Not Missing Anything

Today, I made the Jesus of Cheese hide my laptop from me, until, I told him, "I've picked up the kids and they're working on their homework."

Normally, I'm all over the interweb, checking my mail, a couple of bulletin boards, news pages, the checking account. All fucking day. Not that I don't do anything else, because I do.

Sometimes.

However, today I had the inspiration to get a few things done. Not MUCH. Just a few things.

And it was an experiment of sorts.

It's been about 20 months since the Jesus of Cheese quit the Pink Entity and went to work for The Bobs full time.

He could work from home. He could work in the middle of the night, theoretically. He could work in his underwear.

And he does.

The pay and benefits are the same, if not better. Plus he doesn't have to wear ties any more, he doesn't have to pay homage to the Tollway Goddess, nor pay for the gas for the commute.

Hell, our UrbanTruckster only has 50K miles on it, and it's 6 years old.

We are officially LOW MAINTENANCE.

And this gives new meaning to "nooners" for me.

So what's my problem?

Um, motivation...I think...maybe?

The truth is, I can't get a damn thing done when The Dave's here. On difficult days, I'll just be getting started unloading the dishwasher, cleaning the kitchen, whatever, and all of a sudden he wants to go out to lunch or something.

And who would look a gift lunch in the mouth? Me.

Scenario: BeerPup is on her computer, wasting time. For hours. The Dave ignores the BeerPup. He IS working, after all.

10 minutes later: BeerPup is wearing an apron and up to her elbows in suds and sludge, cleaning something. The Dave asks her to lunch.

The BeerPup's brain explodes.

Today was an experiment. Why waste hours on the computer? Because honestly, it's not like the world can't survive without me knowing the latest...whatever. So I got rid of the option, for the day.

I guess it worked. My house is pretty clean. Not REALLY clean. But not embarrassing. I had a list, and I did all the crap on it. Except for one thing, which I'll do right now. Hold on.

SaxyGal called. Check. List complete and shredded.

I'm thinking giving the Jesus of Cheese possession of the laptop is probably a good thing.

I think I can hack it. But only because I can still check my mail on my iPhone.

Hei til alle de norske leserne!

I'd just like to say hello to the Norwegians who have been reading here lately. I don't know how you found me; perhaps you're looking for my lefse recipe or want to know why Norwegian Americans are obsessed with the stuff?

Also, pardon my translation, if it's incorrect. I only speak Swedish, so I used an online translator for the title.

Krull

The movie Krull was on this evening.

Yeah, it's a stupid movie, except for two things: Liam Neeson and Robbie Coltrane are in it.

Why do I care?

Another lifetime ago, when I lived at the Webster House of the Mentally Deranged, Criminally Insane, Religiously Confused, Sexually Frustrated, Financially Destitute, and Morally Ambiguous, the owner had the arcade version of the Krull video game.

Once when I was waiting there for someone--this was before I lived there--I had some time to kill, so I played Krull. For hours.

Later on, when I lived there, I played for hours more. Hell, it was just standing there in the middle of the living room, and it was free.

We even rented the movie once, just so we could figure out what the point of the game was supposed to be. Turns out neither had one.

Once when we were having a party, some guy challenged me to a game and I said, "Okay, sure. I haven't played for a while."

He immediately expressed regret at his challenge, saying that the phrase "I haven't played for a while" means that you've played a lot, got good at it, and then got sick of it, so a novice has no chance of winning a challenge.

Yeah, I kicked his ass.

Later, for some reason (probably space) the owner gave/loaned/bartered the game to my friend Sweet Irish George, who had a house a few blocks up the hill.

Word has it that one of his roommates traded it to someone for a bag of pot.

It might not have been worth much, but it was worth more than a bag of pot.

Damn.

Another re-post from NRWP

This evening, for some reason, I thought I might need this. I wrote it in 2004:

Getting very drunk three days in a row is bad for the BeerPup. Therefore I thought it appropriate to present the various hangover cures I have tried over the years.

The best one I ever found is now illegal: Alka-Seltzer Plus Cold Medicine, original formula. Not "original flavor" as the product currently on the market claims. It used to contain phenylpropanolamine, which caused strokes in a small percentage of the population the first time they took it. However, if it didn't cause a stroke the first time, it probably wouldn't ever. So I don't know why they didn't just take it off the market for new users and let the rest of us keep using the stuff. It took care of pain, nausea, stuffy nose, and let you get a nice nap in, besides. Damn FDA, taking my favorite medicine away.

