Drawn Out

Today.  This morning to be specific.  I almost just went back to bed.  Messenger nightmares.  Many stupid jobs that all needed done at 2:30PM.  Get up.  Turn on the coffee, the computer... or not.  Blinking yellow light.   Dead power supply.  Spend ten minutes hooking the laptop up to the keyboard/mouse/monitor because I just don't like writing on the laptop.  At some point, I'll drag my finger across the mouse and delete fifteen minutes worth of work.  The Boxer foster hears a siren.  She howls.  Gordon Sizemore joins in.  Fuck this.  I want to go back to bed.

Somehow I managed to forge on and here we are.

I should apologize for all the bell related posts as of late, but I can't.  I am excite and sad.  I "Kickstarted" the project back in August hoping for a bell... like now.  Yet, I have not one bell, let alone the two bells that I paid much American dollars for.  I feel like in that amount of time, I coulda commissioned an artisanal bell craftsman to fabricate a bell for me that looks like a tiny Arby's roast beef sandwich and emanates the BWOON! sound when activated.

But I was not that forward thinking enough to pursue my Arby's bell dream... perhaps I should take it over to Kickstarter.

Images from the party this past weekend are surfacing (thank you Danielle Suprick).  I was actually there.

The log pull.  I thought it would be easier than that.  I was a fool.  Once I finally got the thing going, all was well until I hit the turn around point.

As I made the corner, the log decided to start rolling sideways.  Being that the log weighed almost as much as me, eventually the log turned it into a Dicky pulling contest (which isn't what it sounds like, but maybe they'll consider it for the party next year).

The derby.  Yes, I took out women with little to no more thought than taking out a man.

In the thick of things, just like in an orgy, you really don't know who's coming up behind you, and in reality, who cares?  It's kill or be killed, not quite like in an orgy at all.  Chivalry has no place in the world of derby.

Irish Luke, my nemesis.  Just like in a Hollywood movie, we fought our personal engagements within the bigger battle to eventually find each other alone on the battlefield.  The crowd drew closer.  I tossed my shades off in order to give Luke "the look."

Obviously, I need to work on my "the look" technique.  We stalled, we stuttered, we hopped... it was epic (and too drawn out... like this post).

He really shoulda won, but he didn't, so there's that.  I'm supposed to return next year with the belt to defend my title, and if they can come up with my appearance fee again, I will.