And Dingo Came Tumbling After
If the name Central Park Dance Skaters brings to mind the snoozefest of Brian Boitano and that girl who always looks as if she slathered her hair with bear grease and had Bobo the Monkey apply her make-up Oksana Baiul on roller skates, stop right there. Imagine the showmanship of MC Hammer dancing on a treadmill (include the Hammer pants), throw in a couple of George Clinton look-alikes and some well-meaning white people trying to channel Vanilla Ice. Now, imagine all of them skate dancing on old-school roller skates to music you wish your parents played at the family BBQ. Are you feelin’ it yet? Are your feet tapping and hips shakin’ to Turn This Mutha Out? Perhaps you’re groovin’ to Stevie Wonder’s Superstition? Well, stop it. Your co-workers are wondering if you’re having some sort of seizure. Anyway, The Central Park Dance Skaters are free entertainment every Saturday and the crowd lining the edge of the impromptu rink and sitting on the nearby hill have as much fun watching as the skaters have skating.
I would love to join the skaters but, alas, I have no inner Pam Grier (the only Foxy Brown, in my book) to let loose in the skating rink. I’m more Marcia Brady, and Innernetz, believe me, no one wants to see her milkshake. I also have a disorder that prevents me from taking part in activities requiring coordination and agility. The scientific name for it is falldown uncoordinated cantwalkand khewgum embarrassment disorder. Most people simply refer to it as FUCKED. I’ve been susceptible to FUCKED all my life. It tends to strike without warning and with as much humiliation as possible.
You’d like an example? My, you are a bloodthirsty crowd, aren’t you? But because I love you, here goes . . . . It was the week before my law school mid-terms and I needed a study break and some exercise. I laced up my rollerblades and decided that I would skate to Town Center to run some errands. I had never skated to Town Center before. The tree-lined street I lived on ran through a residential area but it was heavily traveled by eighteen-wheelers and dump trucks careening down the street like they’d just heard Carmen Electra was giving free blow jobs at the local truck stop. And if the streets were bad, the sidewalks were worse. Small, cramped, and controlled by the mommies with their SUV strollers riding up the back of your ankles and their organic unbleached hemp diaper bags swinging ominously from their shoulders like Poe’s pendulum.
In spite of the road and sidewalk hazards, I set out on my journey. Hell, I’d just spent six hours studying Property Law, I think I subconsciously wanted a truck or a heavy duty double-wide stroller to put me out of my misery. I had to use the sidewalk because the street was packed. One of the local schools had a football game scheduled for later that afternoon and all the entrances to the football field were backed up at least two miles in every direction. I waved to the tailgaters and rowdy fans as if I were a one-woman promotional tour for Starlight Express. Successfully dodging the mommy brigades and their diaper bags of doom, I made it to Town Center with all limbs intact. After a lunch of Rocky Road ice cream, I picked up a few books , toilet paper, and a 2-liter Diet Coke, stuck them into my backpack and headed home.
“Funny, I don’t remember having to blade up such a steep incline!” I thought to myself as I stood on wobbly ankles at the top of what looked like an Olympic Ski Jump. I could see my apartment at the bottom of the hill as if peering through the wrong end of a telescope. “And when did those retaining walls get here?” Many of the yards had the four-foot tall stone walls for which New England is famous. Other homes simply let their lawns gently slope to the sidewalk. Both options thwarted my plan to use the grass as an emergency brake.
I began my descent. All went well until I hit a root sticking through a crack in the sidewalk. I probably would’ve been able to regain my balance if it weren’t for the books and Diet Coke shifting around in the backpack. My arms flailed in all directions but my feet kept moving forward. Houses, trees, and cars passed by at supersonic speed. All I could think of was, “Don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall,” as if barreling down the sidewalk like a marionette on meth was a better alternative.
