" danger hat: February 2006

Monday, February 27, 2006

SPT

Tattoo?



On the tattoo front, I've scrapped my little doodle for some variation (sans wording) on the above. That is if I do this at all, which at this point is a 50/50. Time for a quick pro/con list:

Pros:
If I don't do it, I'll keep thinking about doing it.
I'll look purdy (I mean tough, yeah, tough)
It will serve as a reminder of a)remembering to want b)my 25th year which I'm hoping to pack with adventure.
My husband likes ladies with tats.

Cons:
Erm, hello, permanent?
It's almost more counterculture in my culture to not be inked.
The journey of finding the right artist will rival the Odyssey.
How many other lame chicks already have her scratched into their backs?

Sunday, February 26, 2006

P vs. V, ONLY $5

Today:

Sleep late.
Watch Scrubs.
Eat breakfast at Einstein's.
Watch more scrubs.
Go for walk with Ryan.
"Berate' Ryan on walk until he decides to end walk.
Sit with Ryan at picnic table in park by house.
Breakdown at picnic table.
Stare into space until Ryan suggests we head back in.
Talk on couch.
Cry on couch.
Laugh on couch.
Find cheap/cute condo in Columbus online.
Watch more Scrubs.
Go to Whole Foods, stock up for the week.
Eat at least one of everything as soon as I get home.
Run my hand over my bloated belly.
Remind myself I can't be pregnant.
Stare into space.
Hug Ryan.
Rest my eyes.
Flu-ish soreness starts in neck and shoulders.
Decide to go to practice anyway.
Slap on skates, get butt whooped by some fast chicas.
Leave early partly because of flu-ish soreness, partly because it's starting to be time to say goodbye.
Talk briefly with fella in motley fool hat and boozy breath on way out, dodge his advances.
Drive home.
Resolve to write five pages a day.
Arrive home.
Eat more fruit.
Position computer for "writing".
Check e-mail, MySpace, and blog instead.

Thursday, February 23, 2006

I need a jobby-job

So with relocation comes a halfway clean slate, which means I've come to my favorite line of questioning: What should I do with my life? Vote early, vote often... If you have any groundbreaking solutions to my career woes, feel free to use the comment field as an OTHER box.



Help me pick a career!
Radio!
Teaching!
Layout Artist/Illustrator!
Janitor!
Singer/songwriter!
Marathon Runner!
Derby Queen!
Crankypants!
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com

And so on... (DHS)

When Mr. Jando tells me he wants a favor, I assume it's of the murderous variety. Instead I'm standing in an twenty-dollar, ill-fitting cocktail dress I grabbed off the sale rack at JC Penney. I have a pink carnation corsage on my arm and am standing next to a boy who has way too much cologne on. The flash on Mr. Jando's fancy digital camera goes off. His two youngest boys are still in high school, twins, and both thin around the ankles and thick around the neck like their father. They share a girl, a small blue-haired pixie named Tammy, who smells like she smoked through an entire carton of Marlboro's in the last hour. She has her hands cupped around both JJ and TJ's butts, but she keeps giving me a wink that's making me very uncomfortable. I am TJ's date, or maybe JJ's. It doesn't really matter, I'm just there for propriety's sake. Why don't I ever get the good jobs, like organ pinching? Or smuggling crack in my nether regions?
"Now, behave. Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Jando snaps one more picture, then points at me, "And you, be back here by midnight."
I see far more of Tammy in the limo than I've ever seen of myself.
When we get to the school, we meet up with a bunch of other kids all swathed in designer dresses and migraine-inducing fragrances. We all pile into the gym. I get the fish eye from one of the chaperones. I can't tell if it's my face or my cheap dress that's giving me away. I grab TJ's hand and put in around my waist and bury my head in his shoulder.
As soon as the lights dim, and the DJ starts spinning, I head to the restroom to get my tools ready. The smell of industrial cleanser makes me nostalgic for my days of hiding out in my high school's bathroom forging signatures and crying my eyes out. Soon I hear the clickity clack of a dozen sparkly stilettos hitting the tile. I emerge from my stall, gear hidden in a stylish velour bag I found by the socks at Walgreens. I whip out a lipstick and reapply the red gash to my face. The girls hardly notice me; they are too busy retucking their trial implants, and checking out each other's asses for cellulite. I disappear easily into the hall.
I break into the Vice Principal's office too easily. Any of these kids could have stuck one of their credit cards in the frame and gotten in. The password system on the computer is a little more complicated, but I manage to break through in a matter of minutes. From there it's a cakewalk, I sub out Fs with Cs and improve the twins attendance. It's nothing Mr. Jando couldn't have accomplished by threatening a few lawsuits, or a few visits from his older sons. He's just doing this to make me sweat because I caused him a bit of embarrassment last year. When I'm finished with the twins' records I jump in and out of a few others, peppering the honor roll students' perfect records with suspensions and near failures, just for old time's sake.
I'm shutting the whole thing down when a shadow crosses the window. I duck underneath the desk just before the fluorescent lights flick on. I get orange carpet fibers all over my new dress.
"Who's in here?"
I shrug my shoulders instinctively. A hand pulls away the desk chair, the only thing protecting me from revelation. There's a pause. A clicking of the tongue. And then:
"April? What are you doing here?"

