Tuesday, July 8, 2008

blood, peanut butter and puke: the BOTB round-up

mom and i had discussed the possibility of a tournament weekend visit, but she didn't think she could get the time off work. a month went by, and i didn't hear from her, so i assumed this was the case. but where my mother is concerned, i shouldn't be so naive. she is notorious for her vacation-by-ambush tactics.

it was the tuesday night preceding "battle on the bank" when my mom called to tell me she would be driving to LA from phoenix the next day. she's staying at my apartment, of course, which had not been sanitized in preparation for a mom visit. i would need more than 24 hrs notice to accomplish this, and so the dust remained on my windowsills.

though she remains a controversial figure, my mother's services proved indispensable during the tourney weekend. on saturday, i arrived at the doll factory and realized i'd left my trusty peanut butter and jelly sandwich on my bed, forsaken in its aluminum foil casing. i called my mom, who was still lagging at my apartment, and she promised to bring the elusive PBJ.

mom! bring me my goddamn PBJ!*

following the L.A. Golden Girls' first match of the day (against OC, who we defeated), i spotted my mom in the stands.

"i have your sandwich, meg!" she called out.

"thanks mom."

it wasn't until later, as i was stuffing that sandwich into my sandwich hole, that i learned just what a headache Mission: PBJ had been.

"i forgot it at home." she told me. "i was halfway here and i had to turn around and go back for it. and then when i was going through security, they tried to confiscate it."

"oh shit! how did you get it in?" i asked, my mouth full of peanut butter.

"i threw a fit! i was yelling at the security guard, and then someone overheard me say that i was your mother. i was escorted inside."

despite my mom's efforts, peanut butter wasn't enough to secure the win against SD. the score was close throughout and it came down to the last couple of jams. LA actually skated an erroneous victory lap before being called off the track by the refs. our winning points were erased from the scoreboard (we'd committed a major penalty during the previous jam, which rendered our points null and void). the refs put another minute on the clock, and the final jam was skated sans LA jammer. SD held onto their one-point lead and won the game.

the golden girls lose and crystal deth sheds tears of blood!

after the match, i joined my mom in the bleachers to watch the LA vs. TXRD bout. it became apparent that she had been swept away by the Orange Flood. as she congratulated me on my skating ("i'm so proud of you, meggie!"), i noticed the peculiar way her speech had become simultaneously rapid and slurred; the telltale orange glow around her mouth; and the giveaway empty cans at her feet.

the league is now sponsored by Sparks, as evidenced by the profusion of Sparks signage throughout the Factory and our rabid, orange-mouthed fans.

eliminated from competition, i spent Day 2 of the tournament (sunday) alongside my mother as a Sparks-drinking spectator. i don't hold Sparks responsible for what went down during the LA Ri-ettes vs. Team Awesome bout, which was the final match-up of the tourney. i'd only had one, but it did lend my buckets of vomit a distinctive orange hue.

in my defense, i didn't feel the puke coming. one minute i'm sitting alongside my mom, the two of us enjoying our respective Sparks (hers regular, mine "the always blue, never sad" light variety), and the next thing i know, i'm blowing chunks onto the back of the VIP sitting directly in front of me. i bolted from my seat and made for the VIP restroom, pausing once to vomit into a trash can en route.

on my way out of the bathroom, i crossed paths with the woman on whom i had spewed.

"i'm so sorry! i'm not drunk you know. i'm just really, really ill."

"it's OK. you barely got me." she was kind.

"i'm so embarrassed."

"don't worry about it. it's not like i know you! who am i gonna tell about it?"

i just hope she didn't notice the name emblazoned across the back of my LA Golden Girls t-shirt.

i returned to the bleachers toting paper towels, and found my mother where i'd left her: watching the game, Sparks in hand. everyone else in the section had cleared out, presumably because of the wretched smell. at my mother's feet was my vomit-encrusted "This Is How We Roll" LADD tote bag. she turned to me.

"where did you go?"

"mom! didn't you notice that i just puked all over the place? look at my bag!"

she looked down, and i watched her orange-tinted lips tighten with repulsion.

"that's pretty fucking gross, meg."

"i know. tell me about it."

despite my profound illness, i was determined to watch the remainder of the game. though i rested my head in my lap between jams, from what i gathered, LA won, and then Team Awesome won, and then LA won for real. everyone was confused: the skaters, the announcers, the crowd, and the refs. it was very tense and dramatic and i think a riot almost broke out (i felt a few empty cans of sparks whiz by my oh-so-heavy head). the moment the game was finally called, i made a mad dash for the bookmobile, and booked it onto the 101. the car ride did nothing to improve my condition. as i was exiting onto gower, i had to pull over to vomit onto the curb, and was only partially successful.

it felt like a million years later that i was finally home, upchucking in the comfort of my own toilet. i couldn't keep anything down until the next day.

my sunday night sickness begs a few questions: is there such thing as too much derby? will your own stomach turn against you as an act of protest against the questionable calls made by LADD refs? does the collective over consumption of Sparks malt energy beverage incite riots? is judy gloom totally gross, and did her car smell like death the next day?

the answer to all of these questions is a firm "maybe" (except the last one, which is an emphatic "hell yes"). though it is worth noting that i received a monday night phone call from the dude i kissed on saturday. he told me that he spent the day trying not to vomit up his internal organs. so yeah, i'm inclined to think it was just a bug.

*photo is actually from the LA vs. SD, but i couldn't resist using it out of sequence.

3 comments:

Ben Goetting said...

you let your own mother drink sparks?!

How does sparks stay in business? Have the stumbled upon some sort of "give everything away to make money" type of economic system? I literally dont know anyone who has payed for a sparks but i've seen them giving it away for 3 years.

Georgia said...

Oh dear! That's a lot of puking! I'm sorry to hear that you guys lost, and that your mother ambused you again, and that you got sick, and that you puked on someone and in your car. But I'm glad to hear that you kissed a boy on Saturday...well, I'll be glad to hear it when you give me all the details on Thursday.

Judy Gloom said...

ben: i did not put the sparks in my mother's hand. the woman is addicted to engery drinks, and i imagine when the beer guy was pushing his cart near the bleachers, the battery-inspired design of the sparks can caught her eye.

sadly, i know people who pay for sparks (case in point: my mother). when i said that sparks is sponsoring LADD, that means the league has a contract with them. sparks is sold at LADD bouts, and our fans actually buy the stuff.

skaters, however, drink for free, which is more in line with the sparks economic model you mentioned.