Sobazone: I've never tried this one since it's not available in the US, but my favorite actor is said to import it from his adopted home country of Australia for the parties he organizes for the crews of the movies he's in. If anyone would like to send me some so I can test it, that would be wonderful.

Sex: Weird but true. The more, the better.

Pot: Not only good for a hangover, it once helped me get over bronchitis. I know that makes no sense, but I was coughing so much I'd toss my cookies and then I didn't have the strength left to heal, so I just kept coughing and tossing my cookies. Then I got stoned and was able to eat and keep it down, and it made all the difference.

Chaser: Doesn't really work unless you don't drink a whole lot, and you have to keep taking it every few drinks. Don't bother.

Old standbys: Pedialyte, tons and tons of water, eat a huge meal before you go to bed, they all usually work if you remember to do them.

I don't recommend Excedrin because it can make your stomach bleed, which will make you nauseous and possibly vomit, which can tear the lining of your stomach and will send you to the emergency room at 7:00am in Coon Rapids, Minnesota.

Coca-Cola: It contains caramel, which settles the stomach. Whatever painkiller you take, take it with a Coke.

Then there's the recommendation that comes from The Pursuit of Happiness, the Canadian band with a sense of humor: "One more coffee, three more asprin, two more vitamin E. Much regret now, that the morning's crashing down on me."

But that was yesterday; I feel great today. Anyone want a homebrew?

30 years of cheese ball

I've been making a holiday cheese ball for years. Here's the recipe:

8 oz of smoked cheddar cheese, shredded

2 packages cream cheese

4 Tablespoons butter

2 tablespoons milk

1/4 cup Lea & Perrins steak sauce

dash garlic salt

dash onion salt

Sliced almonds

Let the cream cheese and butter come to room temperature. Slap it all (except the almonds) in a bowl. Mix it together with a hand mixer. Or just your hand. I don't care.

Form it into a ball. Put almonds on it. Stick it in the fridge for 6 hours.

Spread it on crackers to eat. I prefer Triscuits, Sociables, or Wheat Thins.

There ya go...one of my secret recipes.

Me and my big mouth

Yesterday I let slip to my in-laws that I have a blog. They wanted the address, to which I replied, "Oh, HECK no!"

They assumed it was because I've written about them. But that's not really why.

I told them it's because it's rather 'blue' in the manner that some comedians are blue. Not that I think I'm funny. I entertain myself, but I don't assume anyone else will be entertained.

However, I'm not always safe for work.

Also, what I post here makes it obvious that I am SO not "nice."

My in-laws keep insisting that I am. They're very wrong.

I've told them they're wrong, but if they read the crap I write here, they'd have proof.

I guess it's better to be thought of as an immoral drunken chain smoking internet hack who disrespects her family, than to have that family go online and find proof.

So here's a random question to anyone reading this: see if you can find a reference to this blog on a search engine, going on what you know of me in real life.

Okay. Go.

RECENTLY in my Gmail:

BeerPup: So, you taking any extra days off around Thanksgiving? For some reason asking you that reminded me I was going to make some lefse.

DoorKey: Nothing extra. [Personal info deleted] What are you up to?

BeerPup: Today, cleaning.  My best buddy SaxyGal will come over to assist.  We will make the house look fantabulous and then we will have many beers. Tomorrow I will buy many groceries.  I will then slice many vegetables.  I will glare at my turkey that I put in the fridge from the freezer a week ago, which is still frozen solid.  Then I'll put the really cheap bottle of chianti into the fridge. Then I will consume many beers while making dressing, setting the table, and attaching post-it notes to each serving bowl as to what they will contain the next day. This is when the lefse might be created. Thursday at 5am I'll glare at the turkey some more, then stick it in cold water in the sink.  Then I'll cook the turkey, mash 5 pounds of potatoes, make giblet gravy, and drink most of the wine in the fridge. (The only ones in the family who drink are me and my brother-in-law.) I will ask my brother-in-law if he's got any pot.  Just to make him uncomfortable. I will explain to my son that it's not proper to eat thanksgiving dinner in your underwear. My in-laws will do the dishes while I stand in the garage and smoke. Then we'll watch the Cowboys loose to the Jets.  I will laugh and the rest of the family will glare at me as if I were a still-frozen turkey. Then the kids will open their birthday presents. Friday, I'lll sleep. Saturday I'll finally unload the dishwasher from Thursday.  Then the kids' friends will come over for a playdate. Sunday I will be at a loss because there won't be a NASCAR race to watch.  So I'll probably just take a nap. Guess that covers it,

DoorKey: So nothing really planned then.