Tuesday, February 21, 2006

SPT: All of me?

So this Self-Portrait Tuesday thing I'm trying has "official" themes each month. This month is "All of Me," which seems to mean showing off all the icky body bits you're embarrassed of. I feel I've shown my fair share of unflattering poses, but here's a few of the photos that didn't make the cut:


Never been too happy with the beefy nature of my legs, but I'm coming to terms as I've convinced myself they help motor me around the rink. Still don't plan on wearing too many more skirts like this one.


Yeah, so I don't usually have double chin. At least I don't think I do... Every once in awhile though it shows up in photographic evidence such as this. Where does it go when it's not there?


Here's me crying over one of the three things I've been crying over lately... Yep that's pretty bare...

However, the real honesty starts here. You've seen the dinos, the mustaches, the silliness that develops between me and the camera sometimes, but I don't know that anything tops this:


This was never meant to see the light of day. But here it is, and now you know.

Monday, February 20, 2006

$5, por favor

So, I almost feel like this day of the blog is redundant, since I can't seem to keep derby out of my other posts. But here it is, your moment of ARRG!:

I HUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTTT. I fell on my butt jumping over cones last night. Normally this isn't a problem, I've got a lot of nature's padding back there to absorb the shock. However something hit slightly off and now the whole right side of me is achey. I was able to head off the migraine the fall almost induced with a strategic hit of generic aleve last night, but I'm still sooooorrrrreee.
Oh the derby drug. We're all a bunch of (mostly) grown women out there. We could opt out at any time. And yet we keep going back for more. Such addicts...

Sadly our coach is out of town for the next two weeks. His son is supposed to fill in, and while he's just as good of a teacher (and funny/nice to boot), I sort of need the gristly meanness of Coach Ken to get my ass in gear.

Oh! Yes! I almost! Forgot! Thursday I will be working the Pain and Pleasure Wheel at our Hi-Pointe Meet and greet. I'm not exactly sure what pleasure and/or pain I will be dealing out, only the wheel knows that. I may also be arm wrestling, which for the record I'm not very successful at. Maybe I should rent Over the Top to pick up some pointers, eh?

I think that's all for now, no word on Chi-town vs. Columbus yet. I'm pretending they don't exist for the moment...

Friday, February 17, 2006

Life as a Hat

By the time I find him, Henry is nothing but a crumb on the floor. All of his bravado and sweet spirit is crusted into dried pools of spit and blood at the corners of his mouth. I can feel myself getting stronger, quicker. Each step feels a little more confident and solid in its execution, I am able to toss off two of the heavier Jandos like they are pieces of lint instead men with bulging steroid-filled veins, their circulatory systems outlined broad relief. When I get closer I see that they have taped Henry's hands behind his back and tied his wrists to his ankles at an angle no man over forty should be expected to bend. They've taped pennies over his eyes and stuffed a rag in his mouth. He is small, he is broken, he is not the man I met that night seven summers ago. One of bastards has marked all over the visible parts of his body with a magic marker, strings of ugly words weave over his skin. I can only hope that they are not a biography of his treatment before I arrived.

