Track trashin'

It would be a travesty to let the month of May pass without talking about my adoration for being tracktrash.

Let's momentarily be honest. I don't really follow racing, had I not seen the constant heckling of Ashley Judd on twitter during the 500 Awards Banquet I probably couldnt have even told you Dario won the race Sunday.

BUT... but... May in Indy is my very favorite time of the year simply because it's FUN. There is always SOMETHING going on somewhere.

So when you wake up on a Saturday afternoon with not much on the agenda, this is what you do...

1) go pick up your best friend and pack a cooler so full you have to put a 5 foot inflatable shark on top to keep it closed in the car.

2) wander around the Indianapolis Motor Speedway for a few hours in weather so hot your shoes are sticking to the asphalt. Find race-industry-employed friends and use them for their air-conditioning found only in the garage areas.

3) decide you started the day a little early, and proceed to the infield lawn to take a nap

4) Since it's nearly 6pm and the track is closing, you pack up and head out. Listening only to quintessential 'merica tunes.

5) Talk those friends from earlier into taking you out to dinner. Where they proceed to find themselves HILARIOUS and tell the waiter you are "very single", and he creeps on you the ENTIRE dinner, while they fake being 'in love'

6) Duck out of the restaurant after leaving a fake number, and proceed onto race track number two for the day. To watch a certain cute boy race that evening.

7) Don't forget to Pabby!

8) Continue to lighten the cooler load

9) Finish off the night with a round of grandstand grandslam. Until someone (ahhem myself) pops the Lightening McQueen ball by hitting it onto the track.

Kachow.

Through chaos comes clarity

There was this point a few months ago where I was on a dating rampage.

Literally, being taken on dates 5 nights some weeks. (Wednesdays were girls nights, and Monday was family dinner... every other night was fair game, and usually booked)

At the culmination of my whirlwind social life, my friends and even my own mother were asking for a picture flip book to keep track of who was who, how I knew them, where we met, socioeconomic status, family lineage, so forth and so on.

They all thought it was hilarious. They would even throw a new one in occasionally just to see if I could continue to juggle it.

It was all in good fun, I wasn't taking myself too seriously. They all knew I wasn't in it to win it. I wasn't hooking up with them, any of them. I didn't even kiss most of them. Some were around for a few weeks, some just a date or two.

I don't even know where they all came from. I wasn't actively seeking dates. I'm not complaining though. I can't tell you how much money I saved on food for those few months ;) (Hey, just being practical)

In all honesty, it was a good time. I really did enjoy hanging out with them, otherwise I wouldn't have agreed to any dates. I'm not good at faking being interested. But it was exhausting. I longed for pizza-on-the-couch-in-my-high-school-tshirt-nights, not to be getting dolled up and having to act like I gave two shits about where we went to dinner or how their day was. And confusing! I couldn't remember who told me which stories, which jokes, which nicknames. I started telling stories about my dates to other dates but changing it to sound like stories "with friends" not "while on a date".

After a month or two, I forced myself into early retirement. I started ignoring texts, not returning calls, accidentally "missing" their tweets at me.

There was this one fella who had sorta been on the backburner the whole time though. Not around much, but enough to stay on my mind. We would text almost daily, but had only hung out a few times. He was the one who held my interest. I kept finding myself intrigued by him. I craved his presence but our busy schedules just never wanted to compromise. Somehow through the chaos of the spring though, I realized what I wanted... and somehow that boy kept popping up at all the right times...

When the cats away...

My coworkers apparently were a little jealous that I took Friday off, extending my 3-day weekend into a 4-day.

Saturday afternoon I was perusing Facebook and came across this on my timeline.

Naturally, I cracked up then proceeded to forget about it because I was only halfway through my extended weekend and work was the last thing on my mind. Needless to say I remembered real quick as soon as I unlocked my office door this morning and saw the mess.

Payback is a betch...
 

la la life

Source: looklingerlove.blogspot.com via Chelsea on Pinterest

The best part about having a blog is being able to snoop on what you were doing around this time last year without having to consult the dreaded Facebook Timeline.

For some reason, every year around race time I always start reflecting on the year. Maybe because the 500 is the one constant in Indy year after year so it just makes sense to use it as a mile marker.

So if you ignore the part about falling hard for a guy who turned out to be a tool, my early summer last year was nothing shy of amazing. This year is competing to steal that title though.

You may have noticed, I very rarely complain about life. In my opinion life is exactly what you want it to be - so even if I'm having a rotten day, if someone asks I simply reply its fan'freakin-tastic. And by the time they get done laughing I've cracked a smile and my 'fake it til you make it' stance has worked.

Truth is, things ARE good. I've got a rat pack of a posse that causes hilarious amounts of trouble with me, a cute boy who's whittling his way into my heart,  a house that I can't ever seem to keep clean, a dog that's a rotten brat, a family who never ceases to amaze me and a job that is nothing shy of a party most of the time.

I like life. It's pretty good to me! 

PSA

Have you ever been sittin around chitchatting while you're booking a flight, laughing, having a good time... then you look down and realize you just booked the completely wrong flight.

Yea, I KNOW RIGHT. Who in their right mind would do that!? (hangs head in shame)

Thank goodness for mommies who swoop in & save the day, get the money refunded and the correct flight booked. Because who really wants to spend 9 hours alone at the Miami International Airport trying to get home from Jamaica.

Moral of the story kids, when it asks if you're sure that's the flight you wanna book - double check it!

Oh, and let the countdown begin - I'll be going back to my second home in July. Hip hip hooray! (Hope you enjoyed the abundance of Jamaican trip outtake photos!)