Dirty Britches

Okay, so this post is a little ex post facto, but it's still a good one. Two weekends ago we went to a roller derby dukeout, and it was AWESOME! According to the ticket, it's a roller derby game, but I think dukeout is much more appropriate. It's all chics, it's rough, and it's quality bitch-to-bitch combat. There are two teams and they skate around this track trying to block out the 'star' player. When the star weaves her way through the pack, her team gets a point. A round consists of 4 weaves, and it doesn't look easy. The girls are padded, but they still bite it pretty hard. During the first team game, I was totally into it and was ready to get my own skates and helmet. But upon further review, my mental committee decided to block that drive as it is a pretty rough team sport, especially for this rebutante. I'm cool with team sports, but am not into contact sports. And this is definitely full-on contact. So being a spectator is just fine with me. This is the second season here in KC, which was one of 8 leagues last year, and it has caught on nationwide. I think if there was a national roller derby league, it would be a huge success. Half the crowd was guys, and who would turn down an opportunity to watch girls get rough with other girls?! I can even forsee it becoming an olympic sport if it isn't already.

What Iike the most about this sport is the names and character creations. Dee Claw, Dirty Britches, Kay Oss, KiKi Yoasis, Ana Conda, and Thunderella were just some of skaters names. Min-T McJuliep would be a great addition to the team. Perhaps as their fierce mascot. It really is a cool sport that celebrates the individuality and strength of women. Go check out your local team!!

I Said STOP FOLLOWING ME!

Why do I get most of my blog inspirations late in the evening right around my bedtime?! Procrastination is a sneaky little devil. Despite the fact that my eyelids are being propped up with toothpicks and my throat feels like a smooth kind of sandpaper, the people in my head are chanting "sleep when you die" while they peacefully protest my going to sleep anytime soon. Thus, here I am, victim to my own need to spew off my latest prime cut in my stream of consciousness.

Today's adventure involved a two hour session at a local tailor fashionista. Had a great time trying on new styles and came up with something that is perfect for me. While in the dressing room, impulsivity consumed me and everytime I threw my street clothes on, a great fashion piece screamed at me for attention. I'm lucky I made it out alive. Afterwards, I went to a shoe store with the sole purpose of finding a gold pair of sandals that would be the ultimate accessory to a skirt that I was 99% sure I needed in addition to my other piece. When it rains, it pours. Power shopping at it's finest. I found 3 pairs of shoes in 15 minutes, enabling me to make it to belly dancing on time. It was bliss, until I got home later this evening. When I laid out each new pair in my apartment, marveling how each would go swell with my wardrobe, it quietly became obvious to me that these shoes represented a reincarnation of myself that I have desperately been trying to run away from over the past 730 days. I'm getting really pissed off that my shadow is STILL here. Doesn't it know when it's not welcome anymore?! I mean it's fine hanging out when I'm around other people who are similar to my shadow, but why doesn't it get lost when I am hanging around my granola friends and my granola-oriented shadow can then come to hang out? And that is what has been hanging me up all this time. I try to impose my inherent characteristics on an associate, whom I think I would like to aspire to live a similar existence as, but I always get the short end of the stick because it isn't possible. Why do I beat myself up like this when I know full well that each and every person is unique and different and perfectly acceptable? Because that means I have to be different and stand on my own two feet in broad daylight instead of standing in anyone else's shadow. And that's scary. But not as scary as only living life in someone else's shadow, where one may find comfort, but not the satisfying comfort that our soul's crave from being an authentic, original being.

So I guess this post can be interpreted as a kind of pep talk concerning your authentic self's "coming out" party? Excellent phrasing, because that's really what it is, a big party, full of laughter, joy, and admiration for others knowing that there is no judgment to be passed, no wrong to be righted, no apology necessary because people, ideas, and things are simply another creative interpretation of the Divine that threads us together in the universal soul.

