This weekend was a real shit sandwich. I had two delicious pieces of hearth-baked artisan bread, but in the middle was a giant turd. Allow me to explain.
Friday night I had a delicious Mexican dinner with friends, then we went to see my best friend's band, Boomorangutan, play a show at Louisville's premier rock showcase and sleazy meat market, the Phoenix Hill Tavern. A good time was had by all.
If we had stayed longer we could have gone downstairs to the main bar and watched a shitty cover band desecrate songs I didn't like in the first place, but we made an early midnightish exit. Sure, there would have been sketchy chicks with circa 1987 Jersey mall hair, but sleep beckoned.
Saturday night was my weekend's steaming pile of dung. It was inventory night at work, which meant I was counting things from 11pm til 6am. That, my friends, is hell on earth. There's a reason insomniacs count to try to fall asleep.
(Also, note to self: NEVER eat White Castles when sober. Even if you're hungry, and there's nothing else open, if there isn't alcohol to counteract the notorious belly bombers just go to bed hungry. It's not like you'll starve to death, fat boy.)
On Sunday it was back to the good stuff. I had a beer lunch at Cumberland Brews, then went to see Louisville's own Derby City Roller Girls take on the Burning River Rollergirls, who are from Cleveland, bless their hearts.
The match took place at the dilapidated Treo Roller Rink. Don't let the annoying, amateurish website fool you: The place is a piece of crap. I used to go to skating parties there when I was in Middle School, and not only has their been no remodel of the place since then, I seriously doubt the bathrooms have been cleaned.
But I had a GREAT TIME. There are roller derby leagues in most big and medium sized cities. I urge everyone to find the closest one and enjoy some crazy fucking action. These ladies were knocking each other around. It was a cat fight on wheels!
There was a fistfight that was one more punch away from escalating into a soccer riot, scantily clad belly dancers for halftime entertainment, and stale nachos sold by surly teenage concession workers. What more could you ask for?
Well, working air conditioning would have been a nice bonus. One of the girls had a heat stroke, so I'm sure that issue will be addressed.