The World Cup Series : Pre-Game

I procrastinated all of my International Bachlaurette projects in high
school, all my Christmas shopping last year, and now packing for the
World Cup. As I sat  overwhelmed in my apartment amongst boxes stacked
four feet high over flowing with Team USA merch, I kept telling myself
it just hasn't hit yet that I'm going to a world changing event. Even
as I rolled a tad over 100 t-shirts and somehow stuffed them into two
pieces of luggage, the sheer monstrosity of this thing had yet to hit.
That is until I had to lug the overstuffed monstrosities down three
flights of stairs to my car.

(imagine a picture of me pulling my hair out and just kicking
suitcases down the hallway)

Never again will I live on in an apartment above or below ground
level. I learned at the airport check-in station that I officially man
handled 100 pounds of team logo gear, this of course excludes my own
bags; my go-to blue alp-hiking back pack I broke in this summer while
filming The Grand Rescue in the Teton Mountains, and the only good
thing that came out of a two year relationship with Chris Campbell -
an oversized yellow purse bigger than my torso - which I refer to as
"my one personal item" when flight attendants look at me quizzically.

*Contents of my purse as of boarding in Casper included:

-one blanket
-Love in the Time of Cholera
-one water bottle
-one flask
-two sets of headphones
-a storage clipboard containing all my tariff/world cup documents
-a toque (Canadian for hat)
-three pairs of gloves
-one scarf
-some gum
-my makeup bag
-my billfold
-the square (lookup the app, it's amazing for merchants!)
-my Passport
-three markers
-cell phone charger
-some post-its

and last but not least

-another purse... one that's much smaller and much more manageable.

Yeah, I know, it's practically one of those magic bags from Harry
Potter... and yes people asked if I was planning on staying
permanently in Canada*

Apparently if a checked bag weighs more than 50 lbs, the airline will
tac on an additional one hundred dollar fee. Guess who's bag weighed
61.5 pounds? The desk lady  suggested maybe I had a heavy pair of
jeans in one bag I could switch over to the other; that suggestion
literally shattered mid-air when I unzipped the first suitcase to
reveal an endless pit of neatly stacked shirts. I ended up playing a
complicated game of t-shirt Tetris.

My task completed and the fee avoided, I sat nearby on one of those
awkward-but-incredibly-comfortable couches with my friend Tracy (if
god exists, may he/she/it bless her soul for waking up at 4AM to
accompany me to the airport so I could avoid parking fees) before
heading to the security line. While chatting it up like the Ya-Ya
Sisterhood, Tracy introduced me to some acquaintances sitting across
from us. They were a family headed to Kentucky but destined for a
final stop in Germany; a military station reassignment.

My grandpa chose the profession of an air force pilot in his hay day;
hearing these folks reminded me of stories my mom told me about when
she lived in Germany and the Philippines. The nostalgia and thought of
having the opportunity to earn my living in a foreign country almost
made me pine for a career in the military... almost, but not really at
all. My mind whipped out of that idea quicker than security could say
"Please proceed through the security line," which they did.

Before Tracy headed back into the still, black morning again, she
asked "So did you see Bridesmaids?"

ME: "Yes."

T: "Does it look like there's any fucking moose heads hanging in the
airport here?"

ME: "OMG! No one is dressed in plaid either!!!"

There you have it America, classic Hollywood film stereotype
shattered. Bliggity-Blam!

One body scan later, I ended up sitting on the plane next to the
military family from earlier. No witty banter this time though, I
literally face-planted into the window and remained in a sleep induced
coma for the next hour and a half of flight time (I've been up for
well over 24 hours) until we landed in Denver for my aircraft switch
direct to Canada.

The flight to Toronto lacked a full aircraft which meant my purse got
to completely overtake the seat next to me... and then some. If only
my iPhone didn't constitute the majority of my travel blogging desktop
setup, I'd take a picture for you.