During my rapid descent and my attempts to stay upright, the tips of my roller blades danced off the sidewalk in frantic pointe work, tap tap tap, but as I picked up momentum they became mini-jackhammers, taptaptaptaptap. I was running on my toes trying to catch up to my dignity when I hit another root. And. Went. Flying. My feet left the sidewalk and curved into a grassy embankment. “Whew!” I thought, “I’ll finally stop.” But, no. I was going too fast. I launched up the embankment as if propelled from a sling shot. Up, up, up, I went! Time stopped. I was suspended in mid-air among the clouds. Weightless. I could touch the sun. Oh, Icarus!
I landed on my books and Diet Coke. The backpack exploded and I was doused with caramelly, carbonated, high fructose corn syrup. One of my roller blades came off. It was going up as I was falling down. I could see it reach its apex and pause for a moment, a serpent about to strike, before it started its rapid free fall toward my head. I threw my hands up over my face and rolled. Down the embankment. Across the sidewalk. To the curb. Leaving Diet Coke and clumps of Charmin in my wake.
My loose skate followed me down the embankment but when it hit the sidewalk it rolled four more feet before coming to a stop. I don’t know how long I sat at the curb staring dizzily at the cars as I gathered my breath and checked for broken bones (there were none). I do know that with the hundreds of eyes staring at me from the road, none of those fuckers came to help. No one asked how I was or if I was hurt. I tried to give them the finger but my hands were so sore my fingers wouldn’t bend. I’m sure those who bothered to look my way wondered why the girl with one skate was giving them the high-five. I hope their team lost. And got jock itch. Fuckers. Somehow, I retrieved my loose skate and, one skate off, one skate on, hobbled the remaining quarter mile of shame home where my landlord who was out raking the leaves saw me, dropped her rake, ran inside and returned with a towel, band aids, and two cocktail glasses full of Tennesse’s finest. We drank it with what was left of the Diet Coke.
I know my limits and no matter how fun it looks, The Central Park Skate Dancers will have to do without me. But, since I already know I can fly, I signed up for a one day class at the New York Trapeze School. So, who wants to hold my Jack and Coke?
Posted on Tuesday, June 09, 2009 at 11:30 AM.
Tags: La Vida Loca
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Oh, my, I will hold your jack coke IF I can wipte the tears from my eyes first. I too am a continuing student in the class of FUCKED, and the only reason these tears are of mirth instead of commiseration is becuase this time it wasn’t me.
Holy shit, this is an awesome story...and your landlord must have been the coolest landlord ever since I’m fairly certain mine would have seen me coming, dropped the rake and run into her apartment to hide.
Wait a minute, I thought if you padded yourself with Charmin, you could never get hurt. Isn’t that what all the little kids used to do in the commercials?
This is such a relief to me! At least, now that I’ve stopped rolling on the floor laughing. I am so happy to know that there is not only a name for my disorder, but that others also suffer from it. And here my Dad thought only HIS daughters could fall off of chairs while sitting still. We should start a support group. Thankyou thankyou thankyou! *Hugs with tears*
De-Lurking to say:
I also suffer from FUCKED. I had a major FUCKED episode my last time on a bicycle, grabbing only one handbrake, and thus stopping only one wheel-- the front one-- flying over the handlebars and breaking my fall with my face.
Thank god for helmets.
And that’s why I don’t do roller skating. I get into enough trouble by simply walking.
I’m also a chronic sufferer of FUCKED. It almost makes me feel guilty for laughing at this. But I got over it!
That was freakin hysterical. Love SUV strollers...might have to steal. Also...I suffer from FUCKED big time. Walking is a challenge. No way I’d ever willingly strap wheels to my feet.
Kori — Please,PLEASE wipe the tears from your eyes while you’re holding my Jack and Coke. I don’t want you to water it down.
Harna — Hi, Harna! Thanks for stopping by. My landlord was pretty cool. She could mix a mean cocktail and bake awesome cookies!
Mel Heth — Those commercials lie. If I’d already had my J.D., I would’ve sued them for false advertisement.
FreedomFirst — I think our support group should get badges, like the Girl Scouts. Except cooler.
