The Saturday morning sun reflected off the arrows' fletching beautifully. Lady O and I were ready to face our second day of Wild West Showdown madness. O was scheduled for the first bout of the day (ten in the morning), which meant there was time to neither dilly nor dally. We hopped into the car and made our way over to the venue with an hour to spare. My stomach rumbling, I headed to a trusted friend of the fairground goer, the food truck.
|Like this one, except not being driven by a longhaired dude referring to himself as "the Jewish Cowboy."|
|Joe Mama's jokes were funny and I can't repeat them.|
The day continued to roar on. I called with Magic Pony Power Hour on Track Three. We had no team rosters, so a lot of it was trial and error, but we did it! And by the end of that half-hour, almost everyone's name was said correctly.
My biggest gift of the morning was seeing the Coed Cripplers in action. It was in that bout I got to see Val Capone, B Train, Justice Feelgood Marshal, and Quadzilla up on the track as teammates. This was a rare treat, like a dog being able to steal a steak off his owner's plate. I was completely enthralled and with the sweet moves, hits and boutfits that made me twirl my ring around my finger lest I become the type of lech that calls Providence bouts every month while wearing a fringed jacket over my shirtless torso.
|Internet creeps, you're welcome!|
That night, Rose City took on Philly. With Elle Viento, Fists, and other vets back home, the Liberty Belles were showcasing five new players. I called the game with Draggin Lady, and our words were thrown across the wireless internet and into homes across the country (in Canada, they were politely handed to our viewers). Philly held their own, but the Rose City machine is racking people up and knocking them down. SmackYa Sideways, Cadillac, Acid, and White Flight shake my world. Scratcher in the Eye just demolishes it with sheer power. During my commentary, I was receiving texts from Dumptruck, Reverend Al, and skaters from back east who gave me words of encouragement like, "you're a clown," and "you mind if I date Dread while you're gone?"
Rejecting the premise of East Coast v. West Coast play on the track, I do see that the West Coast is ready to throw down at the party harder than the Northeast does. Being one of the exceptions to that statement, it was nice to get out and not feel like I was hanging out at a WASPy wedding reception. People were ready to shake their booties and throw themselves into the Satyr-like atmosphere with the type of abandon that you enjoyed in our youth. To symbolize that, I came wearing a boutfit worthy of the party:
|We were missing our Michaelangelo.|
I rarely need to drink, and being the designated driver was actually the best thing for me because dancing in a cable-knit sweater can get hot. Drinking liquor would have been a recipe for hangover city anyway. Sans pants, however, I was very comfy. While out on the floor, I ran into Val Capone who had found something under foot that deserved more care.
|Trampling this 'zine was heck of sad.|
|Clobbs says hello, Boston!|
The strangest thing that happened at the 'Dance Off came after finally meeting Chrome Molly of the Southern Oregon roller girls after months of mutual admiration on the DNN site. We danced and chatted before finally realizing who one another was, and I was excited to hear that her boyfriend listens for me on web casts. Thanks for listening, dude!
|Nothing better than meeting the lady that got you votes on the West Coast! Love to Chrome Molly forever!|
Shortly after we said hi, a skater came up to me and had this exchange:
Skater: So, is being here weird now that you're flying solo?
Me: Oh, I'm not! Lady O is right over there!
Skater: Crazy! You mean, you and her--?
Me: No, I .... (finally gets it) Oh, No...I'm still married to Dread.
Skater: Cool! (The skater, Chrome Molly and I go back to dancing)
Later on, a ref came up and asked how my divorce was going. Explaining that I was not getting divorced, he excused himself and said, "I have to go stop someone from making an ass of herself."
So yeah. Still married. But thanks. You made me blush through my turtle mask. Dread found the story funny, as I never get people are actually talking about that stuff until I almost walk into trouble. I'm the Forrest Gump of the romantic world, or the pretty girl who's all like "sure you can rub my back," before realizing it's probably not the best thing.
The night ended with me shouting at a gothy skater out my car window. "This is your weekend, honey! You rock it!" She thanked me. I realized that I just shouted to a lady out of a window.
I am a buffoon.