Wednesday, December 15, 2010

Happy Birthday, Dreadnought

As of midnight, Dreadnought is now thirty-two. Roller Derby has been in our life for over three years. Since she was freshmeat, the ladies of the Boston Derby Dames and other New England leagues have assembled at either our home or rented out dancehalls to celebrate the passing of another year of Dread's life.

This year's celebration was held early. Unlike last year, there was no piƱata.

Elmo demanded tickles from the wrong lady.

Yes, Muppet slaughter was the highlight of 2009's party. Dread's battle axe cleaved Elmo, and much of the candy, in twain. Aware that we would have twice the people over as last year, the concept of swinging around Medieval weaponry was terrifying. We opted for another option with the same level of mayhem: Tree House Karaoke!

Hayley Contagious was the first to arrive, and helped me set up the party decorations and to test out the sound system. After "Allentown," "Aces High," and other karaoke staples we were raring to go. Our new apartment is larger than our previous one. However, I quickly discovered many of our friends are much like tigers raised in captivity. Open the cage door and they still cling to smaller environs for security.


On a special Meerkat Manor, BDD and NHRD invade my loft.
The loft in our treehouse is where I get most of my writing done. Typically, I'm the only one up there. However, from the start of the party to the end of the night, it had no fewer than seven people up there at any time. At one point, we had an entire team-load of skaters up there, singing along with Dread and Farmer Geddon to "Jackson." I'd upload the video, but it would melt your face.

Reverend Al, Chum Chum, Sticky, and our Dear Dr. Pepper Spray kept the jams going. Hayley and Dee kept reminding us they were ear delicious. Not to be upstaged, my erstwhile partner in crime, Johnny Deep,  took the microphone. "All right," he said. "Things are way too upbeat. Time for 50 CCs of melancholy."

Without missing a beat, he launched into "Sailing."

Leave it to Johnny Deep to break out Christopher Cross.
And. It. Was. Amazing.

I hate that song, I hate it. But under the auspices of Dread's birthday, Johnny's dead-on Christopher Cross left the party speechless. The sheer talent and fearlessness on display from all of the members of New England Roller Derby in attendance was staggering.

Chopper and Pep-Pep hold it down.

The Commodores brings out the animal in the Prince.

Goblin is a fine pillow.

A derby's eye view.


As the night wore on, and nearly everyone had a turn to either murder or massage their fellow guests' inner ear canals, Dread was overcome with the love and support of so many people with whom she had shared the track and long car-trips to away games with over her derby career. Those who couldn't make it were missed, but those who answered the call kept the night roaring.

Malicen Thunderland helped me hit the high notes of "Run to the Hills." Moody and Crowbar joined the chorus of folks who sang along to Bender's rendition of "Fairytale in New York," and current Massacre coach, Lil' Paine and I discussed arson and Vlad the Impaler. Good times.

The party was closed down by Dee, Eric, Nick, Hayley, Mike, and the hosts singing until 2:30AM. The next day, my voice was fine. Perhaps that book Lady O gave me is helping after all.

Today, on the actual anniversary of Dreadnought escaping the womb and racing into the world, I feel lucky. She is my light, my best friend, and marrying her is my greatest accomplishment to date. If you think that's sad, it's likely you have a lonely existence and I am laughing at you.

Happy Birthday, darling. I love you.

Adorable card from Jessie's folks.
Pictured here: Fate.