see" game seemed to be the best bet. Sometimes my body just flicks things back where they should be. Or else... it totally doesn't and I end up locked up like Alcatraz. We got jail time this go around.

My regular chiro couldn't see me, so I went to see Mr. F's chiro and was pretty impressed. He totally did an electrical assessment and reading of impulse activity and range of motion and diagnosed some long-term strains and issues in my SI joint. And then he worked on all the crunchy bits in my neck and actually got somewhere with them. I'm currently icing and heating and feeling a lot better than I did this morning. Follow up on Wednesday and then I'm hopefully good until the bout.

So yeah, fifteen days. Just five more practices and about as many workouts planned. We may get our butts kicked in the worst way at the bout, but it won't be for lack of trying!

Open Letter to Mother Nature.

Seriously Mother Nature? Can we not be less Original with the weather, lately? I mean, we've kinda set -- I don't know -- a precedent or something over the past millenia and us creatures of the earth have come to appreciate and expect a certain cycle, so to speak. Generally... spring follows winter, which is then followed by summer. Remember that little rhythm? See, so do we. So, when you start getting all Creative and splishing and splashing Random Days of Snow into what should be WELL into Spring-like weather? The people round here get all jumped up and, Mother Nature?... I'm not sure the collective spirit of humanity round these parts is really feeling the love for you right now. In fact, you may have a mutiny on your hands.

I get that sometimes it's fun to F around with the big thermostat in the sky... I imagine I might be tempted to do the same, were I ancient and allpowerful and mystical like yourself. But I'd like to think I'd have the good sense to call that junk off when the humor of the situation has done run it's course. And, just so you know? So done.

So, if you don't mind, I'd be happy to recommend a few weather options to get us back on track. Just a starting point, mind you. But something you may find useful to have in your back pocket for those days when you're having some kind of cosmic hot flash and are considering turning on the fan and dumping ice on the whole joint.

1) More sun. This is really the backbone of a good spring routine and should be the foundation and starting point of each day you plan, really. Trust me.

2) Less wind. Please, for the love of all that's good and holy and true... much less wind.

3) Rain. Just some ground rules about rain. It is needed. Agreed on that point. But, try to throw it in along with the sun and less wind. (please kindly refer to points #1 and #2) People will be much, much happier, I promise.

4) Seasonably warm temperatures. Try revving the engine a bit and bring things up at least 10 - 15 degrees. We're a bit behind on that aforementioned cycle of things, here. You need to kickstart that puppy a good one.

5) No snow. Absolutely, completely, without any shadow of doubt or question... NO FRAKKING SNOW. We should be beyond that crap, OK? Simple rule. Learn it. Love it. Live it.

There. I think that should get you well on your way. Simple things, these... but I realize that everyone needs a little push in the right direction from time to time. Just glad I could be around to help out a friend. Cause we are friends, Mother Nature, aren't we? I think I may just be the only one around here still talking to you.



For all the sweet, tender hugs given by the Kid every night and the way he still calls me "Mommy" when sayin goodnight when he's tired of trying to be the big boy.

For collapsing on each other in giggles over some shared funny moment, always ending in a mother-daughter high five cause we're awesome like that.

For the way he brought his baby blanket to me last week when I was not feeling well and gently tucked it in around my shoulders.

For the evenings spent listening to her voice read to me, sometimes looking up at me to wonder about the pronunciation of a word. Her voice clear and expressive. For the emotion that quavers her throat during the touching stories and how she finds the heart of each character.

For the way he still throws up an "I Love You" sign with his hand whenever we say goodbye and waits to see my hand do the same before he blows me a kiss that I hold tight to my heart, wondering when this, too, will be a relic of childhood lost to growing pride.

For her love of music and lyric and movement. For the beautiful singing voice she finally has decided to share with us, growing more in her own confidence and sense of self.

For the way he finds the funny in me, is the Foil, the Straightman. How he delights in making people laugh.

For the pride that swells my heart seeing her grow as a little horsewoman, a true natural with grace and an easy capability that awes me to see. She is fearless and sensible all at once and absolutely in love with those giant animals.

For how he only knows how to go full speed. Hairpin turnin' - on fire - big air and loud. Somehow he always lands on his feet with a smile on his face.

For her zany characterizations that leave me in stitches, her impeccable sense of comedic timing and showmanship.

