5x5

Growing up, 25 was the magic age. It seemed like at 25 people were really grown up, and since I was the sort of child who was born with full-fledged adult neurosis, I always wagered that by 25 I would grow into my skin fully. It was the age I expected my career (directorial career, just in case you were wondering) to start to take off as well as the age after which I was allowed to get married because I would have lived enough to know what I wanted (jumped the gun, obviously.)
Of course, the reality is I am still uncomfortable in my skin and I am currently unemployed with not even a vague premonition for the future. I was still kind of holding out hope that a little fairy would descend on me at 4:30 this morning and bestow knowledge and maturity and grace, but as I woke up feeling the same, looking the same, and dancing the same, I assume I'm on my own. A few weeks ago I decided that 25 was going to be my year of adventure. I was going to list things that I'd always wanted to do but was always afraid to try. But that was in an upswing of confidence, and I have since refolded myself into the tiny box where I feel safe but angsty, knowledgable but useless.
Instead of the year of adventure, I think this is going to end up being my year of figuring things out. I don't expect to have the whole of my life gridded out, but I am going to try to make solid steps in a certain direction. Because of the move, I am working with a fairly clean slate, and I believe it is essential for me to take advantage of it before I get lost under the pile of day to day worries once more.
I am happy to find that at 25, I have begun to love living even though it is messy. I am happy to find that, even though love and marriage are concepts I still struggle with, in reality I am so happy that I get to be in love and with my love every day. I am happy to find that, while my brain may not be fully university trained, it still bends and flexes (despite my efforts to squish it with internet surfing and television). I am also happy to find, that underneath my bitter exterior there remains the kernel of a generous spirit.
Which is really too too serious of a discussion for a birthday; who wants to make a margarita in my mouth?

Gee

So the movers just came and did an inventory. There's nothing like having a stranger evaluate your belongings to enhance your already tenuous grasp on adulthood. Suddenly the haphazard artwork, the six foot cutout of Jordi LaForge, the giant 'bean bag' chair seem infantile. Fortunately is was a middle aged dude who did the survey, so there was no trace of the my mother's raised eyebrows at my less than hygienic cleaning habits. If he was of that opinion, he kept it to himself. His only personal comment was, "You got a lot of books." Which really is more a statement of fact, because we do.
Yeah, so it's really happening. I'm leaving the Lou. I should be saying, "It's about fucking time." But I've grown to love it in the last two years. I'm sure some of my regret is garnered by the fact that I am not leaving for a shiny metropolis, but I'm actually really looking forward to investigating the weird eclectic vibe I got from Columbus, so I think it's just that STL is my home and it always kinda will be.
But seriously, we're moving in less than a month. Eep.
Also I will be 25 in two days. Eeep.
And I still haven't written my first book (or accomplished ANYTHING). So much for prodigy.

SPT: Hypocrisy

So here's the thing, I rag on Ryan a lot because of his dvd addiction. But some Tuesdays I get an armful of goodies from him that make me happy he's got his little problem. This was one of those weeks. Nearly everything he pulled out of the boxes was something I wanted, in fact was something I was counting on him succumbing to (Huff). So I guess my little happy squeals (and the fact that I kissed the Capote box) plop me into the category of enabler. It's a role I'm comfortable with.
At least this week.

Another Damn Derby Poll

On the name front...

Also... Twitch Firebird. Or Clutch Firebird. Or something...

So much eating...

