My violent and pathetic Halloween.

Sooo, I'm still in the process of getting rid all of my stuff so I can move. I just can't get myself to sell my roller skates. See I was a competative roller skater when I was a kid. I've kept these damn roller skates ever since I still wear the same size. I keep them right next to my vinyl fuck-me boots in my closet. Well, before I'm shipping something so heavy to Maui , I want to test out my theory that it's" like riding a bike". I've craved being a roller girl for years. We have a really awesome league here in Baltimore. I figure shit or get off the pot right? Despite the numberous taunts, I bring my awesome speed skates to the local roller rink.

So I put on my black and white stripped socks and laced up those cinder blocks. Keep in mind, my right ankle was twisted and I was wearing a brace. The doctor said it was an athletic brace and I should exercise like I did before I got hurt. I take off onto the rink, talking smack, and guess what happens? I couldn't skate. I couldn't even stand. I held the railing half way around the rink before I ran into a wall surrounded by a bunch of old guys and end up on my ass. I got off the rink and sat down. I was literally having a panic attack, sweating and shaking. How could I not do this? I've rappelled down a sky scraper. I've survived marathons. I rock climb and pbck pack with 75 lbs. There is nothing I can't do.

Here I am surrounded by 6 year olds from birthday parties totally kicking my ass. And the greasy pimple faced "guard" who thinks he's Michael Jackson on skates. I lose it. I can't breathe, I start crying. What does a tough girl do when she cries? She calls her mom. At least someone knows I ruled the rink at one time.

Despite my competitive nature, I actually gave up. I took off my skates and went home. When I got there, I left them out on the side of the street. It was nothing more than...

My violent and pathetic Halloween.

Sooo, I'm still in the process of getting rid all of my stuff so I can move. I just can't get myself to sell my roller skates. See I was a competative roller skater when I was a kid. I've kept these damn roller skates ever since I still wear the same size. I keep them right next to my vinyl fuck-me boots in my closet. Well, before I'm shipping something so heavy to Maui , I want to test out my theory that it's" like riding a bike". I've craved being a roller girl for years. We have a really awesome league here in Baltimore. I figure shit or get off the pot right? Despite the numberous taunts, I bring my awesome speed skates to the local roller rink.

So I put on my black and white stripped socks and laced up those cinder blocks. Keep in mind, my right ankle was twisted and I was wearing a brace. The doctor said it was an athletic brace and I should exercise like I did before I got hurt. I take off onto the rink, talking smack, and guess what happens? I couldn't skate. I couldn't even stand. I held the railing half way around the rink before I ran into a wall surrounded by a bunch of old guys and end up on my ass. I got off the rink and sat down. I was literally having a panic attack, sweating and shaking. How could I not do this? I've rappelled down a sky scraper. I've survived marathons. I rock climb and pbck pack with 75 lbs. There is nothing I can't do.

Here I am surrounded by 6 year olds from birthday parties totally kicking my ass. And the greasy pimple faced "guard" who thinks he's Michael Jackson on skates. I lose it. I can't breathe, I start crying. What does a tough girl do when she cries? She calls her mom. At least someone knows I ruled the rink at one time.

Despite my competitive nature, I actually gave up. I took off my skates and went home. When I got there, I left them out on the side of the street. It was nothing more than a physical manifestation of my failure. But I couldn't totally give up. What could I do to reinstate my badassness? Fuck those 6 year olds. That guard probably has herpes.

I start calling around to tattoo shops. I could get what the rest of the skating population couldn't, a tattoo. This is not a rash decision. I've been carrying around the design I wanted in my purse for months. Also, I have a tattoo for each of my pets and my Morgaine died last week. I finally find someone who is available and willing to put it where I want.

I give him a heads up that I shake. My pelvic tattoo made me look like I was having seizures. But big gay John wasn't worried. He's drawn up the design I've created and starts in on my foot. Holy mother fucker what was I thinking?! My leg was shaking so uncontrollably that John called in another another artist to witness his amazing feat, no pun intended. I was held down by two men trying to keep me from vibrating. I was able to hold my leg still so I didn't pull away but I couldn't keep it from shaking.The longest 19 minutes of my life. All while he's doing this, my ankle, not the twisted one in the brace but the one being held down, is killing me.

I live through the experience. We take off for a Halloween party. I'm not a drinker, not even socially. But once a year I try to get shit faced. That's always at Dan and Rob's party. I had spent the night before actually researching recipes and cooking jello shooters. I made a pina colada with no water whatsoever. I also made a creation of pumpkin pie shooters.

So we park a block away from the party. I can barley walk. I've got one foot in a brace and the other is wrapped up in a bandage. I stumble along and start with the jello shooters rights away. Can you believe that I was gulping these things down and not even getting a buzz. This has worked for me in the past since I hate drinking alcohol. These shooters are quick and saturated with alcohol. I had the tolerance of a bull. I got nothing.

I wash my tattoo off and show it around. I mention to someone that my ankle hurts and asks him if it looks swollen. It was puffy and red. He couldn't tell for sure that the ankle was swollen since my other ankle was just as swollen from being twisted before. But he saw bruising and declared it twisted as well. Here I am with 2 swollen ankles, I can barely walk and it's all because I couldn't admit I sucked at skating.

I'm stuck in bed. But I made my point right? I'm not some thirty something wuss. I'm an idiot who twists her ankle and then gets it tattooed, the most painful one so far. Bully for me!