"He's not dead," Mr. Jando says. He's sitting in a cheap vinyl lawn chair, a stogie clenched between his massive yellow teeth. "If that's what you were thinking."

"I'd know if he was gone." I say. I am amazed at the calmness in my voice, its familiar rough edges have been sanded down so that I sound like a yoga instructor or a children's announcer.

"Yes, of course. I forget the rules sometimes." He digs the hot end of his cigar into the metal arm of the chair. "I expect he will be any minute though, by the way you crumbled my boys."

"I s'pose," I say. I wipe my nose with the back of my hand. A drippy nose has always been an indication that I'm about to start crying. I bite my lip, bite my tongue, and dig the business end of my knife into he palm of my hand.

"Don't you want to know why you here? Why he's there?"

"I thought..." I have no finish, no clever retort. Henry's limp body is in my periphery, I can't concentrate as he stares at me through his new copper eyes.

"To put it simply, I need a favor." Mr. Jando pulls another cigar from his from his inside pocket, runs it along the underside of his nose, and then offers it to me. I decline.

"I recommend you oblige, kitten," he gestures to Henry with the cigar, then shoves the cylinder into his mouth and bites off the end. He strikes a match and puffs as he holds the flame to the end of the cigar. He offers it to me once more.

I stick the wet end in my mouth and pull the peaty aroma to the back of my throat, "Then I'm all yours."

Thursday, February 16, 2006

Vent vent vent...

I try to keep my whining levels down on this site. But I just have to get something off my chest so I can work at the job I won't be at in three weeks.

This is the major frustration of being married right now: The Ohio thing is pretty much settled, right? Except for yesterday Ryan gets a call from this Chicago company that he also sent info away to, who also seem pretty interested. Now, I have to say that this is just un-freakin-fair as far as my mental stability goes. If I have to leave St. Louis, Chicago is where I want to be leaving to (in lieu of London which we will never, ever be able to afford). Ryan's heart is already tied to the Ohio job (and its ridiculous salary, benefits, va-kay time, and denim-clad Fridays). And yet there he goes danglin' the pretty Windy City in front of me, like it's an option at all. I mean they have two, TWO roller derby leagues for goodness sake. It's obvious which is the town for me. We also actually know people there, know people who would come visit (um, the whole of St. Louis and my families). And then there's the thing I'm most desirous of: ample public transport.
So if I seem a little scattered, a little lost at the moment, it's because my husband's career is playing Jenga with my heart and mind. I entered the marriage knowing full well that this was going to happen (ie I have bubkus earning potential at the moment and all of my talents are easily freelanced), but now that it's here it's a LOT more stressful than I anticipated.

Unh.

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

P&V, out of order AGAIN

I'm a cranky fool.
Granted I'm working on little to no sleep due to a 5am call for an ARRG! spot on KMOV. Yes, that's right I was skating pre-dawn today. I'm dedicated.

On that note. Ohio. Yep, it's gonna be Ohio. And it's gonna be fast (next coupla months). Driving home from the television shoot this morning I started noticing St. Louis more than I have in awhile and I realized just how much I'm going to have to say goodbye to. I snuck through Forest Park to avoid morning traffic, and it was just so beautiful with its newly revamped pathways and pretty architecture. And I'm going to have to say goodbye to Imo's pizza and Ted Drewes and Fritz's and Blueberry Hill and Pasta House salad. I'm going to have to say goodbye to knowing how to find my way around if I make a wrong turn. And I cannot believe I have to say goodbye to my rollergirls. Everybody is just getting so talented and the mix of personalities is starting to get interesting and now I've got to go. I mean look at how much fun I'm having:



When Ryan went away to NYU he told me a quote (from Gattaca of all places), "You try to get away from a place all your life, and when you finally get to, you find a reason to stay." I've always looked forward to exploring the nooks and crannies of the world (granted Columbus wasn't the first or the hundredth on the list) but now that I'm faced with the opportunity to leave I can't bear to part with my hometown.
But, I've decided my upcoming twenty-fifth year is going to be all about things I've always wanted to do but have been too afraid to try. Among potential adventures: getting a tattoo, going to Vegas, trying to break into freelance writing/communications sans degree, um, talking to strangers, and now moving from my beloved STL. I've been angsty about the town in the past, sure, but that was before I was in control of my life within its boundaries. Glargity glarg. I'm a mess.
Ryan of course, being Ryan, has been internet house-hunting. In his search he came across the building John Glenn resides (resided?)in and is head over heels for the idea of living there. Oh, Ryan. You're such a Ryan.