Veronica — Hey, Veronica! Flying over handlebars is definitely FUCKED. You are a member in good standing of this special club.
Marjolein — You must have the kantwalkand chewgum form of the disorder. It’s embarrassing isn’t it. People just don’t understand.
April — The best part about FUCKED is laughing at others with the same condition.
Here In Franklin — SUV strollers are deadly. The back of my ankles have permanent tire tread marks on them.
I knew there was a reason I thought we were soul sisters.
This was me on a bicycle. In Europe I flew off a dike in Holland, flipped over my handlebars when hitting trolley tracks in Dusseldorf and hit a brick wall in merry olde Englande.
Fun times, fun times.
Wow. Just wow. I think that calls for more than some Jack and Coke. I think you could actually get away with straight tequilla shots to numb that pain. You are so brave to even attempt to don skates. I have to stay away from anything that moves under my feet without my permission such as, skates, skis, escalators, tramways and the like or there will be disaster in my future guaranteed. I have the ADD version of FUCKED.
“marionette on meth” - I’d like to see that puppet show! Probably the fastest one in history. I think you should join the skaters in the park. Imagine setting that ballet of lack of coordination to music - sheer genius!
OK, here’s the deal. I’ll teach you to skate (old school roller skating, no inline stuff for me), backwards even! and you let me just follow you around and you entertain me with stories like this all day. We must have pom-poms on our skates though. That’s a deal breaker.
My favorite line? “I’m sure those who bothered to look my way wondered why the girl with one skate was giving them the high-five.”
bwuah-ha-ha-ha!!!!
Rollerskates are from the devil. Two weeks before my graduation from Texas Tech, I went rollerskating with my RA staff and BROKE MY EFFIN TAILBONE. Two. Weeks. Before. Graduation.
Graduation was Hell on Earth. Four hours of sitting, broken only by brief periods of standing.....to which the transition makes muscles/ligaments attached to the broken bone strettttttttttcccchhhhhh and SCREAM LIKE banshees!!!
And it’s not like you can look at the people around you and explain the reason you’re making THAT face.
Hell on Earth.
I can’t believe no one helped you! Those jerks.
I say, without hesitation, this is one of the best, very short stories I have read (and I have read millions). I especially like, “controlled by the mommies with their SUV strollers riding up the back of your ankles and their organic unbleached hemp diaper bags swinging ominously from their shoulders like Poe’s pendulum.”
You really need to consider getting some of this stuff published. And I am not trying to stroke your ego. You are a brilliant writer!
LOL, that pic had me laughing!
I, too, suffer from FUCKED. My finest moment was walking across the street in downtown at rush hour… as I neared the curb I caught a patch of ice and face planted into the curb. My face was scraped up, I was bleeding, my face was also covered in the dirt from the street. There were tons of people there and NOT ONE PERSON asked if I was ok as I sat there bleeding, waiting for my bus to come. My nose was pouring blood (I ended up with 2 black eyes, too) and everyone acted as if nothing was wrong.
I called a co-worker from the bus stop on my cell to tell her where I was and that when I came into work the next day to realize that my husband had NOT been beating the snot out of me, I’d just met with the curb face-first.
I think the most awful part was 2 days later I had a routine doctor appointment and although MANY of my co-workers handed me the phone number for the battered women’s hotline, not ONE person at the doctor’s office inquired about my torn up, bruised face. How sad is it that I lived in a part of town where they must have seen women who looked that way due to domestic abuse so often it didn’t even faze them anymore?
Anyhoozle.. It sounds like quite the adventure and I don’t blame you for not joining the park skaters! (From the title I had imagined Dingo Girl chasing a squirrel and talking you for a drag...)
I have a pair of inline skates. There’s a very good reason they’ve been relegated to the darkest corner of the basement.
I think it has something to do with “dignity” and “medical insurance”.
It was the backpack. If I would’ve been there and my camera with me...you would have so been adn my blog. I keep the camera close.
