And now for a break from the waaay-f-ed up…
So, in my imagination, I am an awesome race-car driver. Like, Formula 1 (F1)-Jackie-Stewart-and-Stirling-Moss-awesome. When I drive around tight bends and hairpin turns, I often say – out loud – things such as, “Vrrroom! Vrroom!” and “Don’t cut the chicane!” and “If I knew how to drive a manual, I’d totally be down-shifting right now!”
Unfortunately (for my racing life), I drive a Nissan Altima. An old one. Don’t get me wrong, The Deathmobile has been a very great car and gotten me through a lot of crap and accidents that weren’t my fault. (And perhaps a dented bumper incident that maybe was my fault. Maybe.) But how cool would I be if I got to drive some of the fastest vehicles on the planet for a living? Answer: Totally frackin’ cool.
So cool that it wouldn’t expose my absolute nerdiness for using the word “frackin’.”
“Huh. You’re a dork.”
“Shuddup, Inner Imp, am NOT. You pile of poodoo.”
“Don’t call me poop.”
“I didn’t. Poodoo is bantha fodder. That’s a fancy word for FOOD, dumbass. But it does smell awful.”
“Yeah…I totally rest my case. DORK.”
Anyway, so my entire racing career is in my head. (FOR NOW—MWAH-HAHAHAHA!!! *cough!* *choke!* *burp.*)
That sucks because it’s awful crowded in my head, but it’s also cool ‘cause in my head I AM THE MOST KICK-ASS DRIVER ON EARTH! And I look unbelieveably amazing in a race helmet. And a Gumpert Apollo.
All this to say—presenting #3 on the list of My Top 5 Irrational Fears:
#3: Should The Day Come That I DO Become A Race Car Driver, That I Will SUCK At It.
Yes, you read that correctly. I actually spend long minutes worrying that should one of my greatest dreams come true, that I get to race against the likes of Lewis Hamilton, Jensen Button and Sebastian Vettel (currently, although I would totally love to race against Jackie Stewart in his day--he had sideburns that would've made Elvis cry), that I will embarrass myself and get laughed off the track and be made to wave stupid flags and pass out shots of complimentary vodka with the driver goupies in the VIP tents.
Never mind the fact that in this imaginary world—hell, even in the real world!—having a woman F1 driver would be a crazy-amazing breakthrough first, no matter how badly she sucked. The (obviously) critical point being that I wouldn’t be able to handle it if I sucked track marbles!
I guess, if one were to apply this fear reeeeeaaally broadly, it could be a metaphor for the fear everyone meets when faced with any kind of challenge. But really, that’s just being kind to the short kid with no upper-body strength who can make it only halfway up the the first hanging chin-up. Which would also be me.
Man, that’s cold.
WELL YOU SHOULD BE 'CUZ I WILL TAKE YOU ALL DOWN MUTHAFUKKAHS!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!
Ahem. I mean, anyone up for a rousing sportswomanlike round or two? Why are you backing away? Helloo...? //