Even if it’s been sitting out for a while, it’s still Fresh Meat.

At the end of my last attempt at fresh meat, I found myself crying on the floor of the sport court that I had just busted my ass on for 2 hours. I felt defeated and disappointed in myself. My weakness was my commitment to the team due to work scheduling, and I beat myself up about it for days. Shortly after, I moved to Jersey temporarily (and yes, voluntarily). And of course, most of my time in Jersey was thinking about how much I missed skating. So I made the decision that when I got back to LA, roller derby was going to be one of two commitments for me; the other being work. I’m just kidding. The other commitment is eating at Canter’s at least once a week.
When I was finally done being melodramatic (probably 5 minutes ago) about not making the cut and reminded myself for the thousandth time how much roller derby means to me, I got back on board and went to Fresh Meat recruitment night. Again.
It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve done this, or how many of the girls I know, I still get the “first day of school” syndrome. I awkwardly walk in, half wave at the girls I know, sit as far away from the cool kids table as I can, and manage to drop every piece of gear at least twice while putting everything on. Then I get on the rink, and I always think that I’m going to be the most experienced skater in this fresh meat group…until a girl whizzes past me, skating backwards. So I drop my head and work on my transitions and snowplows some more.
Shin splints and foot cramps, really? It takes me off the rink in 5-8 minute intervals, just so I can roll around on the floor and silently curse my tree stump legs to remind them that this isn’t the first time we’ve done this. It’s like my body knows when I’m starting over, so it feels the need to go through all the aches and pains again. I guess I can’t blame it for doing so- it has every right to start over as well.
Sitting down to stretch, one of the fresh meat coaches tells the other, “Kitten was here my very first day!”
”I was here way before that too,” I said with a laugh. I really expected that sentence to come out peppered in sass and bitterness, and it surprised me when it didn’t. I’ve learned so much from roller derby so far, but it seems the one lesson I had yet to catch on to was the lesson of humility, and at that moment it hit me like a ton of bricks.
My character a year ago would have been disheartened by going through the same class three times, and watching every girl get so much better when I felt like I was stuck in quicksand and a helmet. I pushed through as much as I could, and felt sorry for myself over and over again for not doing enough laps or really messing up that last drill, but last night I felt like my heart and my brain finally got together and said “alright, enough is enough. She’s depressing the hell out of us. It needs to stop.”
The next 6 weeks will change me more as a person than the other fresh meat classes had. I’ve said that before, but this time I’ve been humbled, and I no longer feel like not succeeding will bring my world crumbling down. To any girls reading this that are in fresh meat, are thinking of starting fresh meat, or starting fresh meat again, I hope you’ve all learned humility quicker than I have. If not, please try to let that be one of the first lessons you pick up from derby, aside from perfecting your derby stance. Roller girls, experienced or beginners, are sisters. And patience is a virtue, but it will never seem that way unless you can humble yourself around your sisters. And if this is another fresh meat class for you, then good! It means you’re not giving up, and you’re that much closer to being the roller girl you’ve always wanted to be. Everyone is learning at their own pace, no matter what rank they hold or how long they’ve been skating.  We’re all connected by 8 wheels and a pace line. You’ll always have someone to help pick you up when you’re down, but the trick is to let yourself fall every once in a while.
And hey….fourth times a charm, right?…..Right?!?
See you in hell. xo
Kitten Tarantino

Thinking Derby Thoughts

 

