*blue balls not included.
I had the name “Pat McCrotch” printed on a sticker for my second car – a silver, nothing-power-operated Honda Civic, who was a total bitch when it came time to having an accidental spin out on I-71N. Yeah, my dad didn’t like that so much. The sticker or the accident, I digress. He also didn’t like the “Fuck” patch sewed into my college backpack. It was a misprint, I said. It should have said “Ford.” Totally unintentional. Snerk.
Misprints or misnomers aside, I’ve had the task of developing a brand for myself — for my new business, that is. Instead of unemployment, I’m going the route of self-employment. With that, a company name is in order, and by some seriously-appreciated suggestions, I think I got that finally pinned down. And I have clients already, so that totally works. A great friend who is a graphic designer will be taking on the role of creating my logo and business “look.” She’s awesome, and only wants my cookies. It’s totally a fair trade. This professional progress takes about 1/4 of the stress out of my week.
Since I was already in the midst of transitions and apparently not giving myself enough things to do, after TALKING about starting roller derby for a year or two, I’m actually DOING it. I acquired all my protective gear — new skates and such — and start practices in the rec league tonight. I’ll be participating in the Burning River Roller Girls Boot Camp and hopefully be ready for tryouts in three weeks. Yeah, less than three weeks now that I see the calendar. So, hopefully this is the perfect way to expunge all that pent up energy and bombs of stress.
For whatever unexplained reason of mental sciences and/or brain function, I’m more stressed about my derby name than my business name. Where is the sense in that?
All these naming rights need to be equally family-friendly, which is totally not my thing. I have one or more double entendres in my arsenal that need to be morphed from a blog post into at LEAST a PG-13 namesake. Obviously, anything with “penis” will just not work, which makes me sad. Horny still, but sad.
I should have gone into porn.
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This blog is about pursuit: a transplanted Clevelander (me) in a new city (that's you, Pittsburgh!), pursuing the role of a self-employed copywriter, becoming a roller derby badass and somehow merging all my to-do items into one ever-growing Bucket List.
And of MY boyfriend. His blue balls started this mess.
