Saturday night I did something I never even slightly imagined myself doing even in one of my porn quality wet dreams: lube wrestling.
I love my softball team. The Slammers are the provebial shit. I decided not to play this summer as I am strictly enforcing the Mary J. Blidge Rule: No More Drama. When coach told me that there were gurls from the team that had issues with me, I decided not to go back to junior high. If you have a problem with me, tell me. If not, it is actually your problem and not mine. There is nothing I can do about an issue if it is not brought to my attention. A bitch might look like Miss Cleo's mixed grandbaby, but psychic I am not. And though I be Minnesotan born and bred, I am committed to leaving Minnesota nice behind and dealing with people face to face.
I love my friends, and I respect my friends, and I love my friends enough to tell them when they have pissed me off, hurt me, or made me happy. That is the mark of a true friend, someone that is not just there for the good shit but for the bad shit and they let you have your shit and hold you accountable for it. As I told my good friends David Cobb and Patrick Barrett..."I am going to fuck up. It is my hope that when I fuck up that you afford me the graciousness of holding me accountable and letting me make amends. And I will afford you that same grace." The Golden Rule is great but when the Golden Rule is broken apply the Golden Principle: Allow Others to Be as Human as You Are.
But anyone, I digress, Saturday night, in support of my softball team, I allowed myself to be stripped half naked in public (for those of you that know me...I DO NOT ALLOW MY BACKFAT TO SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY...ESPECIALLY STROBE LIGHTS). Hoppe, my teammate, and I were lubed up and had two minutes to go at it. After about one minute, I was out of breath and hoping desperately that Hoppe would pin my ass so that I could put my clothes back on. It didn't help that I had just come directly form Melissa Tangye's graduation party and had gorged myself on fried chicken, teriyaki chicken, and grilled chicken. Basically, if a chicken clucked anywhere in a ten mile vicinity, I had eaten it that evening. Add to that several glasses of reisling, a plate of pasta salad, two slices of homemade pizza, and two rum and cokes...and I left the ring, showered, got dressed, went to the bathroom and threw the hell up. Hoppe bruised my tonsils, and I spent the next half an hour convinced that pro-wrestlings must be secretly anorexic.
It was a fucking blast.
I love my people. I love my Slammers. And though I can not be as present as I would like to be, I am present when I can be. Though this winter I was going through some things, was sick as hell on several occassions, and had a minor break down, I still show up when it matters. Whether it is buying a table at an event to support New York and Isha Mae, going to a Hawai'in concert with Titi, or getting slathered in ID lube and then having my ass kicked publicly, I show up for the people I care about in ways that matter.