I went to the ARRG barbecue last night, as promised. It was at Cid's house, who is one of my favorite rollergirls by far, so it was easy for me to schlepp down to South City. It was fun, but I ate waaaay too much. I've been doin' it plain this week, coffee and toast and Girl Scout cookies, and so to have a smorgasbord of yummies (spicy chicken legs and ice cream cake and a bowl of cheese and brownies) was overwhelming and I'm pretty sure I had one or three of everything before the night was over. I also indulged in the sort of drinking that I never do: a shot glass roulette game with Pucker and Schnapps (Ugh, I am not a fan, and of course my numbers kept coming up) and Jello shots (which are yummy). And while at one point I definitely had a drunk on, it disappeared quickly and was replaced by the low hum of a headache. I like whiskey's drunk better, but considering I have no trace of hangover today I guess I can see why people like the sweet stuff. I played a mad game of pool, where I jumped balls over other balls to hit my balls into the pocket. All by accident of course. Overall it was a good time (even though some of my other favorite gals were not in attendance). I came home to a passed out husband (surprise, surprise) and an inviting bed.
The end.

Recap

I never realized how many thumps the house has. I think I catalogued them when we first moved here during the first nights when I couldn't sleep, and then stuffed cotton in my ears every night thereafter. Or maybe it's Ryan's snoring that muffles them so. Anyway, this house rattles from soup to nuts. Some of the rattles are very loud bangs, the sorts of bangs that make you pop up into ready stance while reading a book. Twice. It's sort of like living in a dream where you are being followed by something, but you don't know quite what. It is always at the edges of your periphery lurking. It is unnerving.
I actually got some things done today, the most important of which is a calendar scheduling my activity (loosely) from here mid to late April. I haven't assigned myself but one or two tasks a day, but I think accomplishing these tasks will help me feel like less of a slug.
Still thinking up new derby names. I am trying to veer away from the punny ones and stick with images that I think are powerful: Still like Firebird and Tarantula, also Powder Keg and am playing with the images of fuses, volcanoes, etc (I like fire).
If I had any balls at all I'd go with two of Ryan's suggestions that have been cracking me up all night:
Twatsky
&
Rock You Like a Hurricane.
Sadly I'm just not woman enough to claim them.

SPT

What unemployment looks like.

Silly WW

More brilliance at: KPollyArt

What's at the other end of this well?

I skipped all of the scheduled rollergirl activities this weekend. A concert/benefit, dinner at Outback, drinks... Practice was canceled Sunday due to a previously scheduled event at our rink. I wouldn't have skipped that. I think I may be erasing myself from the team.
Instead we went to Annalise's school play (Stage Door performed by middle-schoolers, she was adorable and funny and really present in every scene. I bet she gets an awesome part next year). And yesterday we went over to James' parents' house for his b-day dinner, where we got to eat unbelievably yummy Korean food that honestly I could have spent the entire evening gorging myself on. I also managed to go up to BBH with the kids and then back to 521 to chat and watch James play this strange video game with a hyper-violent/weirdly sexual Ancient Greece theme.
I have to say that more than anything it was wonderful to see all those kids again. I love roller derby, but I felt more at home than I have in a long time just sitting and drinking with them. Especially getting the chance to moan and groan with Diana about the world. Sometimes I think she may be the one of the only people who has as much pent up aggression tangled with such goddamn persistent hope as me. Our friendship got a little bumblefucked this year; we both had lots of things going on and really we were due for a parting. I don't normally keep friends that long and we're both so peculiar that it's amazing we haven't gotten caught on the mismatched ridges before now... Anyway suffice to say last night was nice, and now I'm really going to miss everyone like crazy.
Ryan spent the whole weekend packing his dvds. Which I promise is a Herculean task. And I spent most of the rest of the weekend in bed, or screaming in outbursts, and watching V for Vendetta (which everyone seems to have liked it but me)...

And so you might see what I mean

And one more thing...

I am a destructive drunk. So if I think, yeah I'll have one more glass of whiskey beacuase after all it's St. Pat's, then I will inevitably spend the rest of the night fighting the urge to lick lightbulbs, pour water on my sleeping husband, and shave off my luxurious hair. Just so you know.

Bill of goods, Babe.

Fuselage
Jamboree
Intestines
Monkey
Salivate
Tungsten
Charming
Dak Bool Go Gi
Salmonella
Chance
Beauty
Dot
Puzzle
Graphite
Fingers
Bridge
Tambourine

I dunno. You figger it out...