Illustrating My Playground

It's official, this is my first illustrated post. Such a beautiful day, here in the heartland, I just had to share it with everyone. Even though I'm not ga-ga anymore about the image of living on the Plaza, I do love the walking proximity to three lucious parks. The other day I saw this new family of 14 gooslings and have become so fond of them. I think they are better than sliced bread, and much to either sister's chagrin, I never was this excited when I acquired a new niece or nephew. They are always eating and are losing their innocence so fast. There are geese and ducks at the pond, along with the sunning turtles, but the geese are mean little boogers. I think in one of my former lives I was a duck, I am so obsessed with them. Favorite duck moves: signature butt-in-the-air "What's going on down there?!" move as well as the "Look out below!" landing skate- on-the-web-feet move. Unfortunately, my subjects weren't cooperating with the camera. As I was out today, I really was wondering how I could ever leave and not have Loose in my neighborhood. I've proven the saying true that one ends up within 5 miles of where they grew up. Check out the mating turtles. I like to think they just stacked themselves on top of each other for fun, like best friends do. Don't be disgusting! Turtles don't "do it". Immaculate conception, baby. It's fun having visuals, but it seems to slow me down a bit. Practice makes perfect, I guess.

My Very Own Gerbil Wheel

What is the attraction in having a pet gerbil? Just saying the word, gerbil, is fun and an entertaining inquiry as to how the rodent was discovered for the first time and thus declared to be a gerbil from that day forth forever more. I am sure the actual origin of the gerbil isn't as fun as it is probably a deriviative of its scientific name, Homo Gerbillus Sapien.* Perhaps it's one of those childhood rites of passage that one must go through in order to get to advance to the next level of "losing my innocence". One of the main objectives being to develop a sense of compassion in caring for another creature. I called in sick during that one as I had a gerbil, Abigail, and every time her cage needed to be cleaned, I'd watch her run around in the bath tub in partial disgust and gratitude that there was no way she could get out. There was a close call once, though.

Right, today's blog.... Rereading yesterday's hit, and the day before's and before's and before's, I've come to realize that I, too, proudly embody the American spirit by trying to keep up with all the thoughts that bombard me throughout the day and night. There is no possible way I can record, or coherently comment, on each and every one, and even if there was, I'd be living a 31 hour day with no time for sleep. That hurt, I thought I was so above all this nonsense. While my wheel is unique to any other wheel, just as each gerbil is authentically different from her neighbor, it's still a wheel, and we all got 'em. That's both a scary and comforting thought. Scary in that no one else can tell us when is the "right" time to get off the wheel and run in the wood chips, to eat or drink from the bottle, or even to sleep. Comforting that no one else actually knows the "right" time to do those things as there is no right or wrong. Enough of the gerbil analogy.

One Juliep Enthusiast generously thanked me for the roller coaster ride provided by my stream of consciousness. I couldn't have put it any better. Why is mine so intense and full of steep climbs, death defying drops, inverted turns that make a stomach turn, with only small snipets of level tracks?! Is the grass greeer on the other side, or are many other comfortable-looking roller coaster rides, in fact, just as intense? Perhaps with time and breath my tracks will become more calm and smooth, my passengers secretly hope so.

*There are 87 gerbil species, my favorites being, Gerbillus gleadowi,(Indian hairy-footed gerbil). Gerbillus pusillus (Least gerbil), and Gerbillus vivax (Vivacious gerbil).

Our Friend FEAR

Google News headline about the middle age Brits being healthier than Americans.

NPR's "Talk of the Nation" discussion of the possible flu pandemic.

These are just a few of today's headlines in which the people in my head are demanding to blog about. Is it any wonder as to why the middle class Brits are healthier than us? They're less stressed! They aren't running in a gerbil wheel like we are, trying to keep up with all the latest trends in everything from diet to fashion, politics to political cause, material accoutrements to social status, exercise regimen to religion, etc.... I know I am going out on a HUGE limb in saying this, and will probably regret the day I decide to make this site non-anonymous, but since Americans tend to believe the popular belief that we are the "best" land of opportunity on the planet, we also like to believe that we have to run this never ending marathon in order to keep that image alive. That's bullocks! While the majority of us think we are in a better place than we were 50, 100, or 150 years ago, which was still way advanced compared to some of today's 3rd world nations, in truth, it might be just the contrary. I am basing this belief on last year's trip to three third world countries. Granted, it was my first time to spend any significant amount of time in the third world, and I'll be the first to admit that I suffered severely from culture shock, but perhaps part of my culture shock was observing a more simplistic society than my own, striving desperately towards a better life that it thinks my culture produces. With more flashing lights and material accoutrements comes an unsatiable desire to acquire more stuff, which in turn fuels the impossible belief that through achieving a perscribed amount of material and accomplishments and power in our lives, we will be happy. I believe this to be a direct cause of mid-life crisises. Are mid-life crisises an international phenomena or another homegrown issue? What do I know, I'm just a mid-westerner in her late 20's who likes to belly dance.

