Subliminal Messages

I’ve always been big on finding messages or meaning in the songs that come on the radio.  Not quite a sign.  Not that they tell me something I needed to know, but more like they affirm something I’d already suspected.

Today, it happened 3 times, in very conspicuous ways…

1. Brick House

This morning, my derby team met with a sports psychologist to outline our goals and overcome some “baggage” that we’d been carrying in terms of anxiety.  (Note, if you ever thought derby wasn’t legit: would a “staged” sport integrate sports psychology?)   The Dr. helped one girl who was feeling ineffective by asking her to visualize herself with a wall, a big brick wall made up of her team mates.  We all instantly started thinking about “brick house”, wiggling in our seats.  Partially from the bass line in our heads and partially from anticipation for our home opener in 2 weeks.

Brick House came on the radio on my way home from that meeting.

Mr. Big Stuff

2. This afternoon, I stopped by the funeral of my ex’s aunt.  I won’t go into the very bad history that I have with my ex (we’ll save that for a more cathartic post) but let’s just say that I was there for an hour and all we did was nod to each other.  I was just glad that I didn’t get a case of the nerves or the sense of (unwarranted) shame that often comes when I see him.  Actually, seeing him just made me feel bad for his mouse of a new girlfriend, because he’s going to chew her up and spit her out, like a soggy pile of dripping chaw.  Like he did me several years ago.

Walking out of the funeral home, back straight, feeling myself strong in my stride, I felt like I was leaving a funeral for the sad me, the self-doubting, me.    We’ve been done for years, but the insecurity and anxiety has stayed.  No more.  Burned. Buried. Dust in the ever-loving wind.

Who does he think he is?

3. Proud Mary

Proud Mary is somewhat an anthem to my derby league–Rolling on the River…Big wheels keep on turning…proud mary keeps on Burning!

Tina. Proud Mary.  Derby Girls. Me.  All examples of women that have it rough-but come out on top.  Hard work, aches, pains.  But we keep on burning.

If Tina were standing here, I’d have to thank her for the pep talk.  Let her know that she did me almost as much good as the morning’s therapy session.



“Well, That Didn’t Pan Out”

In the immortal words of Rooster Cogburn, “that didn’t Pan Out”.

Remember how I posted on Sunday, in my post 5 by 30 my goal #3: knock down the best jammer on my derby team? Well, I did that, and it didn’t go so good.

We were both in the pack, scrimmaging.  She was talking to someone on her right, turned away from me on the inside.  I saw her, and I thought, “Hey! I need to mark that off my list, right?  Take the hit!”  So I did it.  I went for the hit, shoulder to sternum, and skated on.  A stride later, I hear commotion, and turn to see her in a pile on the floor.  I went down on my knees to check on her.  Her shoulder was clearly contorted.

As she wriggled on the floor, making a pained noise that can only be transcribed as “meeep…..meeeeep” I thought, “this is not what I’d set out to do.”

So, she’s ok.  An overextended shoulder, and hurt pride.  She skated shortly after that, but came to my team, so I’d quit “beating the shit” out of her.

I’m marking that off my goals list, and making a new goal: Don’t set goals that potentially hurt other people.  It’s not a good feeling to complete such goals.

On a side note, if anyone ever questions the true “friends off the track” nature of derby, the girl that I crushed asked me to be in her wedding after practice.  See? It’s all forgiven.

Goodness, Girddles, and Spanx

So, I’ve been watching Mad Men lately, specifically re-watching the first season.  I’ve always adored the aesthetic and style of the characters, specifically the women’s costuming and hair.  From the feathered hats, to the crinoline skirts, it’s romantic and sexy.  One of the special features for this season highlighted the efforts that went into the costuming, even putting the actresses into girddles, garters, and hose.  No wonder Joanie looks so remarkably comfortable in all of those snug dresses-it’s a girddle!

I’m sure I’m not the only straight girl on earth to gawk at women in shows and movies.  It’s not a sexual feeling in that “wow, I want her” sort of way.  It’s really a “wow, I want to look like her” vibe.  When the subject is Charlize Theron in an open back dress, it feels unachievable.    When it’s a chick with a big fanny that’s been squeezed into place, and you know she’s got foundation garments keeping every curve, lump, bump, muffin top and back roll in place-that’s a realistic goal!

Which brings me to this morning, and Spanx.  Or, in my case, knock-off Spanx from Walgreens, but you get the point.

I had to go on a local television spot this morning, and knowing that I was going to be on TV, where viewers watch (and judge) guests (regardless of whether or not they’re there to be judged) I broke out the Spanx.  As a bit of background, I’m not a small girl-much smaller than I’ve been in the past.  But I think that some of us former fat chicks are even more sensitive about our weight and appearance in some ways.   Let’s just say I’m glad I live in the era of Spanx.

I’ll spare you the details of the snapping and rolling that occurs when a Spanx wearer has to go to the powder room, but after fighting to get my Spanx back up after one such incident, I did that over-the-shoulder-look-at-my-butt check and saw that pants that were too tight without Spanx were actually loose with Spanx.  It’s an amazing thing.  Sure, I feel like a nude-toned cased sausage, but I look good.  Lifted, consolidated, seamless.

And that got me to thinking about Joan and her mad men era sisters…what was it like to live in the era of girddles?  Romantic?  Miserable?  I take it since we’ve moved on, it must not have been worth it.  At least not to the feminists of the ’60s.  Furthermore, what did women of the 60’s think about corsets and the harsh undergarments that their grandmothers wore?

Now, I wonder-what will our grand-daughters of the future think about Spanx?  About our nylon/lycra/spandex booty transforming undergarments?  I imagine, one day 50 years from now, a twenty-something will look back on us, thinking,  “How glamorous they looked in their Spanx“.