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.”
“Grrr…”
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.
 |
| Believe it or not, when I take this bad boy off, THERE IS NO HELMET HEAD. How fucktastic is it to be me?? At least, to be me in my head-world. Also, it looks like something is trying to escape my chest in this picture. I think it might be my heart. Or an alien. Or the guy to whom that hairy white arm and watch belong. |
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.
 |
| Wouldn’t I make, like, the totally awesomest Asian race driver?? Not only would it be easy to make an anime out of me, I would be completely scary and badass on the track, but when I win, I’d climb out and be all shy and cover my mouth when I giggle sweetly and say things like, “Beddy good tracku. It like springu-time under my butt-u.” [<-- This was a possibly racist caption. Dunno for sure, I’m too Asian to tell.] |
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...? //
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