BeerPup: No, nothing special.

Somethin' Goin' Wrong Around Here

Weirdness is happening around me. I don't think I, personally, am the curse factor, but y'all must admit that it's usually ME having the crisis.

Or perhaps it's just that I now have the perspective--and the antidepressants--so that I realize these things are NOT my crises.

What are these crises, you ask?

Well, first of all my cousin died. Don't worry, he wasn't one of the important ones. This sent my mom into crisis mode. She couldn't (or chose not to) make it to the funeral, and none of us actually knew when it was, anyway. So I was all prepared to be long-distance support for her, but meanwhile she had decided to ask my sister to go the funeral to "represent the family."

Oh, fuck THAT. You should never go to a funeral when you have to explain to the mourners who the hell you are, which my sister would have had to do. (The mother of the deceased suffers from Alzheimer's, we've barely met the guy's wife, and the last time I saw his kids, they both deserved spankings.)

Mom's idea was twice as fucked as usual because my sister is about to be homeless, by no fault of her own. The house she's renting, the owners are being foreclosed on and so she and DuffMan and Portia have to vacate a couple of days before Christmas.

And then on the other side, my Former Indentured Servant's car broke down. This is the car we gave him, that was stolen a couple of months ago. Why is this OUR problem? I wish YOU would fucking tell ME.

[These disparaging remarks were deleted because...well, just because.]

You see, we put all his options in front of him: where he could have the car towed, where he could get it fixed, what might or might not be the actual problem with the car, what costs were involved, and if all else failed, there was always the option of his calling a junk yard and having them tow it away and giving him $25.

He rejected all these options because the only acceptable options to him were: 1) that he still have a car to drive and 2) that it not cost him anything because he's broke.

I won't tell you how this panned out. It's still pissing me off. The voice inside my head is going to have a LOT to say on Thanksgiving, but perhaps if I give it a lot of beer it will shut up.

So now I'm going on a cleaning frenzy (today), followed by a grocery shopping and food prep frenzy (tomorrow), followed by a cooking frenzy (Thursday). I won't even feel like eating all the crap I cooked.

I might, if the Jesus of Cheese's family didn't eat so damn fast.

But that's another bitch session.

Copy mom soggy

This is a really boring post. I mean REALLY. Don't bother to read it. It's so mundane, I was bored while writing it.

Still here? Okay, don't blame me when you get bored.


So I went to make the copies for the Kindergarten, like I do every Thursday.

The teachers have enough CRAP to do without having to stand in front of a cranky machine for...well, it would take each of them about 45 minutes to do it themselves.

That's 45 minutes they could use to do all the No Child Left Behind paperwork. Which is also CRAP but it's also the law, dammit.

I got there, got the folder of stuff to do, and started...say it together now:

"Makin' copies!"

'Cept I couldn't.

I usually use this big copier in the copy room that also houses the teachers' mailboxes. When I got there, there was a stack of about 3 reams of paper, sans wrappers, sitting on top of the machine with a note that a service call was in.

So back to Ms. Twain I went. Ms. Twain is my son's teacher. She very nicely called Mrs. Cloud for me. Mrs. Cloud is the person who's in charge of putting in service calls, unjamming the machine, and she takes all the flack for the crappy copier that usually is messed up by user error.

Mrs. Cloud gave her permission for me to use it anyway. Mrs. Cloud knows I can undo jams that others can't.

I had no problems with my copies.

Then the 1st grade copy volunteer came in and...she had problems. I took note that she was making 2-sided copies.

However, someone passing through claimed that it had jammed on 1-sided copies also.

I called bullshit. In my mind anyway.

So the 1st grade volunteer went away (good for me, because damn it, she was horning in my specified time!)

I kept copying. I had no problems.

And then...THE COPY TECHNICIAN SHOWED UP!

(Until today I had doubted his existence.)

I offered to go away. He said no, but he would do some eval while I coped.

He did this thing where he took the front door off the copier, and then stuck a plastic doohickey in the latch so the machine would think it was closed.

Then he sat there and watched the copies go through.

I made copies. I stapled stuff. I staple a LOT of stuff.

We chatted. The copy guy goes on vacation this week; he had to dismantle an entire copier and put it together earlier this morning; he plays classical guitar at Half Price Books down south of here, twice a month; people should never put lots of paper in the copier when it's about to rain; people should always make sure the paper supply is really straight when they put it in the copier.