At the beginning of the flight, the crew nonchalantly informed us the
pilot's name is Tyler Derden... then again, I shouldn't have leaked
those details. You see, I'm really not allowed to talk about our
"Flight Club." I will spill these beans; however, the man catty corner
up from me is digging for gold and about to go two knuckles deep...
I'm just praying Mr. Derden finds some turbulence before The Nose
Miner gets a "taste" of victory.

Mrs. Grinch

Decorating (for me) is very similar to a one-night stand. I will only
do it for a combination of two things:

1) I'm drunk

&
2) I'm lonely

Luckily these things rarely happen...

Don't get me wrong, I love decorations and bringing out the spirit of
the season; but if given the choice, I would say no and probably go
on one of my crazy adventures or just plain sleep instead.

So this week my branch at work decided to have it's annual Christmas
decorating party while I'm went on vacation. But you see the interesting
thing about our decorating party is that we don't decorate. Employees
work fervently the days leading up to the party so instead we can
drink Bud Light and eat pizza without worrying about the symmetry of the
hanging icicle lights or the dangers of mixing booze with glass
ornaments.

Eh, whatever, I could do without the beer. Only this year, the other staff
elected me and only one other person as the sole decorators for the
week. As I'm digging through dusty, dirty boxes from the basement,
they're planning out white elephant gifts and food to have catered.
They were making us do all the goddamn dirty work, so they could sit
back on their laurels and enjoy a party they technically didn't invite
me to. Livid doesn't explain the emotion I felt. On top of that some
of the ladies had the nerve to complain about how we were putting
things up.

Don't worry, I did not shove a tree stand up anyone's nether regions.
In fact, I tried to find comedy in this winter wonderland nightmare.
For example:

-The ceiling is 10 feet tall; the Christmas tree is 10.25 feet tall.

-We were too cheap to buy ornament hooks, so we made some out of paperclips.

-I gathered all the gold ornaments together and put them all on one
fake tree branch.

-We made the spare office look like an episode of Hoarders - Paper
Towel/Cardboard Box edition.

-Only half of the lights on the gargantuan tree came on... and they're
built into the branches.

-The ornaments are so mismatched it looks like a seeing-eye-dog helped
pick them out.

See even man's best friend hates decorating.

Eventually the clock chimed 6PM and my dream of garland freedom became a reality.

Never again will I spend an entire workday decorating.

The tree...

So next year I've devised a few ways to get out of this in case it
rears it ugly head again. Feel free to employ some for your own use.

1) Pull a 127 Hours on both hands
2) Drop and break every single bulb
3) Find one outlet extender and just keep plugging in
appliances/Christmas lights until the circuit is blown.
4) Throw up and go home sick
5) Convert to Judaism

I'll leave you with the following holiday pictures:

What's in a Number?

One frequently asked question (FAQ if you will) a derby player hears: "So why'd you pick that to be your number?" Some are obvious like 420 ;D, some less obvious like 122, a beloved child's birth date. My number 1112 falls into the less obvious category. Don't worry baby birds, I'll feed you the story behind it.

Three years ago about this time, my high school BFF Anne Luben and I embarked with a pack of clove cigarettes (miss those) on a fourteen hour journey to Dubuque, Iowa.

It was just for the weekend, a quick in and out to tie up loose ends, but an adventure all the same. Particularly inspired by a good friend of ours Tim Hanten.

I met Tim, a solo singer/songwriter, during my stint as a concert promoter; he toured with my good buddies in a band called Paper Mache and The Logan. I remember the first weekend we hung out, I patched up a pair of his pants with some spare Bratz Dolls material (he picked it out). It just so happened one of those holes was in the crotch of his pants, so I sewed it with one of the female cartoon characters peeking her head out. When I gave him the jeans back, he hilariously petted the crotch patch while tenderly declaring "I shall call her Nadine." Well Tim and his new "Nadine" left the next day, but they would return over the years. Each visit Tim brought so much adventure and optimism, I couldn't help but catch the spontaneous bug he spread.