What a great segue to our next headline, NPR's discussion of the flu pandemic. During the show, Neil accepted a call from Brent, a morgue director in Kansas City, of all places!, who was deeply concerned with how the funeral expenses of the thousands of dead were going to be paid off. I couldn't believe it and almost fell over. And how Neil not only did not hang up on him, but was able to express his sincere concern in finding an answer to Brent's question, is way beyond me. Did it ever occur to Brent that he could clearly be counting his chickens before they hatch?! What makes him so sure he will survive, and not be one of the flu victims himself?! Will he really care then how he is going to be buried or who's going to pay for it?! No, he'll be dead, just like the rest of us, and then it will be up to the living to figure out how to efficiently dispose of the bodies. This, to me, symbolizes the epitome of the American consciousness, our desperate efforts to cross all bridges long before we come to them. The same pattern is being repeated in the government's effort "to get to the bottom of gas price-gauging" and also in our hurricane/disaster relief response, as well as our in country's major political power stuggle. It's simply a matter of coming to grips with the fact that the only way to reduce price-gauging is through not demanding so much gas, aka stop using it and start conserving!, and to realize that in terms of natural disasters, everything we need is provided for us, as well as confronting the fact that our country is in its "adolescent" years and finger pointing at politicians does not solve any of our problems and only hinders our country's growth process.

But, in a way, I do enjoy many of NPR's fear based discussions as they usually "walk on the fighting side of me" providing an excellent source of fuel for my blog. Long live Merle.

Gemantics

Last night's post was clearly my true Gemini exposure. According to Susan Miller's astrologyzone.com horoscope for us Gems, it's kind of normal for this month. I guess the change is a little jarring to go from lots of leisurely time walking in the park, reading, making tea, and watching fine art films to actually having the motivation to do lots of high energy stuff and create things with my hands. Apparently months like May only happen once in a few decades for us and therefore we need to Carpe Diem it this month as the following few are going to be pretty bumpy. Raw-Ho!

Tazmanian Devil

That is suddenly what I've become overnight. Yes, I know I am a VERY intense person who doesn't seem to have a middle ground. I'm either intensely dark and heavy, or I'm intensely hyper and sucked into an over-stimulated tornado ripping through the city at breakneck speed. So, how do you feel right now? Well, I feel as though I am flying as high as a kite whose string is about to snap because the wind is so strong it could carry me away. And what's wrong with that? Um, well I'm not sleeping as my mind is in overdrive entertaining all kinds of lucious possiblities and potential opportunities. Again, no happy medium. I'm either losing sleep because I'm so stressed out and dreading whatever the next day could potentially bring, or I'm losing sleep on all the possibilities that could happen since the world is such a better place when I'm happy. How do I find my medium, where I observe everything taking place but don't get attached to anything because I put on my duck suit and pretend that the water is just rolling off my back?! That would be through your breath. Say it isn't so! That's so cliche, and I know it's true, but I don't want to believe it because I'm an American with no time to breathe. I'm on a tight schedule and need a quick fix to help me out, just give me a script, doc, and make it go away. What? There aren't some pills I can pop to make this go away forever?! What kind of doctor are you? How do you expect me to find any time to actually sit and JUST breathe when the stimulation is growing bigger and bigger and I need to keep up with the snowball? And in order to keep up with the snowball, I must be attached to it, that's a given. And how could I not be?! These snowballs are important, some even life threatening! Do you actually have the nerve to tell me that when I just sit there will be millions of snowballs going through my mind and, ideally, I shouldn't care one way or another about them? How can I not care?! And how can you even tell me that these snowballs don't even matter, of course they matter because they are my snowballs! So let me get this straight, in an ideal world, you expect me to be able to just sit in the snow, in my turquoise snowsuit, and LISTEN to the snowballs whizzing over my head, but not react to them or judge them or try to throw some myself?! And by doing this I will find my middle ground? Argh. Why me?!