He couldn't find anything wrong with the copier itself, until he did a duplex (2-sided) copy.

There was a little tiny torn piece of paper stuck in the duplexing rollers. I laughed and told him it was like the original computer bug.

He seemed to think the idea of keeping the "bug" (actually a moth) was kinda gross.

Which it is, come to think of it.

Anyway, the copies seemed to go off without a hitch after that. Which I figured would be the case.

(Hell, I coulda called bullshit out loud earlier!)

(Oh, wait. It's an elementary school, so, um...no.)

The 2nd grade copy moms finished their copies. I hope they made it to their lunch date! And then I finished mine. In fact, I did too many, damn it. (This has to do with which teacher tells me which and how many copies to make, and when.)

Two hours, 45 minutes. Say it together, now:

"Makin' copies!"

Days like this, I remind myself I have a Master's degree.

But at least I'm a copy goddess!

InfoDiva Reflections: When I Was Employed

I once did some research for this guy, at this company I can't name. He used to work at, well, this place, at our nation's capital, and the place was white, and someone also lived there so you could call it a house. And his boss, you see, who said more than once that he didn't read magazines or newspapers (but for his job, he really SHOULD have), needed some information that this guy was to supply. And so the guy gave his boss information, but he gave him the Cliff's Notes version.

Which was a legally shady thing to do. So the guy quit, to cover his own and his boss's ass. Which is why he came to work at the (unnamed) company where I worked.

He came to me with an unpublished government document. NOT top secret, just not yet published (I don't even remember what it was about), and he needed a copy of all the other government documents plus a couple of magazine articles referenced in the unpublished one. See, this guy was now keeping his nose clean and disclosing every stinkin' tiny bit of information to his new boss so he, himself, could not be held as legally culpable.

Plus, I'm pretty sure his new boss DID read magazines and newspapers.

Anyway, he needed the documents by the next day. Fourteen documents.

So I found them. Half of them could be found on the InterWeb for free, if one only knew where to look. The other half were available through an online subscription database.

Government documents are unbelievably easy to find--legally!--if you know where to look.

I found all but one. That last one, she was a bitch. I told the guy I hadn't found it yet, and I had to leave for the day. He said he knew someone who would have it, and we should call his old workplace. I had to tell my co-worker to call the place.

She freaked out a little. I mean, this was a place that anyone can find out the phone number, but it's not a good idea to call it. And if you do, you don't expect to actually get past the switchboard. But she did it, she named our company, she dropped the guy's name, and asked for the friend he had named. She eventually actually got through to someone who worked with the friend of the guy, and asked for the document. This part took her maybe an hour.

Eventually, maybe ten days later, we got the document. Nine days late.

The other 13 documents took me one afternoon, and zero phone calls.

I'm pretty sure the guy could have gotten all 14 documents himself--some online, but most of them by calling people he knew and then calling people they knew, and it all would have taken 10 days to receive everything, plus the hours of phone calls.

We did it in 5 hours with minimal cost.

I kick ass. They don't call me InfoDiva for nothin'.

Aren't these pictures pretty?

As the NASCAR season winds down

Here's my race fan soul-searching top ten list.

1. I hate that cheater Chad Knaus.

2. I no longer hate Gordon and Johnson. Don't love 'em but...don't hate 'em.

3. ESPN race coverage sucks. They seem to be entirely missing obvious marketing issues, such as: a lot of people DO hate Gordon and Johnson and don't care to see them every moment of the race, nor hear about them for most of the pre-race coverage. We KNOW one of them will win the cup, we don't care which one will, and it's BORING!

4. I still can't wrap my head around Gibbs cars racing Toyotas.

5. I'm looking forward to Junior having a car that won't blow up on him.

6. I have a theory that Harvick wouldn't need anger management if he wasn't driving such an ugly car.

7. I'm really going to miss the Budweiser "Crazy Mutant Desert Guys" commercial. It's just not the same on YouTube.

8. Edwards is still a bully, Kurt's still a weenie, and Kyle's still a perve.

9. Next year I'm going to buy my Texas Motor Speedway in the cheap seats again. I missed yelling at other people's kids.

10. I hate that cheater Chad Knaus.

'Nuther Quiz

1. How tall are you?

5 feet, 2 inches--tallest woman in my family!


2. Have you ever played a musical instrument and what was it?

French horn. And occasionally trumpet.


3. Describe your favorite pair of shoes.

My black, soft, low-heeled boots that I bought at Hobbes in London in 1990.


4. What color is your car?

Mine's the white one but I usually drive the red one.


