Monday, June 28, 2010

Friends.


The thing I hate the most about aging, other than grey hairs, wrinkles, arthritis, forgetting things, needing to watch my bowel movements, sagging boobs, droopy skin, ugh, all that shit is: it gets harder to keep friends and even harder to make new friends.

My situation makes it worst. I'm never in the same town for more than 3 days in a row. My entourage consists 100% of my team of 3 (plus the driver and his wife, I guess my team really consists of 5) and competitors with a handful of fans I get to see over and over again and become "friendly" with. Oh, and the race officials. I am reminded daily of how competitors, although they label themselves as friends, although they enjoy my freaky difference from the average racer, although they say they "love" me in a non will you marry me way... are not friends, nor will they ever be.

The way I am reminded of this simple fact is the same as a kid daily touching the toaster to see if it still burns. You know you're gonna get burnt, yet you hope maybe the side has become thicker and is no longer hot. So you touch it, and dam, a burn, again! I'm like that. I know they are competitors. They want to beat us in the races so they keep a small wall around themselves and keep that safe distance. Me? I didn't grow up around this. I need friends. I need people I can confide in, people I can share zany stories with, people who'll look at me and say "I understand, it's the same for me, let's go have a cocktail..."  I get plenty of "Let's get drunk" but that understanding, and comfort, and warm, and fuzzy feeling of a true friend: nothing. I have Booby, thank god he's my favorite person EVER to hang around with... but I need a circle of friends. Not a big gang, I don't ask for much, maybe 1-5 good friends. Every time something happens that reminds me the people I run around with aren't really my friends. I get hurt. Every single time. Even your own team can't ever be your true friends, everybody is always on the look-out for a better ride...

So I run to you, and blog about it, hoping for support or comments. Life's a bitch, isn't it? I need a new job, I need a life, I need to stop re-locating every day so I can build a true solid network or I'm going to go crazy. Or depressed. Or both. Have pity on me will you?  :o)

p.s. stay tuned to find out when I'll be up at Holly's cyber house...
p.s.2 Am I a whiny bitch or what??? I was just hurting for something that happened last night... I honestly don't have a bff she-friend on the road with me, but I DO have my best bff ever, Booby, my dude... it makes it a lot better, but I do miss having girlfriends around me. Girls, you know what I mean right? How much time can a girl spend surrounded by men, I can't talk about the stuff I really need to talk about... *sigh* I'm having a Sunday moment on a Monday!

10 comments:

  1. I would think that would get old after awhile. Its would be a different story if you had a husband, boyfriend or bff along with you. Can you relocate to the garage in the town from where the racer is based? That might be a start.

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  2. That would really suck. I can't live without my girls.. what kind of racing is it??

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  3. @ Holly: Yeah... we'll see about my re-location once we know what's happening with this team, or what team the Booby wants to work for next year, I'm targeting San Diego! hahaha!
    @ Jennifer: living without an immediate group of girls is a bitch... As far as telling you the kind of racing, I can't see how I could make that public without taking my Zorro mask off, it'd be too easy to find me and I promised Booby to remain totally anonymous... I already made the MAJOR mistake of having a public blog. UGH! Thank god THAT'S over!

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  4. Now I'm really curious. I just started following you and I don't know what kind of racing you do. I am a huge NASCAR fan but love the local track. So much so, that I sat in the rain waiting to see if they were going to try to run. It was the end of September in the upper Midwest. Oktoberfest I was sitting in a sleeping bad with my ski pants on just to watch. Please tell me what type of racing.

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  5. Chisty, what kind of racing I do? I'd tell you but then I'd have to (not kill you, who do you think I am, a loser who just quotes tacky clichés all the time, now would I have modified my keyboard to include accents if I were THAT type of person? Would I?) I would have to go back into hiding. I need to keep my identity anonymous, it's what allows me to have fun and say stuff about drivers and fans (mean shit) but shit I couldn't say if I revealed my identity because then... it would reveal THEIR identity as well. And that would be plain ol' nasty. Let's just say it's a race with cars, wheels, and motors. ;o)

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  6. See.. then I can't help you. Because I know a girl who is involved in racing with cars, wheels and motors, who kind of rocks, and I'm not entirely sure she owns a brush.
    Plus, if I were to tell her about my blog (which I didn't because she's married to one of Bean's friends, and I'm not supposed to embarass him), then she would probably love it, and laugh really hard.
    She might even be okay with poop conversations.

    Anyway.

    The point is that I don't know if you do the same race thingy, because you're all Zorro..

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  7. Also.. did you see me all checking back to read replies??

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  8. @ Jennifer: welcome back cookie monster! haha! What kind of racing is SHE into? (said the cowardly zorro bitch)

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  9. I tried really hard to reply to this last night, but my phone was all "fuck you - its bedtime!!"..

    I don't have any ideas what kind of racing she's into, because I'm one of those girls that would have believed "cat mayhem" was a technical term for a car part.

    But her car looks kindof like I would imagine nascar cars would look like if nascar drivers were broke (like the no money kind of broke, not the 'my car doesn't go' kind of broke, because I hear that her car goes very well).

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  10. So... she's into stock cars. Nope, not my racing! But say hi to her anyways... Just cause I'm nice like that. I say hi to strangers, and offer candy to kids.

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