You had me at “Turn This Mutha Out.” But then you had to go and add that you had to go and say you eat Rocky Road ice cream for lunch...... You make me heart you more and more.
Oh wait, did I mention the George Clinton shout out? Love, love, love, love.
And my inline skates are sitting in my attic closet (where they’ve been for the last 9 years) waiting for someone (not me) to take them out for a spin.
Ok, read that second sentence! That’s what you get for posting on my last day of school! Brain dead and margaritas, Sista!
LOL, this is why I’ll never put on skates again. Not that I’ve done so since I was a kid. I still have memories of dragging myself along the shag-carpeted wall at the roller rink, hoping not to get creamed by the skaters flying by, wondering how it was “fun”.
Actually, this reminds me of the time I tried skiing…
I saw them! They are a trippy bunch, those skaters!
Also, you are hilarious.
Also, my word verification: 94perform. HA.
pulled the same stunt there in central Park. Ended up with a huge hematoma on my leg and the inability to sit down for a week. Never put on a skate since
Jen of a2eatwrite — Note to self: do not go tandem riding with Jen.
Toe — I thought I was an okay skater because I used to skate the Minute Man Trail on weekends. Well, the Minute Man Trail is flat and smooth. I was totally unprepared for roots sticking out of sidewalks and hills. Definitely unprepared for hills.
Jules — If we could put my skating to music, I bet it would look just like breakdancing. Except I wouldn’t be able to get up.
Shania — If you teach me how to skate backwards, I’ll introduce you to the crazy lady at the post office. A good time will be had by all.
Ms H — I don’t imagine that they can put a cast on your butt. It would be kinda cool, though. You could paint it black and yellow and look just like a bee!
Tova Darling — No one helped. They didn’t even roll down their windows. Karma. I hope it bites them in the ass.
G — Thanks, G. That’s really kind of you to say. If you’re connected to the publishing industry…
Valley Girl — I’m sure one of the Ungood Samaritans has a much better photo of my flying through the air. Hell, they probably won 50K from America’s Funniest Home Videos. I should hunt them down and get my share.
Ms Darkstar — What the hell is wrong with people? When did a simple, “Are you okay?” or “Do you need help?” become too much to ask?
Ree — I think that’s the first time I’ve seen “dignity” and “medical insurance” used in the same sentence.
MTAE — But you would’ve put the camera down to help me, right? RIGHT?
Jules — Did you know MC Hammer is getting his own reality TV show! We can watch it and eat rocky road and drink margaritas. Please come to NYC and be my BFF.
GeekHiker — I loved skiing. Then I got old and hated cold weather. That, and taking a wrong turn on a green slope onto a “run” that wasn’t even on the map...good times.
justrun — Did you see the guy with the motorcycle covered in what looked like muppet fur? He’s there every week.
jessica — You tried to skate with the Dance Skaters, didn’t you? Couldn’t hang, huh? Now I don’t feel so bad.
Now that I’ve stopped laughing, I can’t figure out whether to be angry that people didn’t come to help you or offer to hold your Jack and Coke.
Given that, like many of your readers, I too suffer from FUCKED, I think we should start a support group. In my case, I tripped over my own feet while running and bruised and bloodied both knees and my left shoulder. Seriously - it was ass over teakettle.
Number One reason I don’t skate. I also suffered from FUCKED, even to the point of having walking/breathing coordination issues on occasion. I would have offered to help you up.
Don’t believe Tara for one minute, Dingo!!! “I would have offered to help you up” she says?!?!?!...like hell she would! She’d be laughing too hard to be any use to anyone!!!!
FUCKED. Hilarious. The ladies I work with were peering at me over their computers as I was reading this and laughing to myself.
Finally a word to describe my clumbsy fumbly every day awkwardness. I use to roller blade as a kid and I was always on the grass because I couldn’t figure out the brakes. No wonder I skated alone.