Today I am thankful to be a mother. A mother to two terrific, sweet and seriously supercool kiddos that challenge me, make me smile, fill my heart with love and joy.

I am a lucky, lucky girl.



-- Did my first time trial last night. Five laps in 55 seconds. Which comes in neatly under the regulation WFTDA time of one minute. I could gripe about the dusty floor (it was) and my dirty wheels (they were). Bottom line is that I was happy to make the cut time but hope to do better next time.

-- It is official! The Bone City Rollers are bouting in 25 more sleeps! ACK!! I have exactly 10 more practices to make a derby player of myself. Holy crap. We are scrimmaging every practice and I am hurting in all sorts of places. I currently have a heat pack on my shoulder and could really use a good back massage and cracking. I have an assortment of ass-bruises and a deep purple welt in the shape of a skate wheel on the back of my calf. My collarbone got slammed by someone's wristguard last night and it's also a lovely shade of Bruise. My leg muscles have not gotten a break in weeks and I think I might have a case of derby leg. (That would be when your right leg muscles become more developed than your left leg from constantly skating counter-clockwise) Must add some extra training for my left leg... poor thing. Oh, and our coach is adding some killer off-track training these last weeks before the bout.

-- Our annual General Meeting is this weekend and I'm running for a position. I'd like to say that I'm not sure if I'll get it, but currently, my name is the only one posted for voting. So, yeah... I might be the new Inter-League rep. Which I just found out last night means that I would be representing our league at the National RollerCon in Las Vegas. Can you say SUH-weet? Totally.

-- My lingerie drawer is loving derby. My pocketbook not so much. Thankfully, Mr. F. is happy enough to foot the bill for fishnets and thigh-highs and ruffle panties. :D I guess if I'm gonna pick an expensive sport to play, it might as well appeal to the baser instincts of the Husband.

-- I love that these past weeks, I've not felt like Fresh Meat anymore. I'm taking hits, I've landed some solid ones, too. I'm booty blocking and anticipating the plays. I've even jammed in some scrimmages and surprised myself against some more seasoned jammers and better skaters. The game is starting to make sense in my head and my skates are starting to feel like a part of me. Sure, I still have off-moments -- and some that are embarrassing (at least in my head they are). But generally I feel like I'm hitting the mark and perhaps slotting in as that solid player that -- mostly -- won't let her team down. I'll probably never be a derby star... but that's OK. I'll be Me and I'll have fun and that's enough.

The Hammy Chronicles; pt 1

Morning is not my favorite time of day. Actually, I like morning just fine... I just don't operate well in it. Unless there's coffee or nookie involved, I generally wander through the first half-hour after waking in prime zombie style. Crooked gaze of the undead? Check. Halting, stumbling steps? Check. Unintelligible mumbling? Checkity check check.

A shower greatly improves my clarity. So, apparently, does being told by the Princess that Hammy the hamster is no longer inhabiting his habitat.

In fact, those words pretty much jumpstarted this zombie heart.

My first reply might have been, "You're joking." Then again, it might have been something slightly more sailor-ish. I couldn't tell you, cause my brain was left somewhere on my pillow whilst my body ran full tilt towards the habitat.

I saw the little den door. It was open. O-PEN. Open. Holy crap, it was open.

No sign of the little furry monster anywhere in his luxurious little two story, four bedroom Hamster Habitat. This was not good. My brain raced with all the possibilities. 1700 square feet of two-story, three bedroom People Habitat... where would a little hamster go? Why oh why are my kid's rooms such a mess? (And seriously? I ask that every day. Just that this morning it was a question completely transformed with new significance as I realized that "mess" equals "never, ever, ever find the hamster again".)


The family room was the cleanest and nearest locale and a quick search cleared it. No Hammy to be seen. I sent the Princess to her pigsty... errr... ROOM (I admit that I may have milked the "messy room/never find Hammy again" message a bit at this point. I am a cruel, cruel mother.) and I considered whether to turn my attentions downstairs or to the remaining bedrooms. I was just about to wake up the Kid in order to search his room when I heard Mr. F. call my name.

See, this whole drama was unknown to him, being in the shower while it unfolded. So, he was suitably surprised to open the shower door and meet the beady-eyed gaze of a certain rusty-colored hamster peeking around the bathroom door before waddling off back into our bedroom.

"UH, FLUTTERBY!? What is the hamster doing in our room?"