5. Name your favorite song.

"In your eyes" by Peter Gabriel


6. Paper or plastic?

Plastic because I can bring it back to the store for recycling.


7. Mac or PC and is it a laptop?

MacBook. Sometimes an iMac.


8. Do you speak any foreign languages and what are they?

Swedish, but I do it badly. I can ask for the bathroom, train station, bus stop, and order a beer. You know, the IMPORTANT things.


9. What's your favorite comfort food?

Chex party mix, or Triscuits with melted cheddar on 'em.


10. Tell us one thing that most people don't know about you.

I really am incredibly shy even though no one believes me! Oh, and I mispronounce words on purpose.

Beware of BeerHounds Bearing Gifts

A couple of lifetimes ago, just after the BeerHound had moved away to work at...that really big important hospital, I went to visit her and she handed me this stuffed...thing.

"Here's your Mister Right!" she said.

"Ummmm," I said, hesitating to even put my hand out to take it.

It was...how do I describe it. In craft stores, you can buy fabric that's pre-printed with a pattern on it. This one was a stuffed toy; you were supposed to cut it out, sew it, and stuff it, and presto, instant toy.

This one was a cowboy. He actually looked like a Cabbage Patch cowboy. Doughy face. Benign smile. About 2 feet high.

"Why," I asked, "Is he called Mister Right?"

"'Cause he's a snappy dresser and he doesn't talk back!"

Mkay. Good enough.

Bad, bad 80s!

There was bad 80s hair, and good 80s hair. This is my "good."

Keep in mind my hair is very straight, thin, and limp. I vaguely remember at least two hours with a teeny tiny curling iron prior to this photo shoot.

It's actually a group shot of the fam. We have all agreed that it's a good picture, but it doesn't look anything like us.

Except for me ;-)

Grandma Shorty

I don't remember seeing this picture before today. It's my grandmother, Josephene Margaret Johnson Brasgalla, holding me when I'm a little over a year old.

Nice to know my mom was as conscientious as me in regard to clothing her children.



The BeerHound (left) was obviously too sexy for this picture in 1982. Unfortunately, I wasn't sexy enough for anything. Damn braces. Damn terry-cloth hat and homemade tank top. Damn puberty.

No Reason.

Put Your Shoes On! We're Goin' to NASCAR!

Sunday is the big NASCAR race at Texas Motor Speedway. Yes, of course I'm going. I've just learned that our beloved Nick--of Nick's Ridiculous Whore Page--will also be attending. Probably.

He's never been. This will be my 4th or 5th one, so I've opted to write "Dickies Fan FAQ" just for Nick.

Leave your house no later than three hours before the race. As many as 6 or 7 hours is acceptable. There will be plenty to do.

When I go, I usually wake up at an ungodly hour. Then I call my sister and my brother individually, and yell, "Put your shoes on! We're goin' to NASCAR!"

(Family joke.)

Then I get in the car and drive to the Meeting Point. The night before, I have assembled:

A cooler I can bring into the speedway. The size limit is 14"x14"x14"

Beer I can bring into the speedway. NO GLASS. And being it's Sunday in Texas, they don't sell beer before noon. So buy it Saturday night.

A couple of other coolers.

A purse. If you can get away with a man-purse, do it. A backpack or something.

In my purse is:

Cash
Credit card
Photo ID
Tickets!
Sunscreen, 3 kinds. One for lips, one for face, one for the rest of me.
Moist towelettes.
A neatly folded hunk of toilet paper (in case I pick a stall that's out.)
Immodium (2 or 3 doses) 'cause when you need it, you need it NOW
Excedrin
The BeerHound advises a pen and paper, to write down the name and phone number of whatever NASCAR boyfriend she makes at the race.
Cell phone.
Keys, only the essential. House, car I'm driving, key fob.

I usually wear very comfortable shoes, and as little clothing as I can, taking the weather into consideration. Last spring, this was a tank top and shorts. A year ago, it was a t-shirt, jeans, long underwear, a sweatshirt, a winter coat, and winter gloves. And a hat. A wool one.

This weekend looks to be back in the tank top and shorts category.

But I always bring long pants and a jacket in the car.

And towels. Bring a couple of towels.. I won't go into details about this, but combine a muddy parking lot and a couple of assholes with a 4-wheel drive, and you get a desperate need for towels.

After meeting my buddies, we'll stop at a convenience store and put the beer and water on ice. You can never have too much ice. Remember, buy the beer ahead of time!

Buying the water ahead of time might also be financially sound advice.

So at the convenience store, buy ice and salty snacks. Twice as many salty snack as you think you want.

Then drive to the race. I've taken 114, 1171, and 35, and they're all about the same. There used to be huge back-ups, but they aren't so bad any more, since they put in the new Dale Earnhardt Way exit.

The raceway fan guide specifically suggests NOT taking 114, warning that you might miss the start of the race if you do so.

When you get there, follow the signs to park, and then hang out. Take stock. Enjoy the music your fellow parking lot neighbors are enjoying. Have a beer.

Make sure you've got what you need for the next couple of hours.

Put a bunch of bottled water on ice and leave it in your car. You'll need it after you get back there after the race. This is when you will need the salty snacks, also.

Then make your way to...The VENDORS!

There will be a truck or kiosk for every damn logo you see on every damn car that drives on the track. Each driver has several truck/stores.

There'll be, for example, one for the Navy, one for the Army, one for every guy in the Chase, one for every racing team, one for Budweiser....it's overwhelming. Ridiculous. Entertaining.

You know those damn "It's the Mirrors" commercials? HUGE kiosk/tour/display. Artwork, pictures. Sundry, scanners. Hot chicks trying to get you to apply for credit cards. Tons of swag. You'll walk it a couple of times.

And then there's the free samples. Toilet paper, the latest Frito-Lay product, Goody's Asprin Powders (new orange flavor!)

A couple of shopping tips: this race is at the end of the season and some vendors have pretty good deals on stuff to get rid of inventory. A few things are about to become obsolete, like the Dale Earnhardt Jr. Budweiser 8 stuff. Anything that says "Nextel Cup." Etc. Some might be "collector's items" and some is just junk. Your call.

Just be sure to stop by the Navy kiosk and get their swag. They always give away a cheap set of ear plugs (they'll be in the little blue coin-purse type thing in the swag bag.)

Neither the Navy nor the Army is trying to recruit you, so be friendly and thank the representative service people for their service to our country.

Also, many of the workers at the rest of the vendors are also service people on leave. So be friendly and nice.

Then there's the SPEED network stage. I've never stood around and watched them, but it's probably entertaining. I'v only fought my way past the crowd. I like them on TV and all, but I don't think I'd want to fight the crowd just to get a "live view" of them.

When the gates open, you'll want to go through the gates and pee. After that, go back to your car and re-stock your cooler.

They scan your ticket on the way in and on the way out.

The BeerHound and I once bought tickets to the Bush race just to get in the gates to pee. It was worth $40 apiece. We watched half the race, were seriously freezing, and left to go watch the end of it at the Pub Down Under. But we were able to sell the tickets to the guys who pulled into the parking space next to us as we were leaving.

Sorry for the digression.

There will be food vendors both inside and outside the gates. The beer vendors are only inside the gates.

After peeing, check out your seats. Then stroll down and check out the finish line.

Buying a program is usually a good idea. You get a free t-shirt if you buy one.

Get a handle on the schedule, so you know when to wander back to your seat.

Things to see before the race:

There's always a band. The band will only do their best songs--4 at most. It will be a hugely popular successful performer or group, but there's a chance they'll be country and you like rock...

There'll be driver introductions. Every driver gets introduced. They get driven around the track and wave at the crowd also.

There will be a prayer.

Then there's the national anthem, the fly-over, and then someone says, "Gentlemen, start your engines!" (Danica hasn't made it to Cup racing yet, so they don't have to use the neutral "drivers, start your engines," which JUST DOESN'T sound right.)

Then the rumble.

Most of the women in the audience will shudder, sigh, and smile to themselves.

And then there's the race.

After, you can still visit the vendors. Pee one more time!

Make your way back to your car. Wait forever. Go home.

It WILL take you a bare minimum of an hour to get to the road that goes to the road that goes to I35 or 114. You may wish to tailgate for a while after the race, because getting in your car and waiting will not get you out faster, and it will just waste gas.

Oh, make sure you have a full tank of gas.


;-)



So. Here's the stuff to bring list:
Tickets
Photo ID
Cash
Credit card
Sunscreen
Sunglasses
Hat
Coolers (including one 14"x14"x14" per attendee)
Beer
Ice
Water
Money
Snacks
Towels
Change of clothes
Immodium
Wet-naps
Tampons
Money
Toilet paper
Condoms
Saline solution
Excedrin
Camera
Binoculars
Money
Body glitter
Cell phone
Pen & paper
Tiara
Money

See you there!