So I have this theoretical situation brewing in the back of my mind about a hypothetical scenario in which I might have the need to create an ambiance of fog around an area, through which perhaps an actor will move.
(I'm being circumlocutious because that's really funny when you're as hammered as I am. And I am absolutely sure that the word circumlocuitous or circumlocutious is a word, and I refuse to look it up, but I wish I was sure of the placement of that final I. Spellcheck is unsurprisingly unhelpful.)

Anyway. The venue wherein I was considering this creation of artificial fog has a fog machine, but its use has been banned due to a particular colleague's severe allergy to the stuff.
So I thought perhaps dry ice would suffice.
I asked (e:zobar) and he shrugged; he studied chemistry, but not very intensely, so he knows very little about the theatrical applications of dry ice. Unsurprising.

"Hm," I said. "Who do I know who would know?"
I mentally ran through all my friends, relatives, and acquaintances before I realized that this is it. I've finally gone native. I'm finally thinking like a Buffalonian.

In my native culture, my reaction above would have been, "Where can I look that up?"

But in Buffalo, you don't look stuff like that up, you ask your friends and find somebody who knows about it.

Because everybody in Buffalo knows everybody else, and an expert is usually only one or two degrees of separation away. Knowledge and social obligation go more or less hand-in-hand; networks of favors and those indefinable interpersonal connections that you have to nurture; moms' anniversaries and kids' birthdays and the kinds of parties where you stand around in the attached garage fishing cans of beer out of big plastic ice buckets. You've got a problem, somebody related by blood or marriage, or possibly who you went to school with, either is a guy, or knows a guy, who owns a business that deals with that, or that studied it in school, or that knows the guy who wrote the law about it. It's all in the family, somehow.

I admit this is a more entertaining and satisfying system than just looking shit up. And it's been remarkably effective in a lot of things-- I never look online for custom t-shirts now that I skate on a team with a woman who owns a silkscreening facility.

Anyhow, I just thought I'd share my cultural observation here.

Incidentally after last night's roller derby bout, the Knockouts and Saucies are facing a winner-takes-all situation for the league championship at the next bout. May 31st. I'm serious, it will be really exciting.

Oh hey, I heard a bunch of you were joining Allentown as a group?
And going to Mia's fitness class?

If you are, I'll see you there this morning.

This morning, we will be working on snap-kicks.
Do you know what that is?
Me neither.
Frankly, I'm terrified. :D

I never know what (e:zobar) is telling you about me.

I have one photo to share, though it's posted elsewhere, of the lesbian shotgun wedding.


It was lovely.
I will post the rest of my London photos at some point. Most of them are of Z making stupid faces over weird food.

I am here to do the obligatory pimpage of roller derby. There's a bout tonight. 7 pm, Rainbow Rink, 101 Oliver St. in North Tonawanda.
But what's really amusing is that my team isn't skating, we're hosting it, and we've decided to do so in costume.
The bout theme is "Hell on Wheels", and various of the girls are bringing all their biker friends.
So we're dressing like biker chicks.

If you've ever wanted to see me in a pleather miniskirt, tonight's the night.


Unrelated: Chita is on the shelf by the picture window in the living room, stalking the birds outside. She just crawled slightly backward to see them better, and... fell off the shelf. It was pretty funny.
She's pretending she meant to do that, of course.

It's official, we are seriously actually going to go to the UK in three days to attend a lesbian shotgun wedding.
I am terribly excited.
There are apparently no consequences for doing it all at the last minute.
If I'd known that I wouldn't have spent the last five months worrying constantly about it.

Eh it'll be awesome. I have a good feeling about it all.

I'm totally going to find the weirdest shit I possibly can and feed it to (e:zobar) and be all, "This is normal! Don't ruin my cultural experience!"
It will be brilliant.

Z has spent today angrily calling things "rubbish" and "shite". He claims to be warming up.

I have bought my ex-girlfriend a baby t-shirt that says "I Love The USA" on it in sequins. (Really a baby shirt, for her baby. I'm not getting her anything for her wedding, because I just dropped three grand on getting there and finding somewhere to sleep.)
I also bought her Richard Scarry books that will teach her child American words (like "truck") and THE WRONG SPELLING of things. I am trying to warp him already.
MUA HA HA.

However, Lowly Worm did not appear in either book. I thought he was a consistent recurring character. What the hell book is Lowly Worm in??? Someone help me out here.

I cracked a rib with my tit.
Yes I did.

We were scrimmaging. I was trying to block the opposing jammer. She got past me, and then got taken out. So she went down sprawling, and I was behind her with no time to avoid her. I went partway over her, and my pelvis landed on her head. And me? WHAMMO, right on my tits.
I got up and kept going, and made it back to the pack right behind her, but I wasn't much good for anything.
I think I cracked a rib. Landed flat on my chest, and you'd think my boobs would squash pretty much infinitely and absorb the shock, but no. My rib is fucking killing me.

I then skated in a bout (I hurt it last week and then our bout was Saturday night) and discovered, rather the hard way, that taking really hard hits to the shoulder on that side was exquisitely painful. It was really really unpleasant.

It keeps almost being better, but it's not quite. It's bothering me again today. I've got to keep my torso, shoulder, and arm immobile for a couple of days so it stops hurting, but just you try doing that in your daily life. It's no good.

Anyway, I just had to share my latest injury. I totally cracked my rib with my boob.

But, on the plus side, unrelatedly, I own a pair of mesh ruffle panties in zebra stripe. They're very fifties. I love them. I did not buy them to wear as underwear, but as outerwear, in true derby fashion. I wore them tonight over opaque black tights and under a black pleated miniskirt.

I have fashion sense, all right, but it's the fashion sense of a girl half my age and half my size. But you know what? Fuck it!

Actually I recently discovered the world's most awesome thing: The Campaign for Real Booty.
Ha! I'm so sending in a picture.


Here's a bonus picture for y'all. This is how long my hair is. It needs a trim. Also, that is the dress I plan to wear to my friend's wedding. I bought it from pinupgirlclothing.com and love it. It's not like anything I've ever had, and it's stretchy enough that it fits right. Yay! It kind of shows off my booty, which is exciting: I have never before had a booty. But for some reason, the ten pounds or so I gained over the summer has now settled firmly in my hips and ass, which is really kind of exciting.
I had fans at Saturday night's bout! People I didn't know! Some fortysomething lesbians who very shyly asked for a picture of my butt! It was very cute. I blew them a kiss during my intro skate.

Hm, the image uploading thing doesn't seem to be working. Well, here's one that's a smaller filesize, maybe that'll work better. It's not the same picture but you get the same idea.