During one visit he told us a story about a friend of his who had this picture of a lighthouse that kept post somewhere on the east coast (I believe it was New York, but let's not make assumptions). She constantly talked about how beautiful this guiding structure was to her and how someday she would visit it. Tim made sure that someday happened. Out of the blue one day, he told her to grab the picture and get in the car; before she had a chance to debate the trip's logistics, Tim already had her driving on the freeway. They left without any money or any plans, but along the way they met generous strangers who kept them going. Even though it seemed like random folks gave them so much, I like to think Tim and his friend gave these acquaintances a renewed sense of hope and adventure; a drive to chase their own lighthouse down.


And in a way that's what Anne and I were doing. Neither of us had ventured so far from our parents before (our folks actually had no clue we had left the state). This trip symbolized a check on a bucket list and our liberation from supervised adolescence into adulthood.

Yay for blurry auto timed pictures from the roof of my car!

It's amazing how much more I noticed in my surroundings on the journey to Dubuque once I declared it an adventure in my mind. Everything my eyes came across equaled something new and funny and beautiful. For example:

Yeah you can be jealous.

"Touch Hearts Not Children"

You could get your power ball ticket AND flu vaccination from the same gas attendant!

In all seriousness though, the thing I loved most about our trip happened at 7AM driving through the city outskirts. Anne snoozed in the passenger seat, and a soft snow sprinkled the slumbering corn fields we drove parallel to. The scene of old farmhouses standing guard freshly coated in a delicate white blanket of frost created a picture so heartbreakingly beautiful in my eyes, I still to this day cannot believe it existed. It was one of those moments full of calm perfection, people spend their whole lives chasing and/or trying to find again. I wish I had snapped a picture of one of those houses to pull up in times of need, but then again I think the picture I saved in my memory gives that morning more justice than any still photo could capture.


About an hour later, my trusty ford focus pulled into town where I woke Anne up and we quickly bee-lined it for the Mississippi River.

This camera was the bane of my existence.

Why stop at just looking at the flowing body of water? I took off my shoe and dipped my toes in the water via (Latin for way =) also pronounced "wee-ah") famous for being so integral to early American literature ... and the movie Almost Heroes.



After fooling around the banks for a tad (which we later learned horrified people due to the fact that the Mississippi is apparently as clean as a septic tank); we still had time to kill before our friends from Paper Mache, who traveled to join us on this adventure, arrived in Dubuque. So Anne and I discovered something else; Dubuque, Iowa is almost like the Florida peninsula of the Midwest. It pokes out to touch both Illinois and Wisconsin borders. This meant we checked another two items off that bucket list... after a few u-turns that is; this was the age before Google maps dominated my phone.

Little did I know I'd be returning to Illinois sooner than I thought

Jim Doyle schwing!

Before we knew it the sun set and our friends sat waiting at the hotel for us to pick them up for the engagement that had brought us all together.

Seth, Chris, and I heading out.

Rewind. Remember the "loose ends" that needed tying up? I forgot to mention those included saying goodbye to Tim. Three days before we left for our epic road trip, I answered a call that broke my heart. Tim had been thrown from a car during a rollover and died instantly at the scene. This person so full of life and optimism and just plain goodness ceased to exist. It also meant for the first time in my life, I would be attending a funeral.



We had spent the entire day trying to find pieces of Tim hidden somewhere in his hometown of Dubuque. On the way to the wake, I definitely felt like we discovered remnants of him scattered amongst the moss of the Mississippi, the giant autumn oak leaves, the broken walkways, the bridges leading across the river where he wrote his songs, and especially in the eyes of those who knew him.

So two years later when I joined derby, it surprised me how quickly my number came to me. 11-12, Tim's last day on earth. Every time I pull my jersey over my head or type my number in an email to other derby folks, I pay tribute to a great person and remember to live everyday as though it were my last with Tim's same benevolent spirit, sense of adventure, and all around love for life and people. I hope that it inspires you too.