Thanks for the laugh Dingo!
i too suffer from FUCKED, though maybe to a lesser degree. it didn’t stop me from taking a class at NY Trapeze School and i’m still alive. it was actually really fun, though a bit scary. good luck mama!
I cannot believe no one commented on the Trapeze School. Trapeze? Where you fly through the air on loosely fitting chords hoping Luigi doesn’t have any hair gel on his catching-you hand(or you HOPE it’s hair gel) and that the beauty school drop out that made the net didn’t make it on a friday (the day where americans notoriously slack off at work)? THAT Trapeze?? Well, be sure to leave me your shoes in the will.
Marian — Hold my Jack and Coke. A world of ills can be cured by a Jack and Coke. And I’ll hold one for you at the end of your marathon.
Tara R. — Walking/breathing issues are the worst! There you are just walking along and THUMP! there you go falling down on your ass, blue in the face from lack of air.
Ms. H — And if I had seen her laughing, I would’ve given her a high-five, too! But I’m sure she would’ve helped me up. You, on the other hand would’ve been laughing your ass off. Humpf!
Rian — The Central Park Dance Skaters make it look so easy! Most of them don’t even use those rubber thingys on the back of the skates to brake. They just stop. They must be magic or something.
blakspring — If you have FUCKED and lived through NY Trapeze School then there is hope for me. I’m excited. You know, the nervous going to throw-up kind of excited.
thecoconutdiaries — Trapeze school is next Friday! I’ll leave you my shoes and my rollerblades.
You’re hysterical. No, wait, I am, with laughter.
I used to belong to the klutzes Anonymous, as I have the most ridiculous spazzosity gene is constant full flower, but now I realized I am just FUCKED. Such relief I am feeling. That, and a life-long skate aversion, but then I still walk into walls that are the kind that I have lived with for YEARS, not those just put up.
Holy Hell. That was fucking hilarious. <i> Oh, Icarus!<i> made water come out my nose.
I love fall down stories, and you know why. BTW you inspired a post. An incident that I had long forgotten. Cheers. To us, clumsy bitches!
O’Mama — Klutzes Anonymous is for amateurs. Come to the dark side and join the growing throng of the FUCKED.
Summer — Cheers! I’m glad I can be of inspiration to anyone who has my disorder. And girl, you definitely do.
Aw! I used to be a really good in-line skater, which surprised everyone b/c I’m a huge klutz. Then I bit a wet leaf and broke my tailbone. That was the end of that. Even if you’re good, it’s just too easy to get hurt. There’s got to be a safe grown-up sport that is that much fun, right? Like something nice and padded and safe for people over 30?
no. I hit a wet leaf. Not bit.
I’d probably need the photo from multiple angles...then help. Blog first!
You’re not encouraging me to start skating any time soon. And I have these awesome pro classic skates I’ve been guiltily preserving for just the right bit of road to use them on. Tennis courts are the best surface.
Hope you’re ok, and what a cool landlord.
Bad public at large.
God. That never happens to me when I’m waiting in line for football games. If more crazy rollerblading ladies fell down hills, I think I would actually go to football games, instead of drinking copious amounts at the tailgate and then passing out in the grass.
Now that I live in NY, I have to check out this skate dancing bonanza!
Allie — I like sports I can do in my jammies. Like watching movies, surfing the web, and napping. Napping makes me tired. But it’s safe.
MTAE — Of course! I understand completely, ya gotta have priorities.
Lyvvie — I think skating on a tennis court would be fun—unless it’s one of those clay ones. That would be kinda messy but, on the other hand, I don’t think you’ll pick up much speed.
Prosy — I wish someone had passed out on the grass that day. I could’ve used them to break my fall.
Wow! Just plain proud of you for living to tell about it!
And thanks for telling hilarious stories at your own expense 
You know when you are watching a scary part in a movie, and you just KNOW something bad is about to happen, so you shield your eyes so you can only see a sliver of the movie screen? That’s what I did while reading this post.
I also suffer from a disease called “Picked Last For Gym Class.” It is not contagious, but has followed me into adulthood.