Monday, February 13, 2006

SPT: Anni-Valentine's

Lots of people like to moan about how Valentine's Day is just a another greeting card holiday, and who could try to deny it with all those adorable perforated sheets of trading card sized love notes for grade schoolers to dump in shoe boxes while they eat cupcakes and conversation hearts. Like most things in America, it's about the sale rather than the sentiment.
I would probably ignore Valentine's Day altogether, I mean I like the candy and I certainly wouldn't turn down a Care Bear valentine or three, but I don't really expect it to be a romantic pinnacle of diamonds and rubies and fancy dinners. Except for eight years ago, it kind of was. See, I was a sixteen-years-old with a major, down and dirty, can't sleep at night because I'm thinking about a boy, crush. This infatuation haunted me in fits and spurts for an entire year until I got up the juevos to ask him to the "King of Hearts" dance (twenty minutes after dumping the guy I was making out with at the time, don't worry about him, his biggest heartbreak was that I broke his perfect never-been-dumped record). This dance occurred on Valentine's Day eight years ago.

See, I thought I'd just get the boy out of my system. Kiss him a little, and hang out until we got bored of each other. I'd always planned to be a swanky singleton who traveled the world with nothing to tether her to any one spot. Perhaps romancing a few folks along the way, perhaps not. Love of the bodice-busting kind has never been essential to me.
But something happened that night eight years ago, something that keeps on happening.

I don't really know how to describe it better than I found a missing piece that night. A piece I didn't even realize existed until right then and there. The best part about this piece is that he didn't finish my puzzle or "complete me," he just made things feel a better, smoother, and funnier.
Ryan and I have a peculiar relationship. Good evidence of this: We did the long distance thing on and off for many many years. We were able to pull together and pull away as necessary so we could both grow up and grow stronger. I always feel like I'm a relationship guru because of this one sustaining success, but I know that I'm lucky to have found someone who values his independence as much I value mine. I don't know how to explain this to boys and girls who are looking for "someone to marry" or "settle down with" because that sort of thinking has little to nothing to do with our happiness. We are two unsettled people, who happen to feel much better if we talk to each other at the end of the day.

Anyway, I know this is becoming a big mushfest. Which honestly I hate, I really do. But I just want to let everyone know that Valentine's Day isn't always about rhinestones and rubies. To me, it's all about my boy.

Of course, two years ago I was given the big honkin' purple ring I'd been lusting after at the antique store.
Oh, and one year ago I totally barfed up lamb, baklava, and red wine on the cul-de-sac in front of his parent's house and then spent the rest of the night similarly heaving into the toilet (ah, love!). Needless to say, it's always a night full of surprises!
I'll let you know if anything wicked weird happens to-nite...

That'll be $5

First off... I've turned in my resignation at work. Amicable, cheery, etc. Oh, April is such a lovable gal. In some ways I feel like a this giant anvil has been pulled off my shoulders, but I also know it's the first step in quitting the STL altogether which is going to be a much harder departure. I took it as an omen that Columbus was the featured city in "The Look for Less" last night while I was cleaning my skates. Nothing is set in stone yet, but...

On the derby front, I went to a killer and I mean KILLER concert/party/free-for-all at the Skatium on Friday. The ARRG! Girls skated amongst tumbling drunks and bikes, in liners, zombie hunters, oh and Peat Henry. The bands were among STL's finest surf/rockabilly, shake your booty till it hurts set. Not to mention there were three sassy, talented burlesque dancers brave enough to take it all off (well almost all)in front of a salivating crowd whose pockets were full up of Stag and whiskey. Also I remembered how to have fun at a party. I've become so accustomed to hunkering down into a puddle of snarkfest with my friends, that I forgot how much fun I have floating around a room, skating a little here, dancing without abandon there, begging for booze from acquaintances up there. The most conversation necessary was a, "Yeah! This totally rocks" or "Your skirt is HOT!" which left me with little excuse for social sepuku the next morning. Hooray!