Thanks for stumbling into my life and reminding me to smile Tim. You'll never be forgotten.

I Need An Adventurer...

Okay this is kind of awkward to admit, but I don't know Wyoming at all. My mother birthed me here, my parents raised me in two houses (we upgraded when the third and final sibling came along) both built here, and I've learned most everything I know from this place. Still I've never explored it. For example, ahem... I have never been to Yellowstone National Park.

Please, please, silence your gasps.

I suppose I fell into an all to familiar rut that many people find. I lived in Casper, Wyoming my whole life, but secretly wished to be anywhere else. As a kid, I saw myself raising baby lions tucked away at a wildlife sanctuary in Africa or acting a part in play at a New York City Broadway house. Don't get me wrong, I have every intention of fufulling my childhood dreams (well the ones that are still important to me). But recently I've come to terms with something.

I've been neglecting a place vital to my very being for far to long. I've brushed away any thought of adventure here with the go-to "it's so windy and cold!" or "ugh, it's Wyoming, there's nothing to do here," instead always opting to get out of town whenever the opportunity presented itself (or I created one).

But it's time for a change. This change prompted by an impending full-time move to Los Angeles, California (I'm a snow-bird there now =). My shifting of addresses rapidly approaches, but I can't help but feel empty hearted if I leave without taking any memories of adventures from the place that made me.

So this is my appeal to you, who's with me? Give me suggestions of things to do, discover, and see in the Equality State. Maybe participate in a protest, photograph wildlife, volunteer at a museum, visit outlaw hideouts, climb Devil's Tower... this could go on for a while. If you have any ideas/opportunities for me, please don't hesitate to share. Is there a Wyoming excursion you've always wanted to accomplish? Let me know, I'm always looking for a good partner in adventure.

Remember time is short, so do as my jr. high Latin club buddies would say and Carpe Diem! (Seize the Day!)

In Some Strange House

Yesterday Casper finally recieved it's first good dusting of snow... which turned into a blizzard. But that couldn't keep me from attending the annual Wyoming Symphony Orchestra's Christmas house tour.

As you can tell this fella was over joyed at the snow.

 

What can I say, I'm a sucker for free things. The tickets for the house tour cost $60 (something I would never fork over out of my own pocket) but this year being a member of Stage III's Board of Directors meant our tickets had been comped (Thanks Symphony Orchestra!). So I layered myself from head to toe in anything I could find in the giant pit of clothing that used to be my closet, and headed downtown with my old friend Bryan Pryde who recently came back from Minnesota.

When we arrived at Grant Street Grocery (tour headquarters), we traded tickets for wristbands, a map of the neighborhood path we needed to follow, and a promise of food on our return. Our first stop, across the street to Scrooge's House. Oh did I mention, the tour is themed after A Christmas Carol? Folks decorated their downtown mansions to represent Christmas Past, Present, and Future as well as our first stop, Scrooge's House.

Luckily all the stops displayed eye-catching "Home Tour" signs to let us know we were indeed in the right place.

 

I tried to get Bryan to move this sign to the lawn of the house next door, but alas, our digits were frozen (next year we'll bring gloves). Epic prank fail.

On the front porch, a box of blue surgical booties waited patiently to cover our wet feet.

 

One of the most awkward things with heels. The fabric also set off a paranoia in my head I had something stuck to my shoe.

Soon upon entrance Scrooge scolded us "Don't touch anything!" I immediately started petting the nearest doorframe. This stop definitely stole the show. The decorations all stemmed from the trun-of-the-century antiques, and the actual characters interating with tourists entertained the high heavens out of me.

The Scrooges

 

Hopes high, we stepped out into the calm snowy night to trek our way to Christmas present, sans booties of course. Feet frozen solid, we stepped through the next threshold and instead of being greeted by a character, the smell of Walmart Christmas bombarded my nose.

