The house is new, in a cozy suburban neighborhood.  You know something is happening because there are quite a few cars in the driveway and along the street, and a sign on the door welcomes you in, suggesting you not ring the bell (the dogs will announce your arrival.) And Raven and Hunter do, in their black and white Halloween costumes.

The theme for the celebration of the Bettie Brigade's 5th birthday is Dia de los Muertos, and you've gone as festive as wearing dark grey pants, black Chuck Taylors, and a striped sweater? You feel like a conspicuous Where's Wally among the people you meet as you enter. Your plan was to blend in, ask a few questions of these derby girls, observe and take a few photos.  

Then things start happening - namely - people are nice.  Frida K.O., resplendent with her painted face and Kahlo-esque headband, talks to you first. She's direct, friendly, open.

You learn later that she's fresh meat, but senior fresh meat; she's fresh meat with skills.  

Sgt. Severe, who arrived in full-on Mexican regalia of sombrero and embroidered blouse, with handsome mustachioed (and sombreroed) gentleman on her arm, is arguably the least-fresh meat in this group, having joined just past its inception five years ago (she's not rancid, though; she had several years break.)  

Other members range in age, occupation, costume and meat-freshness.

So here's the interesting part: You pride yourself on being an intelligent, open-minded individual.  You don't stereotype people because you know that never works; individuals are unique. You know that the women involved in roller derby are a special breed of awesome. But you aren't prepared to be so charmed by the energy this group exudes.

You observe, pencil and camera poised, waiting for drama.  And it does unfold: One team member doesn't quite know how to do a Jell-O shot and feels embarrassed when she realizes a reporter is present.  

The volume level goes up and down, but you don't hear animosity.  There's a moment of massive volume when a guest arrives - Bizarro is here! She scoots in with her broken appendage, and she's attacked with hugs and smiles.

Bizarro broke her ankle and leg in three places during a practice, and she has screws and a foot-long plate in her leg to prove it.  She's cheerful and takes her injury in stride; she accepts that she won't be able to operate construction machinery, but she seems a bit bothered by the fact that the fresh meat coming on board might bypass her before she can return next year.  

You're watching and listening and really - seriously!! - these people are amazing.  There's the yoga instructor in pink fishnets with an Emily Dickenson verse tattooed in pink curling around her wrist; there's the hostess of the whole shindig, Curlmione Danger, distributing candy and ensuring her guests are fed and having a good time.  Conversations range from how derby resembles soccer and rugby (quick shifts between offense and defense) to diet and exercise plans to parenting to whether or not Zombie will show (she does, and she's strong, funny and sweet) to the pets we have (kittens, hedgehogs, dogs, a super-cute fluffy little bunny).  There's the wedding planner/stay-at-home mom/hard body/jammer extraordinaire who needs to get her kids tomorrow and has to miss practice because grandparents have a funeral to go to.  

This, you realize, is roller derby.  No arm-throwing 70s jumpsuit action: This is friendship and teamwork and a five-year legacy of successful team building.  

All ages, body types and skill levels are accepted, though fresh meat goes through training and tests to become "boutable."   Seasons last roughly from January to early October, but the girls will bout in an off-season match-up with the Trampires of the Dockyard Derby Dames on Oct. 24 at Pierce College.  

Follow the Bettie Brigade on Facebook for more information.