Due to the previous night's hijinks, however, I did forget/sleep through the first ARRG boxing lesson. Guess I'm not so tough as I thought...

Everyone (meaning Ryan and his parents) seems to think I'll duck out of the derby thing one I get hurt the first time. I beg to differ. Just when things start feeling boring, Coach Ken adds a little more brutality to the mix. Last night was something like "This week's biggest badass" which involved a handful of girls skating round and round trying to take each other out. Once you went down, you were out. Of course, since I jumped into the fray without heeding all directions I actually took two fantastic tumbles before I excused myself from the melee. My bum hurts, and I can't wait to do it again. Perhaps with more poise and success the next go `round. So much of derby for me is overcoming my natural fear of being within five feet of people. Most of this fear comes from my notorious clumsiness which has sometimes resulted in casualties (girl hit with golf club, girl got backstroke started into, girl got lap full of Coke), but of course derby is all about taking the other gal down, or slowing her up enough to get past. I love it! I'm trying to figure out what position(s) best suit my abilities: do I want skate in the pack and crunch the jammer as a blocker? or maybe claw my way through the pack as the jammer? or set the pace as the pivot (while also serving as last line of defense)? I'm really not certain what I'd be best at. Of course, once the Ohio thing happens, their league will probably decide for me as they're already organized into teams.
Also, my front wheel fell off at the end of practice, which was classic goofy April. But we'll not talk about that because it reveals my ineptitude with a socket wrench...

Friday, February 10, 2006

To-nite: Get your skate and your chlamydia on...

So this is what's happening...

I have what I'm calling a strained muscle. I'm reluctant to say torn, or pulled, or snapped. I've been telling everyone that I hurt it being my usual dumb self, off wheels and being stupid.
That's not exactly the truth.
Coming home from work last night, I ran into a boy I'd never met before, but I could tell we weren't going to be friends because of the stale tobacco flakes resting on his shoulder. He grabbed me by the neck as I walked up to my house and I lost my footing on some ice fell bam! smack! on my left leg.
"Pretty lady," he said. "We got something of yours."
Quick check for phone, keys, wedding band, car, skates... all in place.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I whimpered, trying to produce a tear like a real girl might. He loosened for a second and I jabbed an elbow into his gut, then drove his head into a mound of iced-over snow until blood began to fan into a crimson rorschach on nature's pristine white canvas. As I limped up the stairs, I issued a warning, "You Jando kids need to learn to stay the hell away from me." I dropped my keys. The pain that shot through my thigh when I knelt to pick the up made my mouth fill up with hot saliva.
My assailant began to heave himself up off the ice.
"We've got Henry," he said. We stared at each other for a moment, neither digesting the impact of the statement. But, then reality sunk in, and as my facial muscles tightened to anger from their lax state, the kid picked himself up and took off at a sprint down the street.
I began to lunge for him, but the tear in my leg seized and stopped me cold.
At the top of the hill a large green SUV's interior lit up when someone opened a door from the inside. The kid, began to dive in but paused as the driver mumbled something to him. The kid hit his head on the doorframe as he jumped back out. A billow of steam rose from his lips as he yelled down to me, "Oh, yeah, my dad says come see him tomorrow if you want Henry back. The Jandos want to make you an offer."

Wednesday, February 08, 2006

Schedule be damned, it's time for P&V

This is why I should not be left alone, Ryan:
I go to a bar.
I go to a bar and drink.
I decide to go home because I cannot maintain a solid level of social interaction.
I call two of the people I love most and leave lame lame lame lame messages.
I put on my leopard coat.
I eat the rest of a box of Pops.
I decide sleep be damned, I'm watching Serenity.

The End.

(Maybe it should be Danger Hat Friday, it's seems to be the only day I can squeeze out that truth.)

Tuesday, February 07, 2006

Self-Portrait Tuesday #4



Sometimes my face contorts into very bizarre shapes.

