Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Early on a Sunday Morning

I woke up this past Sunday saying the same thing I had apparently said over and again the night before, after our annual Charm City Roller Girls banquet, “I feel like I got kicked in the face.” You know it’s a good party when you come away injured and no one was skating.

Two days later, now here on Tuesday, there’s no question about it: my nose is broken. Sunday morning everyone found it funny, and it totally was. What I found funny was what happened next.

Not having gotten to bed until around 6am, we slept in late – J and I, Chairman Meow, and our newest sponsor crew, JT and two guys from the Flying Dog brewery. With the keg leftover from the banquet still in the center of my kitchen floor, we all just kind of stood there moaning, getting up the energy to start our days.

As if the big blue Flying Dog Winnebago parked across the street from my house wasn’t startling enough to my next-door neighbors as they were loading up the kids to go to church on a Sunday morning, six of us filing out my front door with a keg sealed the deal. I’ve got to say that I found it hilarious. (I’m a good person and I know I am, so I’m really no longer worried what the neighbors who ignore me because I “live in sin” think.)

I love our annual banquet, and even though I came away with a broken nose and a busted elbow and knee, I’d still rank this banquet second in the “How-Wild-Was-That-CCRG-Banquet?” scale.

The banquet itself was bittersweet. It celebrated my last time sharing a track with some ladies I’ve skated with since the very beginning (Cheeta and Mibbs), yet as you know, I only got to skate in our first bout of the season last year, so part of me felt like the banquet wasn’t for me, highlighting once again how much being injured sucks.

However, I am fucking stoked for 2009. I’m currently running 4.5-5 miles at a time, several times a week, and my blocker ass even set the lofty goal of jamming for a team I was recently asked to join and play with at RollerCon in July: The Donut-Eating Fat Asses (my donut name is Sticky Buns!). Whenever I tell anyone about the team they either don’t know what to say or they tell me “That’s terrible!”, but really, it’s not. Hello – look at this blog!

Back to the banquet… I wanted to wear booty shorts, a tuxedo shirt, and suspenders, but I couldn’t find suspenders, so I instead wore a red spandex boob-revealing dress. I paid to get my hair done professionally, but I wound up looking like the Bride of Frankenstein’s grandmother, so I went and got some help from Jules Burn to brush out the hairspray. Running late, late, late and needing ice, ice, ice, I knew my 6-inch spike heels were not ice-getting heels, so I picked up my new bitch (his words, not mine), Chairman Meow, and we got ice.

After an hour of answering “Where’s the beer?”, JT showed up driving my new mobile party spot, the Flying Dog Winnebago – oh, and he brought the beer too. I started drinking beer and was handed really good single-malt by Magnificent Bastard. I hadn’t eaten all day (including at the banquet), so I begin to shove a square of cheese pizza into my face when Dirty Marty starts to announce my public call-out to get up on stage and talk about Sponsorship. So much for eating! The remainder of the night can be summed up shortly:

Cindy Grop-her showed up shortly after I appeared on stage, and I drank more scotch, drank more beer, drank some really good special beer, nearly killed myself a million times on various staircases in Baltimore, shamelessly adjusted my boobs in front of God and everyone (over and again), sat on Santa’s lap, realized Santa wasn’t who I thought he was, danced with Rosie’s man who puked on my friend at Oktoberfest in the Flying Dog Winnebago, danced more at the Ottobar, drank tequila at the Ottobar, took my shoes off, lost my coat, got kicked in the face (or elbowed or something else), unknowingly did pay my tab, and flung myself onto the broken and dirty asphalt in the driveway next to the Ottobar while trying to get a piggy-back ride back to the Winnebago so I could take everyone back to my house and party some more (aka, annoy everyone with hip-hop).

It all culminated in my pissing off my mom who was expecting us at her house at noon, but instead we slept till 11:00am and didn't roll up there until 3:00pm. Sometimes these things must happen. As for the banquet, I wouldn’t change a thing.

3 comments:

PENALTYna said...

speachless!!!! i'll be back to comment... i'm still trying to recup from the banquet!! for now.. i'm sorry about ur nose! u looked HAWTT in ur dress! ur my new BFF!! we do like Paris do!! ;)

Justice Feelgood Marshall said...

Man, I hope that broken nose wasn't due to my dancing too hard. I may not have been fully paying attention to my surroundings after a certain point. Good times nonetheless, though ... it is good to know that we have not lost the ability to party fiercely after three seasons.

Flux Incapacitator said...

You were looking hot and owning the mic there, missy. Good times.

I didn't know Cheeta was retiring. :(