A Moment of Light

Okay it turns out that the endorphins produced whilst skating are the solution to all of my gloggy woes. Hell, even the crunches felt good (and I did lots extra instead of knee drops). My knee kinda feels like shit, but my brain sure doesn't care. Now when I can't make it down the stairs tomorrow morning... that's a different tale. But for right now I am feeling good. Like heroin good.
Now to resume couch potatodom... watching 'Lost' now.

SPT

Just a reminder that I am not as lovely as the girl in the photo below might lead some to believe. Just a reminder that a screeching banshee also shares that shell.

Anti-climax (DHS)

I take Henry to the hospital where they put him in a bed. I request that the especially pretty and the especially nice nurses on duty give him a sponge bath in tandem. I call in a few Hats with open schedules and fill their arms with Vanity Fairs and Twizzlers and ask them to watch over his room. Henry has come out of his abduction remarkably unscathed. A few contusions, and the expected lethargy, but overall he is intact. He even winked at me as I left the room.
My work for tonight is not done yet. I double back to the Jando residence, scale the fence and evade security. What I want to do is suffocate them all in their sleep. Place a firm hand over their nostrils and mouths and press down until no air comes in or out. I want to drop bits of poison onto toothbrushes and read the headlines in tomorrow's paper while chewing on an English muffin at Henry's bedside. The Hats don't like killing. In fact one of the bylaws expressly forbids it except in extreme circumstance. The hairs on the back of my neck and the hate in the pit of my gut tell me this is an extreme circumstance, but I know better than to listen to them. But I cannot let it go. I will not be batted about like some kitty toy; will not have those I love put in harm's way for a bit of fun.
And so this is what I do: I slip past the boy's bedrooms and slither into Mr. Jando's bedroom. He snores like a big man with a deviated septum does, in loud thunderous rattles. The television is on, and it's glow illuminates his heaving mass. On the set a man chops up a liver and tosses it into a blender-shaped gadget. I don't get to see the climax, as by the time the actor's finger is on the button, I am in Mr. Jando's massive closet and breaking into his safe.
I leave the jewels. I leave the unmarked bills. I even leave a half-burnt picture of a little girl I can only assume is his long dead sister. I take the files, decades of cooked books in paper and electronic form. I stuff them down the front of my shirt. My pettiness overwhelms me and I snip out the pockets of his Armani suits.
At the police station they have no idea what to do with the evidence I'm giving them. They gather around in their blue uniforms, scratching their heads until the lightbulbs above them begin to glow dimly with a vague recognition. I play the stupid girl, a role I'm fond of. I say I found them in a dumpster behind my apartment, that they seem sorta important. Finally someone's bulb bursts with a power surge of ideas, and they call the D.A.. From there my work is done.
During the trial, I hide in the back of the courthouse and watch pens and loose change fall out of his suit. Then I head to work where Henry and me play backgammon and eat macaroons in the Danger Hat Room.

Slug

So my knee's still all wonky and I'm giving it another night's rest, and so I'm sitting here like a lump trying to solve some of the meaning of the universe. But instead my mind is flitting to the televsion and stupid websites. I am exchanging profundity for docile entertainment. I feel the need to accomplish something, but I don't know what. The air outside is heavy and hot, a physical manifestation of the oppression of my current limbo. I don't really know how I got to this point in my life. I had dinner at my Dad's tonight. I lived in his house only two years ago, but I can barely remember the experience of it. I have the same experience when I go to 521, whose crevices I used to know so intimately. How is life passing by so quickly, and why can't I seem to make anything stick. Everything is overwrought with neurotic decision making in the present, but it all just ends up a vague memory when it's past. Everything is sliding past like the jello with hard bits of fruit in it. And I'm losing my head again.

