How Roller Derby Prepares You For Motherhood (The Crossover)

Dear Pregnant Derby Girl:

Much like roller derby, you probably approached motherhood as something you’d seen before, mostly on TV or the movies, and you felt like you’d be pretty good at it. It does look like fun.

But then you went and did it and just like during your first week of roller derby, you’re thinking, “WHY DIDN’T ANYONE TELL ME IT WOULD BE LIKE THIS? IT IS HARD AND THERE’S ALL THIS PAIN. LOOK WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO MY BODY OH MY GOD ARE THERE DRUGS I CAN TAKE?”

The good news is that because of roller derby, you’re already used to thinking of your body as something other than just your “self.” You know what it’s like to have donated your entire life to a higher calling, a greater good. This prepares you well for both pregnancy and delivery, and eventually for motherhood itself.

You are already used to people – sometimes strangers – poking you, pushing you, touching your boobs and your butt. You don’t even blink when someone puts a hand between your legs and moves you to the side. Weird bruises don’t faze you, neither does blood coming from parts of you that don’t normally bleed like that. You go to the doctor more often than most people. You know it’s just a matter of time before you rip open something important. But this time, girl, that thing you’re ripping open will be your taint. Continue reading

Hey, Pamie: “How do I best jump-start my stalled novel and then what do I do with it?”

Today’s weekly procrastination is making me have to use the tl;dr shorthand, which I only recently looked up as I’d never had to learn it before, because I don’t believe in its philosophy. (What if it was good, and you would’ve been so happy to have read all those words? Why so much judging on length alone? If you’re so busy, what are you doing screwing around on the Internet, anyway?)

The tl;dr answer is in this entry’s title, but here’s the letter in full (I’ll bold the parts where she’s asking her questions): Continue reading

Some Things About Myself That I Need To Work On

* When I’m in a public restroom and a lady comes out of the stall, I really want to stop saying “Thank you” to her when I pass her on my way in. And I mean, I really thank her in a genuine way, every time. There is no need for this thank you. It’s not like I was about to pee my pants. If anything, all it does is draw attention to the fact that I’m about to use the toilet she just finished using. I will be in her “pee space,” as the mother of an ex-boyfriend of mine used to say when she’d scold him for using the bathroom before I did.

That has also stayed in my head forever, so I will now share it with you. She said when boys pee they stand in front of the toilet, and there’s a “stream of pee space” that is created that is exactly where my head goes when I sit down to pee right after him.

* I need to work on not being so obsessed with the pee space. Continue reading

Notes from a “lump” of Houston Sheraton Town & Country Stationery, circa 1990 or 91

Just so you know, I got an email from 200-page boy, who got an email from one of you asking, “ARE YOU 200-PAGE LETTER DOUGLAS THAT PAMIE’S WRITING ABOUT?!?”

Small, small world. He was writing to let me know that he does, indeed, still have that letter. My first book! (Speaking of books, the galleys are in for Going in Circles. Are you someone fancy who writes blurbs/reviews and would like to give me a blurb/review? My publicist would love to send you an Advanced Reader Copy! Email me.)

I looked through my high school box of letters and stories, but couldn’t find another word about Homeroom Boy. It appears that saga quickly came and went. I did find this bundle of stationery from the Houston Town & Country hotel. It isn’t dated, but from what I’m talking about it’s sometime either at the end of my freshman year or maybe during the summer before my sophomore year. That makes me fourteen? Fifteen? I don’t know.

But I do know it’s mortifying and hilarious. Continue reading

no great genius

I just found an Internet review of my first novel, Why Girls Are Weird, that may be my favorite blurb of all time:

“it’s a simply written book of no great genius, but i lost count how many times i was laughing out loud. very entertaining.”

My work here is done!

A thin line.

“Good morning, America!”

He says this to me every morning, usually as I’m passing him on my way out the door, while he unloads the power tools I’m trying to escape.

“Good morning, Evidio.”

“All this noise I’m making. I’m going to have to take you out to dinner to repay you.” He raises both hands in surrender, beaming. “I have no choice! I must take you out!”

He’s a smooth operator. Always smiling, always cracking jokes. When he and his crew have to work at my place, I make coffee and breakfast, and it’s been nice getting to know him over the years. He was very supportive during the strike, even though it meant less work for him, too. He started working on a project just at the same time my job ended, so we’ve been seeing more of each other lately than usual. Continue reading

gentlemen, pay attention.

I found Jenny this morning quite giggly and wiggly, bright and early for the morning picket. She was munching an apple. “Hey!” she said.

“Why are you so happy?”

“Oh!” she smiled, gloating. “That guy just asked me if I was in SAG!”

Why Why Moms Are Weird

Within 24 hours of posting information about my new book, someone was already complaining on Amazon. This person was nice enough to repeatedly state she was a fan of my writing, but found the title to be disappointing, and wildly lacking in imagination. I’d been planning to tell the story of how Why Moms Are Weird came to be, so here goes. Continue reading

they walk alike, they talk alike, sometimes they even… (nevermind.)

When my friend Rebecca and I are out in public, we are sometimes mistaken for sisters. In fact, when Dan, his brother Adam, Rebecca and I are sitting at a restaurant together, we look like an East Side version of the Bobbsey Twins: the boys in their ringer t-shirts, Rebecca and I in blue hoodies with our hair pulled into ponytails.

But the story Dan told me today, this one’s the best. Here it is as I heard it, during mile three of this morning’s ten-mile run with Dan (Yes, I ran anyway, even though the nice nurse suggested (ordered) that I don’t. I didn’t want to call Dan in the middle of the night or early in the morning and puss out on him, particularly because we’d logged all the miles during the week leading up to our long run. I got up early and had a good breakfast, drank lots of water, ate an orange, and did some stretching. What do you know, all that preparation worked! We did all ten miles, and didn’t die, and we’re awesome and this week, unlike last, I didn’t come down with the chills for an hour afterward. Yay, us.)

Anyway. Back to the story.

Continue reading