I always quite liked the idea of having a secret identity. You know, fronting up at work each day and making your contribution, and then suddenly when the five o’clock whistle blows, you transform into a super hero, or a rock star, or a wrestler, or maybe even a secret agent. It keeps everyone guessing and it certainly adds an element of excitement to the daily grind. Whilst I don’t fancy the idea of getting all “Fight Club” about it, and rocking into work the next day bruised and battered and missing a few teeth, lately I’ve been harbouring a desire to add some spice to my life.
So a while ago I went along to a Richter City Roller Derby bout. It was magical – Brutal Pageant vs Trash Malice. Bogan outfits, bitchin stage names, brutality on skates. Awesome. While I enjoyed wincing at the thrills and spills with my beer in the bleachers though, it wasn’t enough to just watch, I kind of wanted in.
Skating with girls like Thigh Voltage, Goldies Spawn, Florence Might Impale, and Scarface Clawdia, I felt was going to be a good time (although somewhat painful perhaps). I left that night mulling over my stage name – Stine Roller? Chrissy Crack Her? Insanein Devane? Or maybe even Tits McGee? All viable options, I thought. I can skate, but while we never focused on brute-force-biffo at the Taihape Skating Club after school, I was confident it was something I would excel at.
When choosing a second identity though, there are a variety of factors that need to be considered, like whether it fits into your schedule and budget, the level of commitment they expect and whether that matches what you are willing to give etc. A couple of other important factors for me are:
• What are the odds of paralysis?
• Could I lose my teeth?
You may think that’s a bit drastic, but if you’re a regular reader you’ll know I don’t exactly have the best luck in the world, and have sustained fairly decent injuries from previous involvement in extra curricular activities which resulted in severe depression, social ostracism, and a bit of obesity, so I’m not that keen to put my body on the line again, to tell you the truth. That being said, I think I will just have to stick with being a roller derby enthusiast from outside of the rink. That also rights off bull riding and barrel racing which I’d also quite fancied. Damn.
So continuing on the search for a secret identity/guilty pleasure type lark, I went along to a Real Hot Bitches meeting yesterday. The Bitches are a bunch of bitches that get together to wear lycra and shake what their mothers gave them in semi-sync to big tunes of the 80’s.
I felt the low hum of uneasiness as I walked in the door – who’s that bitch? Can she dance? And who the hell does she think she is sauntering in here sans-leotard? They were threatened by the aura of cool I was emanating. If it wasn’t for the fact that I turned up in a Toyota Corolla wearing newly acquired ‘dance pants,’ I think I might have felt like a bit of an outlaw rocking in in my well-worn ACDC t-shirt and biker jacket.
Yesterday’s “choreo” though, (pronounced phonetically, FYI) was a powerfully sexy set of moves to Whitesnake’s “Here I go again.” Those bitches cut right to the core of my bogan heart with that tune, and they knew it. The dance told a story of seduction, involving Bobby, a lone wolf who is tormented by a gang of lycra-clad women writhing and thrusting their way across the stage to bath in his presence. Powerful, and subtle, all at the same time.
So yeah. Unless you can suggest any other extra curricular activities suitable for secret-identity purposes, which won’t see me losing an eye or an incisor, I am considering lending my own powerful presence to the Real Hot Bitches, in a semi-regular way.
Thoughts and suggestions are welcome. In the meantime, have a gander at this:
