A Monday Toward The End Of August...
(I'll just get it out in the open right now, this may be a long and disjointed post.)
If I had known this would be a non-racing weekend, things probably would've went a bit differently... But I had a decent weekend anyway.
Mid-America called off the races due to storm damage; apparently they lost a couple buildings and some fence in the wind late Friday night or early Saturday Morning. When Russell told me he was going to check out Creek County, I considered it for a split-second, but had pretty much already decided that even if I did go, my car was staying at home for the weekend. I wasn't real interested in taking a chance on getting roughed-up at a track away from home -- and since Creek is where a couple of Tulsa's real rough ones went to; there was a good chance of it all happening again. I'm bein' decent and not using names here (Sorry, Google), but hearing one of 'em referred to as "Chewbacca" really cracked my azs up. ;)
Creek County Speedway (Well Hello, Google) also has a considerable Message Board Problem, and the people who cause that problem are the same people who caused that problem for Tulsa. I won't go into that here though, 'cause I already went into it on my site -- there's a link on the right-hand side of the blog, just head on over to my dot-com and click "Message Board" to check that one out.
Ordinarily, I wouldn't spend the money for a pit pass if I wasn't racing -- I guess workin' for the wingies (yeah, I'm avoiding Google there just in case) and doing the Speedway News kinda spoiled me though -- I'm certainly not going to just sit in the stands by myself, for the most part, I'd just rather be in the pits even if there's not anybody I know racing. Since I came to see people I care about who came there to race, I handed over the $25 for a pit pass.
Creek County's pits were crowded like nobody's business, I ran into three or four people I hadn't seen in a while before I could even find Russell and his dad. They had a pretty good car-count, several Mid-America cars and probably a few from other tracks that had closed for weather. It's always cool to check out a hanful of different race cars -- they've got a big bunch of front-wheel mini's out there, stuff I'da never thought we'd see racing on dirt; Probes, Grand-Ams, Maximas, Cavaliers, K-Cars... I was fascinated, almost to the point of going back to my car to get my camera, but there were some pretty dark clouds around and I didn't want to have to worry about keeping it dry if it did come a downpour.
Would ya believe, I even caught a glimpse of an Ex... Now, I wasn't about to try to say hello, there's no chance of that after the bad experience the last time I had any contact with him, but he was right there hangin' out with some people who were parked right across from us. Now, there are some Ex's I've ran into and wondered "What the hell ever happened to us?" but I know exactly what happened to that "us," one of us went all nutjobby. There are some Ex's I've ran into and wondered "What the hell did I see in that?" but I know now that this one was a massive illusion. Yeah, Massive. To the point that my friends say things like "Gawd, we're glad you got away from that."
There are several Ex's I've ran into and spent a little friendly time with -- fun chit-chat about what we've been up to since the last time we saw each other; or just gabbin' about things like trucks or restaurants or music; but I know this one wouldn't have the maturity or mental capacity for that kind of conversation. This one's the one who flipped-out on me to the point he didn't even look like the same person anymore. The one who tossed his keys across the top of the SHO, but couldn't understand why that pissed me off; the one who spent the last of the gas money on a tattoo 'cause hey, Deb's got Credit Cards, she'll get us home; the one all the hotel maids know by his Indian Name: "Wipesassonbathtowel." Heh heh... I just hate it that I didn't get to talk to his dad for a little bit -- his folks are good people, it's just that he's a shitsack.
I got to watch Russell hotlap a couple sets and then during the drivers meeting the clouds got darker and darker. They'd run the first few heat races, I think they were still tryin' to finish up the FWD's when the rain came and they called it all off. When we finally got through the traffic jam and out of the mud, we went lookin' for the line to get our pit pass money back...
That's when I got irritated. That's when I lost any bit of respect I might've ever had for Ted Holt (Howdy, Google Users!) and the way he runs his race track. I can totally understand 'em wantin' to just re-use the pit passes to save the hassle, but when people come from out of town and might not be able to make it back, they should at least have the option of getting the cash instead of being expected to just save the band for next time. Next time might be a long time away if we ever do manage to make it back, and there's a lot of other things people might want to do with their $25 between now and then.
Ted Holt (Hi Google!) does not care what else you might want to do with that $25, and he does not care what you think about the situation. Ted Holt says you should keep your band, 'cause you'll be back. No, really, you will. Yes, you will. You'll be back, just hang on to that band and use it next time, 'cause you can use it any time this year. What's that you say? Your home track may end their point season after CCS is closed for the winter? Well, don't worry, you'll be back, 'cause you're backed into a corner; Ted Holt's got your money, so you have to come back, don't ya? "You'll be back."
Uhm, no, I don't think I will. No matter how politely you try to say it, a "Fuck You" is still a "Fuck You."
With an attitude like that, Ted Holt (Google-Riffic!) will not see me again. I'm not gonna beat around the bush, I'm gonna come right out and say it, Fuck You, I ain't comin' back.
When I finally got outta there, I had a WhataBurger for dinner and then went to a nifty little bar to meet some friends who had also been at the track earlier -- and I also found a way to get at least part of my money back out of the deal. Hey Ted, remember that "Fuck You" earlier? Well, you'd better not fuck my buddy out of that pit pass, 'cause he bought it fair-n-square for ten bucks and a Colorado Bulldog; and that Bulldog was really good, almost as good as the ones I had in Colorado.
Considering the few-n-far-between nature of my bar visits, I had a nice time -- but I'm not in all that big of a hurry to go back. I had fun visiting with a table full of racin' folks and crackin' jokes with other chicks who share a few of the same experiences I've had in the past. I had a nice drink and enjoyed a nice little evening; and I got my fill for a while...
The whole deal makes me quite thankful for Clayton; and I was sooooo glad to see him when he got back Sunday afternoon. We had a lovely evening swappin' pictures and stories from our weekend apart and then we had a nice dinner at Senor Salsa in Skiatook. (If you're Googling that, forget the computer and go on over there 'cause it's good, really good.)
Sunday would've been Dave's fifty-fifth birthday... Mom and I talked about it after breakfast, but it didn't come up again and I didn't mention it to Clay 'cause once he was here, I forgot all about everything but him -- he has that effect on me. If somebody had found me four years ago and said "Four years from tonight, you'll be sittin' in that Mexican restaurant with the best boyfriend you've had in a long time, you'll eat enchiladas 'til you're sick and then even though your guts'll hurt like hell, you'll go home happier and more comfortable than you've been with anybody in a long time..." I'da never believed 'em. Four years ago, what would've been Dave's fifty-first birthday was a serious low point; and not just because it was the first "would've been birthday," not just because I hadn't discovered the magic of Enchiladas yet; but because I'd just discovered a lot of things in life were not at all what they seemed. I was at such a low point, nothing was sacred anymore and most of life was just suckin' me down to the point I was starting get where I didn't really give a damn about anything 'cause it seemed like most of the people I thought I was close to didn't really give a damn about me either... That's the thing about Death, it teaches us who thereal friends are.
I'm thankful for my friends, and for my Clayton, who's changed my outlook on a lot of things...
Clay's such a Sweetie -- he found me one of those metal signs that says "NO ENTRY" for the race trailer, and he also brought me this adorable little resin Beeeeee about the size of a softball... I was gonna post a picture, but Blogger won't let me, so I'm clickin' "Publish" and goin' back to work now.
;) More later...
If I had known this would be a non-racing weekend, things probably would've went a bit differently... But I had a decent weekend anyway.
Mid-America called off the races due to storm damage; apparently they lost a couple buildings and some fence in the wind late Friday night or early Saturday Morning. When Russell told me he was going to check out Creek County, I considered it for a split-second, but had pretty much already decided that even if I did go, my car was staying at home for the weekend. I wasn't real interested in taking a chance on getting roughed-up at a track away from home -- and since Creek is where a couple of Tulsa's real rough ones went to; there was a good chance of it all happening again. I'm bein' decent and not using names here (Sorry, Google), but hearing one of 'em referred to as "Chewbacca" really cracked my azs up. ;)
Creek County Speedway (Well Hello, Google) also has a considerable Message Board Problem, and the people who cause that problem are the same people who caused that problem for Tulsa. I won't go into that here though, 'cause I already went into it on my site -- there's a link on the right-hand side of the blog, just head on over to my dot-com and click "Message Board" to check that one out.
Ordinarily, I wouldn't spend the money for a pit pass if I wasn't racing -- I guess workin' for the wingies (yeah, I'm avoiding Google there just in case) and doing the Speedway News kinda spoiled me though -- I'm certainly not going to just sit in the stands by myself, for the most part, I'd just rather be in the pits even if there's not anybody I know racing. Since I came to see people I care about who came there to race, I handed over the $25 for a pit pass.
Creek County's pits were crowded like nobody's business, I ran into three or four people I hadn't seen in a while before I could even find Russell and his dad. They had a pretty good car-count, several Mid-America cars and probably a few from other tracks that had closed for weather. It's always cool to check out a hanful of different race cars -- they've got a big bunch of front-wheel mini's out there, stuff I'da never thought we'd see racing on dirt; Probes, Grand-Ams, Maximas, Cavaliers, K-Cars... I was fascinated, almost to the point of going back to my car to get my camera, but there were some pretty dark clouds around and I didn't want to have to worry about keeping it dry if it did come a downpour.
Would ya believe, I even caught a glimpse of an Ex... Now, I wasn't about to try to say hello, there's no chance of that after the bad experience the last time I had any contact with him, but he was right there hangin' out with some people who were parked right across from us. Now, there are some Ex's I've ran into and wondered "What the hell ever happened to us?" but I know exactly what happened to that "us," one of us went all nutjobby. There are some Ex's I've ran into and wondered "What the hell did I see in that?" but I know now that this one was a massive illusion. Yeah, Massive. To the point that my friends say things like "Gawd, we're glad you got away from that."
There are several Ex's I've ran into and spent a little friendly time with -- fun chit-chat about what we've been up to since the last time we saw each other; or just gabbin' about things like trucks or restaurants or music; but I know this one wouldn't have the maturity or mental capacity for that kind of conversation. This one's the one who flipped-out on me to the point he didn't even look like the same person anymore. The one who tossed his keys across the top of the SHO, but couldn't understand why that pissed me off; the one who spent the last of the gas money on a tattoo 'cause hey, Deb's got Credit Cards, she'll get us home; the one all the hotel maids know by his Indian Name: "Wipesassonbathtowel." Heh heh... I just hate it that I didn't get to talk to his dad for a little bit -- his folks are good people, it's just that he's a shitsack.
I got to watch Russell hotlap a couple sets and then during the drivers meeting the clouds got darker and darker. They'd run the first few heat races, I think they were still tryin' to finish up the FWD's when the rain came and they called it all off. When we finally got through the traffic jam and out of the mud, we went lookin' for the line to get our pit pass money back...
That's when I got irritated. That's when I lost any bit of respect I might've ever had for Ted Holt (Howdy, Google Users!) and the way he runs his race track. I can totally understand 'em wantin' to just re-use the pit passes to save the hassle, but when people come from out of town and might not be able to make it back, they should at least have the option of getting the cash instead of being expected to just save the band for next time. Next time might be a long time away if we ever do manage to make it back, and there's a lot of other things people might want to do with their $25 between now and then.
Ted Holt (Hi Google!) does not care what else you might want to do with that $25, and he does not care what you think about the situation. Ted Holt says you should keep your band, 'cause you'll be back. No, really, you will. Yes, you will. You'll be back, just hang on to that band and use it next time, 'cause you can use it any time this year. What's that you say? Your home track may end their point season after CCS is closed for the winter? Well, don't worry, you'll be back, 'cause you're backed into a corner; Ted Holt's got your money, so you have to come back, don't ya? "You'll be back."
Uhm, no, I don't think I will. No matter how politely you try to say it, a "Fuck You" is still a "Fuck You."
With an attitude like that, Ted Holt (Google-Riffic!) will not see me again. I'm not gonna beat around the bush, I'm gonna come right out and say it, Fuck You, I ain't comin' back.
When I finally got outta there, I had a WhataBurger for dinner and then went to a nifty little bar to meet some friends who had also been at the track earlier -- and I also found a way to get at least part of my money back out of the deal. Hey Ted, remember that "Fuck You" earlier? Well, you'd better not fuck my buddy out of that pit pass, 'cause he bought it fair-n-square for ten bucks and a Colorado Bulldog; and that Bulldog was really good, almost as good as the ones I had in Colorado.
Considering the few-n-far-between nature of my bar visits, I had a nice time -- but I'm not in all that big of a hurry to go back. I had fun visiting with a table full of racin' folks and crackin' jokes with other chicks who share a few of the same experiences I've had in the past. I had a nice drink and enjoyed a nice little evening; and I got my fill for a while...
The whole deal makes me quite thankful for Clayton; and I was sooooo glad to see him when he got back Sunday afternoon. We had a lovely evening swappin' pictures and stories from our weekend apart and then we had a nice dinner at Senor Salsa in Skiatook. (If you're Googling that, forget the computer and go on over there 'cause it's good, really good.)
Sunday would've been Dave's fifty-fifth birthday... Mom and I talked about it after breakfast, but it didn't come up again and I didn't mention it to Clay 'cause once he was here, I forgot all about everything but him -- he has that effect on me. If somebody had found me four years ago and said "Four years from tonight, you'll be sittin' in that Mexican restaurant with the best boyfriend you've had in a long time, you'll eat enchiladas 'til you're sick and then even though your guts'll hurt like hell, you'll go home happier and more comfortable than you've been with anybody in a long time..." I'da never believed 'em. Four years ago, what would've been Dave's fifty-first birthday was a serious low point; and not just because it was the first "would've been birthday," not just because I hadn't discovered the magic of Enchiladas yet; but because I'd just discovered a lot of things in life were not at all what they seemed. I was at such a low point, nothing was sacred anymore and most of life was just suckin' me down to the point I was starting get where I didn't really give a damn about anything 'cause it seemed like most of the people I thought I was close to didn't really give a damn about me either... That's the thing about Death, it teaches us who thereal friends are.
I'm thankful for my friends, and for my Clayton, who's changed my outlook on a lot of things...
Clay's such a Sweetie -- he found me one of those metal signs that says "NO ENTRY" for the race trailer, and he also brought me this adorable little resin Beeeeee about the size of a softball... I was gonna post a picture, but Blogger won't let me, so I'm clickin' "Publish" and goin' back to work now.
;) More later...
posted by Debbie at 8:44 AM
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