I spent the Easter holiday with my in-laws -- good Midwestern stock, Lord-fearing, down-home-cooking, beer-drinking, NASCAR-lovin' -- how the hell did I get into this family? Sometimes I'm amazed my husband escaped.
I was looking forward to this weekend because, despite my joking, my mother-in-law is an amazing cook and she never fails to deliver a fantastic meal. And although I've given up gluten (no rolls!!) and sugar (no peach pie!!) I still managed to gain 3 pounds just eating green beans (wrapped in bacon!!) and ham.
I was also happy that this would be a NASCAR-free holiday. Yes, NASCAR does not run on Easter. Praise Jesus.
Still smiling and wallowing through my pork-induced haze, I couldn't raise a cry of protest when my father-in-law flipped over to some red-neck channel and low and behold, a fucking behind the scenes look at the 2007 NASCAR season.
You have got to be shitting me.
Showing posts with label NASCAR. Show all posts
Showing posts with label NASCAR. Show all posts
Monday, March 24, 2008
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Fat guys (almost) make me hot
Yesterday I said something that I thought would never pass through my lips: "I'm on my way home from the Kansas Speedway."
In the paradoxical melee that I call my life, I married into a family that includes two red-necked brother-in-laws that love all things NASCAR and beer. I have oftened bitched and complained during family holidays because I can't carry on a conversation with my sister-in-law because the whine of cars racing around a track is too loud in the next room. I hate NASCAR. It's stupid.
With that said, I was oddly aroused when I actually went to the track.
Wait. Let me explain.
As a wedding present, my new sister-in-law bought my brother-in-law the Richard Petty Driving Experience. (Don't ever fucking call it the Tom Petty ... on accident. You'll be accused of being a moron.)
I have a thing for fast cars. It goes well with my thing for Harleys, tattoos, guys with goatees, and Gibson guitars, so bear with me. I also like to drive very fast. Combine the loud race car with the chance to drive 130 miles per hour and, well ... It was oddly erotic.
And then I turned around and saw him ... and remembered where the hell I was.
Let's just say, the Sahara doesn't even dry up that fast.
I'm just saying ...
In the paradoxical melee that I call my life, I married into a family that includes two red-necked brother-in-laws that love all things NASCAR and beer. I have oftened bitched and complained during family holidays because I can't carry on a conversation with my sister-in-law because the whine of cars racing around a track is too loud in the next room. I hate NASCAR. It's stupid.
With that said, I was oddly aroused when I actually went to the track.
Wait. Let me explain.
As a wedding present, my new sister-in-law bought my brother-in-law the Richard Petty Driving Experience. (Don't ever fucking call it the Tom Petty ... on accident. You'll be accused of being a moron.)
I have a thing for fast cars. It goes well with my thing for Harleys, tattoos, guys with goatees, and Gibson guitars, so bear with me. I also like to drive very fast. Combine the loud race car with the chance to drive 130 miles per hour and, well ... It was oddly erotic.
And then I turned around and saw him ... and remembered where the hell I was.
Let's just say, the Sahara doesn't even dry up that fast.
I'm just saying ...
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