Cross the Indy500 Off the List.

We having a saying in my family when we don't like something: "cross that off the list". Like the one time we went to this Chinese restaurant and the waiters just stared at us the whole time we were eating. Not to mention the fact that they tried to take away a plate from my dad while he was still chewing and not finished. He then had to make a bunch of grunts in order for them to set the plate down and back off and then he proceeded to explain to us that he 'didn't know how to say 'no' in Chinese'! Crossed off the list.

That was how I was feeling yesterday around 4pm Eastern Standard Time. Yesterday was the much anticipated Indiana 500 race which is apparently something of value to the Hoosiers, er I mean, 'us Hoosiers'.

If you know me very well, or even a little bit at all, then you know if I don't like something that is going on you're more than likely going to hear about it. Now this is something I have been working on fixing for many years and I honestly think I am getting better! But when lack of sleep is also factor, then it goes all down hill.. and quickly. So when I was informed that we would not only be attending the Indy500 (crowds, loud noises, hot sun & humidity, random people I don't know, and alcohol are all on the list of 'no thank you' for me now) but waking up at 4:30am to beat traffic... I gritted my teeth and put on my happy face, braced for the upcoming day.

Everything was going smoothly until about 2 miles away from the 'Coke Lot' (which I am hoping is referring to the beverage but never actually verified this) parking lot, when the traffic wasn't just slow, but completely standstill. We were stopped in the left lane trying to turn at the light for literrally an hour. The car was parked and off and the boys ran to go get McDonalds. Then once we made it through the light, there was another hour's wait through this neighborhood. The neighborhood, however, was full of 'lawn-sitters' with big "Parking for $10" signs out front so you could park on their grass lawns. Easily their biggest money maker of the year as each yard could park about 4 cars... a whole 40 bucks, woo!

We found a yard to back up into, lugged all of our crap to the track (it was at this point that I realized infield meant literally "in the middle of the track field"), and discussed where to set up camp. There is this really 'great little family-oriented, quiet, peaceful, and spacious' area on the 4th turn called the Snake Pit, and that's where we decided to set up camp. The Snake Pit is actually not described by the aforementioned adjectives. It was loud, crowded, raunchy and full of America's finest. BUT I had ear plugs, sunscreen, and a blanket... so all was good.


Close to the beginning of the race (did I mention that it was 8am and the race didn't start until noon?), we moved up to one of the grass mounds surrounding the litteral 'pit of snakes'. From there we could see the all the latecomers hauling their beer and sporting their 'USA' shirts with their Daisy Duke shorts... and those were the guys! One guy had on an American flag speedo and was using a dolly to push two, that's right TWO, kegs. That's dedication.

After a a little while, the empty space of grass to the left of us started to fill up with about 20 guys, each with a 40 pack of beer. Apparently it was a bachelor party and they had the HOOK UP. Canopy tent, 20 cases of beer, squirt guns, chairs, a pink inflatable kiddie pool for a cooler, and lots of charisma.

Blake and Ryan quickly planned how to get an in just in case our supply ran dry. Those guys definitely made the experience 'All American'. So the race started and the party continued. Some DJ was there and the rednecks were plenty. About 20 laps to go and it was time for us to go. We packed up and headed home, only to pass out on the couch for a few hours. I seriously had to google who had won. Then we watched the whole race on television, like we hadn't been there the whole freaking day!

It was a fun filled day but trekking it to the races was a one time experience and the Indy500 infield is crossed right off the list!

Boom. America....

Posted.

This One Time... When I Got My Permit.

...at band camp. Okay, for real. A long time ago, back when I was 15, I was living in Utah and cheating off of Blake to get my driver's license. Seriously. Never changed a tire and didn't do most of my study book because I went to Paris for my 16th birthday. Sorry mom and thank you, Blake!

So there I was, trying to learn how to parallel park, keep my hands at 10 o'clock and 2 o'clock, and avoid getting flipped off on the freeway. That's right, the first time I ever merged from the on-ramp to the highway, I was flipped the big 'ole birdie by some jerkface driver. My dad, in the passager seat, with his foot on an imaginary accelerator, just laughed. 

For practice, my dad would have me drive to the bottom of the hill by taking the highway and then we would stop off at the one and only... KrispyKreme. But only if the red light of goodness was on. That meant they were hot, fresh, and fully lardified. You got a free one just walking in the door. Now that is quality service! ...and alo probably the reason why KrispyKreme exploded too quickly and went completely out of stand-alone-business in less than a year*. 

Got some donuts today... for throwback Thursday..? 

So my dad and I would drive to the KrispyKreme so I could get in all my required permit hours, a sugar rush, and we would pick up a dozen donuts. 6 regular and 6 assorted.  Every time. Then I would get a little chocolate milk and he would get a regular one, and we would sit in the lobby and eat 3 each before we packed up to drive back home. 

Utah was also the time in my life when I found the hilarious comedian known as Brian Regan. If you do not know of him... I suggest you introduce ya-self. Here is a little snippet about the very true dilemma in choosing the assorted donuts. Because, let's face it, those are the hardest to choose.

That was back in the day when I was allowed the pleasure of driving the 1995 Ford Contour, my dad's car, as to which we fondly named 'Old Faithful'. It was, for all intent and purposes, a car for me to drive my brother and me to school and then to gymnastics, but was never considered my car. Well it was considered my car when something bad happened. Like that one time that house next door jumped out in front of me...

Long story short, I used to park the car in the empty house next us carport. It was a single and helped shelter my car from being covered in Utah snow, so it worked. Well one night my dad parked the car and apparently put the wheel all the way to the left. That was a problem because at 7:50am when Nelson and I were running later for school, I was looking over my left shoulder as I was backing out to the driveway... completely unaware that the car was veering to the right, right where the side of the house was... And WHAMO, the house hit me. And for a long time in my life I could say that I had never hit a car, just a house. But unfortunately that is not the case anymore. My speciality is hitting non-moving objects, its a skill. 

So there's the story of why KrispyKreme is so important to me and my plight of driving. 

Boom. Posted.

*This is not a verified fact, check Wikipedia for real answers.