Roller Derby Girl

My friend Wendy is amazing. She decided, at the ripe ol' age of 42, to join the Detroit Derby Girls and become a jamming, blocking chick on skates.

She's a member of the Detroit Pistoffs. http://http://www.detroitderbygirls.com
Her Derby name is Lottie Guts. She rolls with teammates Cookie Rumble, Elle McFearsome and Maim West. The play on names is one of the most entertaining things about this league. (Well, that and the giant beers for sale at the bouts.)

She tried out for the Drew Barrymore Roller Derby movie. http://http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1172233/She didn't end up in the movie (she would have had to take too much time off work) but Drew did ask her how she got her arms so buff.

Wendy is in the best shape of her life. But right before her big Derby debut, she went to public skate to practice some of her moves and fell and broke her leg. Bad. Surgery, pins, the works. That was November. January, she was back out there, no fear.

My Derby name would be Hell-No Kitty.

But don't hold your breath.

Roll, Wendy, Roll!

My Childhood, Redux.

I try to relive my childhood through my own kids. Especially my daughter.

Figure skating? I REALLY encouraged it because I was a Dorothy Hamill wanna be who never got to take lessons. She quit before mastering the dreaded axel jump (where most kids drop out, according to her coach.)

Dress wool coat with velvet collar, cuffs and the matching muff? She hated it. I secretly wished they made it in my size. (I still peruse this catalog wistfully.)

Baby doll bed with ruffled canopy? The cat loved it. Baby doll ended up stuffed in a drawer.

My son has escaped most of my youthful musings, but he did get a '92 Cadillac Eldorado to drive when he turned 16.

Because I never did.

Musings on Frozen People.

Here in Michigan, one would think people freeze to death left and right. The Bay City man whose power was cut off and the poor guy encased in ice in an elevator shaft of an abandoned building...it got me thinking about my neighbors.

Sweet little Polish couple across the street--would I know if their power was off for a few days? Honestly, I don't think so. I come home from work, shut the blinds and go about my business. But the reason I don't worry about them much is because their sons visit on a daily basis. Who else lives alone on my block? Do they have relatives who check on them? Or, like the man in Bay City, do they live thousands of miles away?

I will pay more attention.

Lord (Lady) of the Flies-Middle School Style

My 12-year-old daughter is a tyrant. At least, this is the picture I'm getting after discussing her lunch habits this morning. I asked her if she needed anything for lunch or, at the very least, some lunch money. She turned both down, explaining that she just goes around collecting food from others. How does that work, I wondered?



She blithely informed me that she and the other "cool" kids are given treats by the less popular 7th graders. Presumably to curry favor and to keep them from being mocked and tormented.



My child is an extortionist. Not a proud moment.

Cube Hierarchy

Today at work we moved people into different cubes. We have 12 rows of 4 cubes. They run from the main hallway back to a large bank of windows. The cubes are pinkish grey, bland and soulless.

There was much discussion about who was going to get a window. Do the senior account executives get a window? Or do just the account supervisors? But that means there will be window cubes empty...that's just wasteful!

Do we put the sneezing Ramona next to the easily startled Jessica? We only have 3 African Americans in our entire company...we better not put them all together or someone will read something into that, for sure. Amy is really messy, but Clare is a neurotic, anal retentive hun when it comes to her work space. And do we sprinkle the men throughout to cut down on the drama?

So many decisions. Get me a dartboard and a tylenol.

I fired my friend.

On her birthday. How's that for insensitive? Now, before I go any further, let me declare that I didn't know it was her birthday. My friends know I just don't keep track of that stuff. I hardly remember my kids' birthdays, let alone friends'. But apparently that's a little piece of research my HR department doesn't do before we pick d-day.

I've known my friend for 20 years. She's a dear, sweet, kind person who did a good job. We just didn't have any work for her. She's great at planning and executing big, over-the-top galas for lots of glittery, important people. But companies just aren't doing that much entertaining anymore. So she had to go.

She was sad. And so was I. And it did not make for a good birthday, I'm sure. I'm sorry. This economy has had a unwelcome side effect...I am starting to not like myself. No matter how sensitive I try to be about letting someone go, after a while, you are the ogre who fires people.