Witness Protection

So I got my quarterlife crisis hair done. I think it came out sah-weet, somewhere between Bettie Page and Dark Phoenix. Also I need to come up with a new derby name (god, does it ever stop?) There's another Lucy or two up on that team already and besides my number (5 cents) is already taken by Foxy Force 5. So it's back to the drawing board, here's a few that have been conjured up:

Maimer Van Doren
Veronica Break
Lois Pain
Veronica Dodge
The Tarantula
The Surreal McCoy (a name tossed out on the ARRG! boards)

or maybe just:
Firebird

Sap

Fuck the rollergirls and fuck Ken. Fuck all of them for making me love them so much.

Today's practice took me to the brink and over the brink of my physical capabilities. But as I was floundering on the floor, my only thoughts were, "Breathe, breathe, breathe" and "I need to start working out every damn day because I am not as strong as I am going to be."

I got to jam through a group of tough ladies. I am amazed at my persistence. I kept pounding until I got through, even though it was hard, even though it took the better part of a lap, even though as I started to pass the last girl, I got smashed into the boards and felt my knee give ever so slightly as I hit the floor.

I am not near the best rollergirl out there. I am weak, I am out of breath, but my whole heart is in it and I give to the last drop. And I have never loved myself more because of it. I want to be so much better than I am right now, and I'm so much better than I was two weeks ago.

I'm so upset I have to leave my team. I know there's another waiting, but I swear the ladies I skate with now are some of the smartest, hardest chicks I've ever known. I thought the Amazons were a myth, but now I know better, because I roll with them.

SPT (W)

Sorry, I'm a little off schedule... life, you know...

With one of my new sproingy outdoor wheels...



And the set,



I'll get back on track shortly...

Columbus Recon

So I'm back from Columbus, and I'm still confused. It seems like a really cool place actually. There's a couple great city neighborhoods that will be fun to live/play in. I even found a job opp that I am technically underqualified for, but might be able to sweet talk my way into.
It's just that the city is really really clean and it kinda freaks me out. I know, I know it's the capital and things get a little more care. But golly goodness, spit a little gum on the sidewalk folks.
Also I was SUPPOSED to go skate with the Ohio Rollergirls, but that kind of went poof into smoke. Funny story: The skate session I was supposed to meet up with everyone at turned out to be a clever ruse for a surprise party for my one contact in the league. That's right, the one person who I was arranging things with was the one person who had no idea what was going to happen. She very considerately called and invited me to her surprise party once she knew. And in a shocking twist, I actually mustered up the social juevos to go. And I stayed for like a whole hour, hour and half and chatted and drank a rum and coke and ate some cake. Then decided to head out to store some sleep for the drive home. La! Funny story: Ryan warned me to keep tabs on his phone, the hotel key, and the rental car key lest I feel his wrath the next morning. And I was so proud of myself when I got back to our (crummy) hotel room and presented him with his phone. Only to realize I had handed him someone else's phone. Ryan's was in my bag too; I have no idea how the other one got in there as I hadn't been aware of its existence until that very moment. So I ended up having to drive back to the party (where everyone was a little drunker), It turned out to be a serendipitous thing because the coach was standing on the front porch and I got to talk with him. He eased my concerns about being able to make the team this year (hooray!) and also offered to hook me up with some Columbus relocation info he has on hand (he's a doctoral candidate at THE Ohio State University and provides welcoming committee services to incoming grad students). La!
After that I went back to the motel and passed out. La!
The next morning Ryan and I went out to breakfast with a guy who will be working in the same department and his wife. Funny story: His wife works for a small publisher who's focus is after school program materials for students. When I mentioned that I spastically write/draw, she mentioned that maybe I should do something for them... While I doubt I'm actually qualified, it's a good connection to have.(This is not the aforementioned job, which I'm not going to discuss lest I jinx it...)
The End
La!