I would love to sit here and talk about how fantastic of a derby girl I am. It would be great if I could tell you I can do 40,000 laps in 5 minutes,
and my body is a hard, well-oiled jamming machine. I would definitely like to tell you that I'm the most confident, badass chick around too.
I can't do that, or else I'd be a total liar. The closest I've gotten to being a great derby girl is skating alongside (but mostly lagging behind) the amazing skaters of the Angel City Derby Girls. I just passed the one year anniversary of meekly shuffling my dead weight into Moonlight Rollerway for the fresh meat class. The one year anniversary of me almost running the opposite direction of the beautiful, loud, and slightly-dangerous looking roller girls. Something made me stop from running, something that apparently never decided to show up any other time I've wanted to kick off a new hobby or interest. I don't know what it was, but it cemented my feet into the patch of tile directly in front of
one of the team captains, made me take the new recruit paperwork from her, and barely scribbled "Kitten Tarantino" into the "derby name desired" line. It was an empty name. A cute one, yeah, but it meant nothing at this point. I just knew that I WANTED it to mean something, and be a part of something. 
I had made it that far, and already paid the 7.50 to get into the rink, so now I had to get skates on. Too bad I didn't realize I couldn't skate until that moment. But I strapped the worn out skates on and silently begged them to not make me look like an idiot, because I could handle that simple task on my own. It was the exact opposite of what I thought it would be- I didn't break anything, and none of the girls tried to check me into the wall. In fact, it was probably one of the most inspiring and exciting nights I've had in a long time. Every couple laps I would barely skate, another girl would come over, fix my posture, and tell me a little about themselves. And the more I found out about each girl, the more characteristics I picked up that I aspired to be like. There is far too many amazing women on the team to even try to take their talents and put them into one person, because I'm pretty sure that person's name would probably have to be Jesus. But the characteristics…those, I could try to squeeze into one. And that’s exactly what I do, every time my gear goes on. My wrist guards are like my focus and will-power; I keep them in front of me and they help me get back on my feet when I fall. My knee pads are my patience, positive attitude and selflessness; They need to be there when I’m brought down to make sure I understand that the fall could have been much worse. The elbow pads are like my discipline and obedience; Sure, I don’t wear them all the time, but without them I wouldn’t be allowed on the track. And my skates…they are my confidence, my escape route, my moxie on 8 wheels. I’ve never felt more beautiful and strong as I do when I’m wearing my skates. The feeling I get from skating is almost more than deserved from such a simple task as putting skates on.
Every practice and open skate night has been a new lesson for me. Not only how to play roller derby (which, let’s be honest, I didn’t fully grasp how until about 4 months ago), but how to be a friend, a networker, and most importantly, a sister. They have given me more confidence than I ever thought I could possess. I’ve had this incredible opportunity to be a part of a team of some of the strongest women in Los Angeles, and I sit here 3,000 miles away missing them everyday. Kitten Tarantino wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for Angel City, and I would still be wishing I knew how to skate right now. Here’s to Los Angeles, home of the Pretty City roller girls who made a woman out of me.

See you in hell. xo

Things I Learned on the Open Road.

Sitting in the kitchen of my new place in Arlington, New Jersey. It still hasn't hit me that I just drove 2,786 miles across the country. A drive I've been secretly motivating myself to take for about two years. I do wish the circumstances surrounding my move would have been different, but nevertheless it got me off my ass and on the road. So, while I'm waiting for the shock to settle in (if it even does- I just moved from one stomping ground to another), I figured I should take the time to take note of some things I learned on the open road.
Let me just tell you now, this trip turned out absolutely nothing like I had drawn out in my mind. I met basically two people, neither of which were named Large Marge, and I never got stuck on the side of a deserted highway in a snow storm. In fact, aside from scraping ice off my car windshield a couple mornings, I didn't even hit weather at all. I didn't go to any small town diners with no menus, happened to go to all the dinosaur museums on the days they were closed, and there sure as hell wasn't any mysterious handsome strangers in my journey. I didn't even "learn a lot about myself" like you're apparently supposed to when you spend so much time on your own. The only thing I learned about myself was that I can't sing, unless I'm doing my David Bowie impression. But I digress. Here are some things I've learned on my trip.

The self-timer on your camera is your co-pilot.
The moment I wanted a photo of myself in front of something (which was about 5 minutes into the trip), I realized I had a problem. Self timer became my best friend. I named it Wilson.




You don't have to stop driving to get a cup of coffee.
Stick a water bottle between a blanket and heater floor vent in the car. Put the heater on high and drive 10 miles going 70 mph. Open the water bottle, pour in one of those Starbucks Via travel packs, and shake it up. You can take the girl out of the ghetto....



You don't really get your kicks on Route 66.
Quite the contrary, Bobby Troup. There is nothing for the majority of the highway, apart from a few slaughter houses, abandoned barns and crappy rest areas.




Sometimes sleeping in your car is the best option.
My $50 motel room on the outskirts of Columbus, Ohio was probably one of the worst ideas I've ever had. Oh, Motel 6. You usually leave the light on for us, but this time I left the light on. All night. Sitting up in a chair, watching my car (& the drug deal next door), packing heat.




The atmosphere changes once you hit the New Mexico/Texas line.
Everyone is a lot nicer, with less teeth.

Big rigs are a lot less frightening after 500 miles.
It is a little embarassing when you see a giant truck whizzing past your "sports car", though.