That's Bryan stroking a fur blanket.

 

 Not going to lie, this display equaled the most boring. It looked like someone had opended their already Christmas ready adobe to the public, not a scene from Charles Dickens classic tale (unless you count the movie playing above the fire place). To drive my point home, the highlight discussion piece involved a square posterboard with gold Christmas balls glued to it (please see above picture for refernece of said oddity). I had no idea why someone would spend time creating that.

Christmas Future proved a tad more theatrical. After putting on a new set of the required booties, we stepped into the open casket viewing of Scrooge's sinister self.

Apparently Scrooge is Catholic.

 

 We muttered a few Hail Mary's, lit a candle, and flew out the door, arriving at the House of Christmas Past before we could shout "Jacob Marley!"

Slightly more artistic, the past came alive. A couple local artists (I will update this post with their names) created new pieces specifically for this display.

One of the silhouettes.

 

The female artist created creepy silhouettes of scenes from Scrooge's past and scattered them amongst the walls. The male artist brought classic movie scenes of A Christmas Carol to life through a black and white film compostion projected onto the dining room wall. The house filled with sounds of eery piano music composed by the same fellow who cut the film together.

But alas, these artful beauties couldn't keep us from the smell of food wafting from the tent down the block; so one last time we raced into the snowy night back to tour headquarters.

Thankful to be out of the cold, we stepped in line for some delicious Christmas treats. Apparently melted snow drenched us from head to toe, which we discovered when one of the caters jokingly mentioned we were flicking water all over him.

Where's the figgy pudding???

The taste of homemade bacon brussel sprouts, stuffing, and turkey smothered in gravy satisfyed my tastebuds to high heavens. The small servings slightly disappointed my fat kid heart, but I topped off the void with some hot, holiday wine/mead beverage and a decorative raisin pie of sorts.

 

I found my friend Betsy Bower mingling around the tent, so she joined us for some grub as well.

Betsy

 

After a little chit chat and Bryan almost burning the flesh off his legs from standing in front of the furnace too long, we headed back to the car; but not before we grabbed a chesnut roasting on an open fire.

Mmmmm.... creamy.

 

 The only suggestions I'd give for next year's tour; have the candy cane volunteers at each home talk about the history of all the houses (since they are afterall historical homes) and make sure the character actors are stationed at each one the entire time. I really wanted to learn something at each stop or at least be entertained by something other than a discussion about stapling moss to a cork board.

Overall thoguh, the tour was a great excuse to leave to warm protection of my apartment, and enjoy the winter wonderland lying just outside my door, I too often ignore.

The Slammy's

Wow... I have officially survived my first year of derby. What a crazy fun, rewarding, and frustrating year that has been. The best way to top it off? The annual awards banquet. Last year I joined the Casper league and tested out of fresh meat literally two weeks before the season ender; therefore, I only walked away with a fresh meat award. Being seasoned meat by the conclusion of this year meant I'd get an actual award. Granted it's nothing like MVP or Highest Scoring Jammer; the awards are light-hearted and fun all the same.

We adopted the Slammy's (clever derby play-on words of the Grammy's ;) for a theme and raided the local stores of any attire that would match. In the end we all dressed to kill.

Our board of directors allowed us one guest each. Unfortunately Justin lives thousands of miles away in a place where the weather is gorgeous and potato bugs roam freely, so I brought my handy-dandy best friend Lilly (although I have no idea how he resisted an open bar).

While no one can ever fill JShell's shoes, Lilly did a pretty good job of walking in them. I don't remember a single moment void of laughter. Well except for during the slideshow when I chided her for texting. And yes she is THAT person in movies who illuminates a three foot radius of seating area with a cellphone screen the entire time to text and occassionally take calls.