Which was actually incredibly good news to my ears. Hammy had been spotted. I cordoned off the room (which is to say, I closed the door...) and within seconds Hammy's fat little body was spotted trucking off into the corner. After a few snatch and grab attempts, I had the little spaz in my hands.

Hammy was not appreciative. All the Cool-Girl-Flutterby vibe was gone in an instant and he went a little berserker on me. Perhaps the term "Vibrating, Spinning, Clawing Tasmanian Hamster-devil" may be a close description. He even chattered squeaky little hamster-swears at me; which, had I not been trying to mitigate bodily harm, might have been a little bit cute. But all considerations of the word "cute" disappeared once he peed on my hand. (I know. So gross.) I managed to hold on to him long enough to deposit him unceremoniously back in his habitat and inform a tearful Princess that Hammy had been found.

All participants have been debriefed and the Kid is on some serious probation (being found guilty of leaving a particular den-door open after saying "goodnight" to the Rodent). Hammy is totally on lockdown. And I am having a hard time feeling the hamster love at this point.

On the other hand, the Princess has cleaned her room.

Maybe the Rodent can stay.


My daughter, the Jedi.

I am just gonna come right out and say this.

There are good reasons why this household does not have pets.* Really, really good reasons. Reasons which are reasonable and make a whole lot of sense.

1.) Mr. F. has some crazy allergies to most furry creatures. And generally dislikes the furry creatures he is not allergic to.

2.) We're really not home that much to properly care/train/love/attend to the needs of a living creature which needs large amounts of time devoted to caring/training/loving/attending.

3.) We travel often. Which would generally mean mucho kenneling expenses and very sad furbabies when we are gone.

4.) Let's face it, the grommets are not of the most responsible ilk. On the compass of life, their true north aims more towards the free-wheeling, charming AVOIDANCE of responsibility. And yes, I do what I can to fight it all the way, but seriously? Adding one more battle to the agenda is not high on my list. And frankly, I need things added to MY chore list like I need a roundhouse kick to the head.

5.) We have a bad history with pets. Like the kittens that had to be re-homed once Mr. F. discovered that with the onset of his asthma he also became the unlucky recipient of furry-thing allergies. Or the boxer that we dog-sat in hopes that perhaps we would become it's new family despite Mr. F's dislike of dogs. Or the SIX goldfish that got flushed one after the other despite herculean efforts to save them, resulting in one abandoned fish tank and involuntary shudders from the Princess at the mere mention of "goldfish". (Seriously, it was really that traumatic. I will never allow another goldfish in my house, ever.) Or the incredibly sad encounter with the world's best and most beautiful puppy that I will ever know and not get to love.

See? Lots and lots of really, really good reasons why we do not have pets.

So why can I look over my shoulder and see a Habitrail OVO hamster habitat and hear the rummaging of little rodent feet?

"Why is that?" you ask? Let me tell you. I have no idea why. No. Idea.

Somewhere between the pleading eyes of my offspring and their wheedling voices and shared YouTube videos demonstrating the adorable features of hamsterdom (Curse you, YouTube, and your broccoli-nibbling hamsters!), I caved. I allowed a thought, a mere wisp of favorable consideration enter my mind and the rest was accomplished through pure sorcery and Jedi mind trickery, I assure you. Clearly, I have underestimated the Princess' unity with the Force.

And thus, Hammy has come to live with us. And I have to admit that he's a cute little crapper, with his rusty, fluffy fur and perky round ears and shiny black eyes and sniffy little nose... and fracking sharp teeth. Yes, I have encountered the teeth. (Hammy almost "encountered" the wall.) But we're OK now, Hammy and me. I fed him some cucumber and he's figured out that my finger is not food and that I will not kill, maim or otherwise harm him. In fact, I think he maybe even likes me a bit. At least, he seems to be sending out the "You're pretty cool, Flutterby-chick." vibe. Not that I speak fluent hamster or anything.

So, for the next few years, Hammy's gonna be hanging out with us.

Any bets on who will be cleaning out his habitat??

* Drippy the Bettafish doesn't exactly count as a pet. The little dude thrives on neglect. He's spent the past two years chillin' in his puddle of fishy filth. I don't know who feeds him. I don't. I do clean his tank every month (or so) and he thanks me by making nice little bubble nests. He is a happy, happy fish.