There are these cheap Hawaiian hula dolls that sit on the dashboard of the car and wiggle - apparantly imitating the hula moves. Imagine that doll with thirty additional puinds on her. Now you have a picture of me on rollerblades.
I know that my feet were moving - yet they seemed to stay in one place in comparison with everything going on from my waist up. Back and forth I moved - waist up only - bending occasionally, going backwards, never quite staying still. One difference between me and the hula doll -- I had lots of pads on, no grass skirt, and I made noise. Lots and lots of noise.
Plots of grass became my oasis. I sought out any grassy area within my reach. At least I tried to. My taskmaster was stern. Gary (aka my boyfriend and rollerblade taskmaster) didn't allow me to slack off. He did back off once when I whined about my feet hurting. (And yes, they really did hurt! Seriously! Believe me!) I figured that I tried his patience when he asked if I really wanted to learn or not. Hmmmm... I just paid a ton of money for new blades, pads, and was looking like a complete fool in front of his apartment complex.... hmmmm,,,, did I really want to learn? I wasn't sure at that point.
It really sucks when people walk by and get this totally shit eating grin on their face as they look at me. I know that they are holding the laughter in... well at least for as long as they pass me. Yes, I hear you laughing behind my back. It wouldn't be behind my back if I could turn. But I can't turn. All I can do is try to keep my feet from going out from under me - while waving my hands and bending back and forth like the dashboard hula doll.
good thing I am hawaiian... yeah - that is it... hulablading: my extreme sport.
I know that my feet were moving - yet they seemed to stay in one place in comparison with everything going on from my waist up. Back and forth I moved - waist up only - bending occasionally, going backwards, never quite staying still. One difference between me and the hula doll -- I had lots of pads on, no grass skirt, and I made noise. Lots and lots of noise.
Plots of grass became my oasis. I sought out any grassy area within my reach. At least I tried to. My taskmaster was stern. Gary (aka my boyfriend and rollerblade taskmaster) didn't allow me to slack off. He did back off once when I whined about my feet hurting. (And yes, they really did hurt! Seriously! Believe me!) I figured that I tried his patience when he asked if I really wanted to learn or not. Hmmmm... I just paid a ton of money for new blades, pads, and was looking like a complete fool in front of his apartment complex.... hmmmm,,,, did I really want to learn? I wasn't sure at that point.
It really sucks when people walk by and get this totally shit eating grin on their face as they look at me. I know that they are holding the laughter in... well at least for as long as they pass me. Yes, I hear you laughing behind my back. It wouldn't be behind my back if I could turn. But I can't turn. All I can do is try to keep my feet from going out from under me - while waving my hands and bending back and forth like the dashboard hula doll.
good thing I am hawaiian... yeah - that is it... hulablading: my extreme sport.
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