Uber Zooooom

Most Sundays, I kick back and chill out, if I'm not on a roof. Today is not a good day to travel because there are crazy NASCAR fans making illegal U-turns and whatnots on the highway to the Speedway. Traffic jams a-plenty. No, thank you, not even for a roof.

It's a bit tough for me this morning too because Sundays, Magic and I hang out together on the lawn while we "watch" the brood run about in the Florida sunshine. Me, with coffee cup in hand, Magic lying beside me and barking orders even though she couldn't actually see what the others are doing. Fortunately, it's kind of dreary outside, or I would be even bluer.

It's these things that make the void bigger. I gave Magic her insulin shots at 10am and 10pm so it hadn't been easy around that time. I find myself jumping up from my puter to do it before I realize that I don't have to, anymore. Then, when I'm eating dinner, there's no Magic at my feet waiting for her one bite.

It's making me feel a bit sensitive and ready for a fight. Last night, my male friend was rude to me, and usually, I brush that off and forget about it. This morning, I find myself thinking about vengeance and hatred and fire and brimstones raining on his head. I am not me. And he probably won't remember exactly what he did to have made me this angry that I want to kill him.

An excellent day to stay home, don't you think? ;-)

Today is also the Daytona 500. This is my uber-race and here is my uber-race car driver, Boy Wonder. Many of the good old boys-fans hate him. He gets booed when he used to win a lot. He is considered too Hollywood.

Ya well, I love this dude. I love the way he drives. He hadn't been doing very well the last couple of years but that's because everyone's been catching up with him. Funny how people like him more now that he's losing more. Bah.

Personality-wise, Jeff isn't a Bad Boy type (my favorite, of course), but then I hate them NASCAR bad boys. Take, for example, Tony Stewart, Bad Boy With Big Mouth. I grit my teeth every time he won last year.

Jeff is sweet by comparison ;-). But don't let that demeanor fool ya. The man is a control demon in the machine. And he ages well. Any man that ages well gets the thumbs up in my Book of ShalLOWness ;-).

The secret in watching a car race is not watching television. You're right--the cars going round and round is the most boring show after GOLFING on TV. The secret is the AM Radio. Tune it to the racing station and work in the garden or clean or cook while listening to the race. It's exciting to hear all the things going on and the commentary between the drivers and their crew chief. You get to understand strategy and also have a different perspective of what racing is all about. There's actually STRATEGY. There's actually a game plan on fuel and tire changes. There's actually more to it than bump-drafting.

Talking about NASCAR, author Pamela Britton, a good friend, is in town for the races and booksignings. She's writing a couple of NASCAR-tied romance for Harlequin and has been featured in USAtoday as well as the local papers. She gets to shake Jeff's hand, dammit. That's all I care about, really ;-).

Actually, I could have done that too since I was to have dinner with her that night. But I couldn't leave Magic. I told Maria that I ought to yell at Magic for that, making me miss a close-up with sweetie Jeff Gordon, except that she's dead. Maria, a friend who works in a police department, told me I have cop humor, which tended to be rather dark. But Magic was female too, you know. She'd have understood my blaming her.

By the way, Pamela's book is out in the stores. I'm looking forward to reading it, even though the sexy stuff happens behind closed doors. I guess it's just not kewl to read about a Jeff Gordon-type being nekkid or something. ;-P

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