You can make anywhere feel like home.
Well...at least I can.




Reading a map becomes second nature.
I hated looking at maps. Either it's all the easily accessible technology nowadays, or I'm just really stupid. I never wanted to touch one, much less own one. I now have 9 maps in my car, and I plan on keeping them there until they tow that piece of crap away.




Familiar faces are key to sanity.
Staying with family for a week in Missouri was incredibly important. Not just because I haven't seen them in a long time, but because driving for hours and stopping in unfamiliar places without seeing someone you recognize makes you feel like you're slipping away from society. Luckily, my family is more than enough sanity for me...




Tattooing customs are different everywhere.
In Missouri, two bottles of wine and a singalong to "Sweet Caroline" in the kitchen makes getting a tattoo a family event. The Griffins were an awesome family to hang out with, obviously.



There's a lot more I learned, recurring dreams that I analyzed and figured out, grudges I let go of by screaming off of cliffs. I tattooed new people along the way, that I look forward to tattooing again.
Well, it still hasn't set in that I now live in New Jersey again. I say give it another week. I'm only giving the accent 2 days to come back, though.

See you in hell. xo

Good Tattoos aren't Cheap and Cheap Tattoos are on Craigslist.

There are a large amount of people who will agree with me when I say I suck at self-promotion. Not that I don’t talk to enough people, or that I don’t pass out enough of my cards (which, by the way, don’t even say I’m a tattoo artist either). I mean I honestly don’t tell anyone. I can bet money there will even be people who read this and say “Wait…Cara tattoos?” It’s terrible for business, actually. The promotion and concern for my clientele comes from...my clientele. They’re my walking canvases, and refer anyone who comments on their tattoos to me. Even though this isn’t the most effective means of networking, I prefer it much more than the disreputable advertising that's going on on Craigslist.

I get it. We’re in economic hardships, and we all feel we have to retreat back to the Renaissance way of living- to exhaust yourself with as many different skills as you can fit onto your paper plates in the hopes that they will help you live a financially stable life. In some ways, we absolutely should be more Renaissance in the way we live right now. Learn a new skill, sure. Find something rewarding in your spare time that might make you a little extra cash. But in no way, shape or form does this mean you should pick up a tattoo machine and go to town on the first person to give you 25 dollars.

Because this is what happens:

It almost feels like your eyes are playing tricks on you, but that's as clear as it gets. And yet- it makes no sense. This girl went to get a lighter tattoo underneath it covered up, and found a tattoo artist on Craigslist that charged her $40 an hour for....this. She knew immediately that he was messing up, and he threw her empty promises that the blotch of ink would "fade and look better". Last time I checked, when a tattoo fades it doesn't necessarily look "better". It looks, well, faded. Also, koi fish don't usually have a giant tumor attached to the left side of their lip. Just saying.

So yes, she absolutely admits to wanting to get a cheap tattoo, like so many people do. Do you want to know how much she actually spent on this affordable tattoo?

$3,120.

120 for the three hours this guy in Anaheim spent butchering her arm, and $3,000 more for the laser surgery treatments that left her arm scarred and felt a lot like what I think Freddy Krueger's face would feel like. She spent 3 years in long sleeves, hiding it and considering amputation (that's not a fact, sorry. But wouldn't you?).

I found her on Craigslist (surprise!) looking for another tattoo artist (I said the same thing) to cover up this one. I pulled her off of there and got the entire story, and here we are. I spent 6 and a half hours on her today, working on two different cover ups that she had botched. It was a semi-emotional parting, but I sent her off with a scolding for using Craigslist, and one session done:

I wonder if the people who post on Craigslist understand the consequence of turning on that homemade tattoo gun and pressing it into someone’s skin. “Good tattoos aren’t cheap and cheap tattoos aren’t good”. God, I can’t even begin to explain how perfect this saying sums everything up that I’m trying to say. If you honestly want to be a good tattoo artist, you have to put so much time, effort and money into it. Actually, you put time, effort and money into every tattoo you do. From sterilizing to cleaning, down to needles and inks and machine parts. It’s costly keeping your work clean. I’m not sorry that tattoos are expensive.

If you really have a problem with the price of getting a tattoo, I have two options for you: A) don’t get one or B) pop on over to Craigslist and check out which one of your neighbors rigged himself a tattoo machine and have him mark your body on his kitchen table.

See you in hell. xo