Monday, February 06, 2006

About $5

So in addition to derby I start boxing training on Saturday. Yes, I am going out of my freakin' cabeza.
Derby is good still, but I'm starting to meet some of my old athletic demons. You know those cursed things like balance and rhythm. I'm good for a little brute strength, but when I get to the finesse areas I just suck it up. Also I'm the kind of person who has to make up my own methods, but there are definite hardline skills necessary in skating so I need to buck up and take direction.
I did shave 4 seconds off my previous time trial, even after wobbling around one of the corners, but I really need to push it next time to be satisfied with my performance.

Also, I'm thisclose to quitting my job. And by thisclose, I mean tchliosse. But I've never quit a job without having another lined up since I was eighteen, so it's scary new territory for me.

And, yes, I know I missed my comic day again. I have two thumbnailed (you wouldn't think I put that much work into them from the end product, eh?)and they seriously crack me up for hours. This means no one else will think they are funny at all, in fact some may cry from boredom.

Friday, February 03, 2006

O' Piss O' Vinegar

Witness:

One friend sends me a notebook full up with a story written for me ten years ago.
Another friend sends me an e-mail that gives me hope we will be able remold our crumbled friendship.
I spend most of the day being mean to my friend at work on her last day so that she won't cry. It doesn't work.
I stand on wheels with dozens of other girls. We all heave from exertion as we stumble on our second feet and laugh at our clumsiness.
I run into a girl I knew long ago, and we share rides to the rink and stories we never knew about each other.
I send a friend in glasses an e-mail describing her, and she sends me a sweet one back.


It's an ebb and flow, I guess, this friendship thing.

Wednesday, February 01, 2006

How I Became a Hat (pt. 2)

My initiation into the Hats was not particularly remarkable. If you've been to a work-related social, or perhaps an AA meeting in a really nice church basement you've had some experience with the vibe. When Henry explained that I was about to become part of a secret society, I have to admit I expected more. My Catholic upbringing has set high expectations when it comes to ritual. I expected at least some anointing oils or a baptimsal font, instead I got spiked punch and snickerdoodles. My first hint should have been pulling up to the Society Room, buried in the embrace of a strip mall, at two o'clock in the morning. Ungathered shopping carts slid around the parking lot of Wal-Mart like tumbleweeds, all the other stores were dark, their merchandise protected by alarm systems and surveillance cameras. The Danger Hat Society room was similarly dark on the outside, but Henry led me straight through its unlocked doors, through a plain reception area, and into the sumptuous leather and velvet confines of the main room. There were Hats all around, mostly the silver-haired sort. Ornella Campisi was the first welcome me. This strange woman with a mask of pin-up makeup drawn over her aging features grabbed me by the waist and held me in an asphyxiation embrace until Henry managed to distract her with a fresh glass of champagne. Through the three giant gulps she took from her flute, she welcomed me to the club.
I scanned the room looking at all the wrinkles and wheelchairs. Had I signed on for some sort of bizarre elder club? Would one of the members steal my youthful body and leave me trapped in their decrepit shell? Then I saw Martine holding court in the corner, a long tendril of blue smoke curling above her head. She wasn't so much beautiful as ferocious. Like a big cat, her eyes were sleepy and unassuming, but her bared teeth were shiny with hunger.
"Martine is from Montreal. She is a master thief and consummate mountain climber. She also paints very pretty pictures. A few of which hang in this room." I offered my hand but she seemed unimpressed with my blue and yellow video store polo and chocolate-stained khakis.
"So this is who replaces Robert, then, hmmm?" The group around her eyed me with suspicion, mentally ticking off my flaws.
"Doesn't look like much," A small boy with blue black skin whispered to his chubby, pock-faced neighbor.
"Neither are you," said Henry sternly picking up the boy by the shoulders and smacking him against the burgundy papered wall. It's strange to see an older person be violent. Like when this old woman slapped her grandkids in the store, suddenly Henry's sweet green eyes furrowed into something hard and menacing. It was then that I knew I belonged to him like I had never belonged to anyone. I was more than a replacement daughter, I was everything to him. I was his immortality.