The slideshow soon ended and the award presentation began. Every derby girl bought a gift for an assigned person in order to give out a little extra love with the plaques. My giftee Chelsea received the Mighty Mouse Award. Not sure what the description included but I threw a copy of Whip It, a Team USA t-shirt, & some vibrant blue eye shadow into a Hannukah themed bag and called it good. A few folks later, our presenter called my name.

Yours truly officially holds the title: Vivien LeighEmOut - Trickeration Master.

Trickeration designated "in recognation of (my) knowledge of, and ability to plan and execute fancy plays and tricky starts." Why thank-you. What really mattered though was that I had my cake and I ate it too...

Along with several Apple Jacks shots that will never again pass my lips.
The night brought jovial feelings all around. Our team united for what seemed like the first time in a long, long, much-deserved time. Walking out the door that night I knew I would always have a family with these gals... slightly dysfunctional and full of ups and downs, but a life long bond nontheless.

Silly kids, Halloween's for adults too!

No matter how opposed a person states they are to growing up, they never escape it... unless of course they live with their parents the rest of their lives. Even though I'd like to think of myself as a carefree individual, I can't help but get caught up in everyday life sometimes. Eager for a break from a particularly stressful year, this Halloween my best friend Lilly and I decided to dress up and trick-or-treat just like we did seventeen years ago.

Lilly insisted on a zombie costume which meant my theatre degree skills would finally come in handy. An hour later as the coagulated, fake blood was drying, I threw a cupcake costume over my head and coated myself in glitter. We were a match made in heaven.

Notice my sprinkles?

A couple of my recyclable grocery bags in hand, we raced off to harvest candy from strange houses. Dashing from home to home and being rewarded with candy proved exhilarating. After a few houses we could hardly contain our fits of laughter; the carefree joy literally seeped from our pores... or maybe that was the sweat (for the first time in almost a decade the weather stayed mildly warm and calm for the evening festivities). We literally felt like kids again; the chill air biting our cheeks, hair flying freely around our faces, leaves crunching under our feet.

Although we almost had our cover blown at one house when a lady spotted a tattoo on Lilly's inner bicep.

OLD LADY: "What's that under your arm there?"

LILLY: "Oh this?... (quizzical looks between me and Lilly)... it's a tattoo..."

OLD LADY: "Oh well you're not really going to do that to your body are you?! Don't you ever do something like that."

ME: (Even more quizzical looks at each other) "No ma'am, we would never..."

OLD LADY: "Alright, well you girls have a safe night. Be careful."

(Door Closes)

ME & LILLY: "Did she think that was fake???"

(Laughter ensues as we leap off the porch and run off into the night).

At another house a lady actually recognized our older ages and made us dance for 3 minutes straight to "Shout!" before we got our candy. Don't worry, she had animated figurines litering her front porch to provide the music.

Word to the wise... never go trick-or-treating in the "rich" neighborhoods. I know, I know, you're thinking "But hey, the rich people give out the best candy." You must keep in mind that's what everyone with children thinks, which only results in an overcrowded house dashing experience where candy is rationed like it's a Ugandan refugee camp (Let's face it, people didn't get rich by just handing out money...er candy.. left and right). Take my advice, hit the streets where the lit up houses are a tad spread apart. They get less kids and are usually excited to get company no matter the age.

Lilly and I, being the ripe age of 23, covered entire streets in a matter of minutes. Our sprinting abilities resulted in handfuls of candy and our driver's licenses sped us to the next neighborhood. A few hours later we decided to take a load off at my derby pal Amy's house and weigh our loot.

CANDY!!!

The official numbers revealed by Amy's trusty scale people do indeed like cupcakes more than zombies.

My bag = 8lbs

Lilly's bag = 7lbs

We decided we'd probably collected enough candy for the year. A smoke break for Lilly, a relaxing glass of red wine for me, and a great jovial conversation around the wood burning stove in Amy's garage proved the perfect end of the night.

The beautiful Amy and I

I couldn't think of a better way my Halloween could have been spent.

And what's a little Halloween treat without the trick?