MN RollerGirls F*ck You Up

It was freezing cold last Saturday night. I had worked all day, spent much of my staring off into space time day dreaming about this plaid jacket from Target, hoping that the little puppy hadn't been sold. I rushed to the Midwestern Mecca and, alas, it was gone. The little plaid jacket had found a new home. In my sorrow, I decided to buy a bright blue pair of knee socks to wear instead.

It was too cold anyay, too cold not to wear something that wasn't animal furs and pelts. We would have to suffer a little. Badonks and I rushed to Roy Wilkins auditorium at Xcel in St. Paul. We parked far away because the lot next to the center cost $20. TWENTY DOLLARS! We drove up the hill and parked in a lot labeled "Easy In. Easy Out." Many butt sex jokes ensued. As we walked down the hill, the freezing air ripped through my winter coat and blue knee socks. Then we began to see the people. What was happening? There were hundreds of people around the Xcel. There were scalpers and signs all around the arena. Were all these people seriously here for...

Minnesota RollerGirls?

Minnesota RollerGirls!

No. They weren't.

As I circled around a corner of the building, I saw it and my memory was jogged. Justin Timberlake with Pink. I had a little pang of jealousy because I knew that this would be an outrageously FUN show to go to. A pang that lasted no more than a second because we found the entrance to Roy Wilkins and, after passing the giant room of very bendy male gymasts (who I totally had about eighty fantasies about in the span of five seconds), we went inside to OUR destination.

And it was everything I had hoped it to be. Outrageous. Loud. Colorful. Theatrical.

Badonks and I sat up high and munched on our nachos and frozen malt. We saw several other Olaf grads (a few awkward sightings...to the dude in the cowboy boots...you weren't the shit in college and not every girl wanted to fuck you...and you aren't the shit now...deal with it) and watched the first half...cheering and snapping photos and trying to learn the rules of the game. It was our first time, after all.




Then, at halftime, we ran down to the floor met up with our friends, listened to the band (Robo Sapien...fun...but I couldn't pay attention) and bounced around the arena.





Our really cool friends who have season tickets right by all the action. Literally, right against the ring. You sit next to the girls as they whiz by. You sit on the floor and wait for one of them to trip and crash into your lap. It's awesome. Our really cool friends who let us have their seats for one quarter. Badonks got motion sickness from so closely watching them go in circles. We both acted like paparazzi and I took about 1500 pictures. Literally. I would just hold the button down and they would take, one after the other after the other. Man, I love my new camera. Most of the pics were shit but not all. We screamed extra loud down there. So so very close to the excitment.














We went back to our seats in the sky. I went back to fantasizing a life where I could be a confrontational, take no prisoners, tough ass beeeetch as opposed to the anti-controntational, passive, Midwestern giiiiiiiiirl. Nonetheless, I rocked it out.




We bundled up to fight the fierce Minnesota night. We passed by the entrance to Xcel and heard a few soft notes to Justified. A few thousand screaming fans. Come to find out at halftime, our friends also parked in "Easy In. Easy Out." More butt sex jokes. Many just to ease the pain of that air.

When we got back to the lot, we were trying to figure out the best way to get back to the highway. I heard a man start to tell me. I looked up to listen and saw a woman with long red hair, tight jeans and a cropped, white fur coat. It was a transexual/transvestite. Listen...I could care less about whether or not it was a man, woman, herm, trannie, unicorn, faun...whatever. I don't care. I actually am intrigued by the transgendered. I can't imagine living a life where the body you were given is not the right one. (Also I probably WAS a tran in a past life. I mean...I've seen those pictures of myself...Hellooooooooo Drag Queen!) I just wanted to get back to the highway. So I shouted at Badonks to come listen...

"Linda! Come get directions from hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimmmmmmmmmmmmeeeeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrr!"

It was a slow motion, verbal train wreck. I felt terrible.

"Her," she said.

"I'm sorry," I said.

My stomach dropped. I felt terrible. It just came out. As many of my slip-ups do.

"That's okay," she replied.

She smiled and led us home.

That tough ass bitch could definitely F*ck You Up.