The Ol' P&V

Nothing too new to report. Ryan and I are heading out to Columbus this weekend to check things out, but he's honestly accepting the offer in about a week. I have cardboard boxes in the back of my car. We're moving. I'm actually a little excited, the more I look at it the more Columbus seems kinda cool and while I'll miss my friends here there's no guarantee that any of them will be here in five years. And who knows, maybe I'll be back, or somewhere else. My only real concern at this point (and stop me if you've heard this one) is that I will miss the roller derby season because recruitment will have closed by the time I'm actually up there. I've been trying to separate my heart from it a little, but then Coach Ken comes back last night and kicks everybody's ass and I'm head over heels all over again. Also I went to a meeting at Sarah Kate's last night and out of my mouth shoots all this knowledge of derby, I've been spending so much time researching and reading and watching and practicing that I can't imagine ever giving it up.

I need to learn how to block better though.

Also, I may be sharing a booth with one of Ryan's friends (Ryan actually) at the Chicago Comic Con this summer. That is IF I finish my stuff and If he still wants to sit next to me once he sees it and IF nothing falls through. But it's a good goal. I think I'm going to waver a bit here and return Mostly Tish and Clyde back to its original comic format. I was going to novel it up, but so much of the weirdness and sentiment that I have planned for it is visual, so I'll just have to go buy some good markers and hunker down and draw (and not tear them up).

What are you doing here (DHS)?

"I'm, I'm...," I fumble the words worse than I normally do. "I didn't know you went to this school."
Akwete is standing in the doorway, his necktie in his hands. The rest of his suit is pristine, the finest Italian tailoring. His blue black skin beautifully absorbs the fluorescent light. I always forget his royal heritage when we're at the DHS room and his face is smeared with Cheeto grease and he cheats at backgammon, but the way he cocks his head with princely consternation at my pretzeled position reminds me who he is. Or was, rather.
Ornella snatched him away as his family was being ousted by warlords. Technically he's the deposed king of an African nation that's name has changed fifteen times since she tucked him under her arm and flew home to Italy. He's her heir, like I am Henry's. But since I am not exactly performing DHS duties at the moment, I demure, "Doc Costa's an old friend of mine. I'm just playing a trick."
"Really?"
"Sure. Will you please turn out the lights. You'll spoil the surprise."
"Can I join in? He's my advisor."
"No. Go back and dance. Have fun."
"I'd rather stay here." He says, crossing his arms stubbornly.
"Don't you have a pretty girl somewhere waiting?" I say.
"I don't like these chitty girls. They smell like powdered makeup and cheese fries."
I laugh, snort actually, then frown and tell a half truth, using the a Society tone of voice.
"I'm here for Henry."
"Fine. But I'm bored and now it's all your fault."
"I'll buy you an a sno-cone tomorrow. Three flavors."
"I'm not a child anymore," he says. And then, "Four and it's a deal."
I nod in agreement and he slips out the door. I stand up, brush the carpet fibers from my dress, and steal a few M&Ms from the bowl on the desk.
The Jando boys are already out in the parking lot. One of them has Tammy pinned like a butterfly to the trunk of the limo. I want to turn around and play hide n'seek with Akwete, but the memory of Henry's copper eyes and slack jaw propels me forward.
"Where've you been?" JJ asks me.
"Taking care of business."
"I wanted to dance with you," he says/
I laugh again. Snort, actually. Then I look up into his muddy blue eyes which are radiating with a frightening sincerity.
"My apologies," I say.
"I like girls you know. But I have a funny sense of humor sometimes," he says giggling. And then his fist connects with my gut. I lose consciousness for the first time in a week. When I come to we are sitting in the Jando's circular drive. JJ is still laughing. Henry is sitting next to me, pennies still taped over his eyes, his mouth still full of sweatsock.
"Dad says good job," JJ says through a wicked smirk. " He'd talk to you himself, but it's past his bedtime." Then he leans in and wetly kisses me with a warm, sour milk mouth. "See you next year, eh?"