Feeling "Off" on an Off Weekend

I know all of you NASCAR fans were disappointed that you didn't get to see that goofy little gofer this weekend, but I was good with it.  It means I got to have a normal weekend with Mike.

This has been, of course, off-set by the testing the team has to go to on Tuesday which means he'll be gone for about a week solid.

ARGH.

We were hoping to come up with a plan for the weekend, but our ideas of what's fun on an off weekend somewhat differ.  Since I'm stuck at home all of the time, holed up in my basement office with hardly any sunlight (I know...I sound like a character from Twilight or something), I wanted nothing more than to go out and have a night on the town.  I don't want to cook, clean, or even look at dirty laundry on the rare off-weekend.

Since all Mike ever does is sleep in a different hotel room every week, he wants nothing more than to hole up in the house and not see sunlight for about 5 days straight.  All of his clothes are dirty and he hasn't had a home-cooked meal in about 2 weeks. 

You can see where this might be a problem.

Never one to shy away from a challenge, I managed to pull him away from his computer and convince him to put on something other than pajama pants on Friday night so that we could go out to dinner and air ourselves out a little bit.  We got so gussied up, we even put on our nice blue jeans.

And we were both rewarded with food poisoning later that evening.

Back to the pajama pants.

Now we are on the countdown to reality, where he'll leave on Tuesday for a test and then it's off to Bristol, his favorite track (I think because it looks like a coliseum and satisfies his secret dream of becoming a gladiator).  He'll be hanging out with his buddies from the team while I'm left behind with the kids who do their best to fit in as many "potty words" in one sentence as they can.

So basically his conversations on the road with the guys and my conversations at home with the kids are about the same.

Once Upon a Time, I Met a Prince in a Fire Suit....

I am a reluctant NASCAR fan.

In fact, if it weren't for my significant other, Mike, my Sundays would open up significantly until football season.

But now I sit on my couch, hoping to catch a glimpse of my love in a fire-suit because that's the only time I see him on weekends.

NASCAR and I are in a custody dispute about who gets him the majority of the time.

I'm losing.

See, for all of you NASCAR fans, the fact that they race 38 weekends out of the year is a good thing.  Gives you something to shape your week.  But for those of us at home...we're waiting for the checkered flag because that means someone is getting ready to come home and tackle his honey-do list.

I know...not as romantic as you thought it would be, is it?

Dating someone on a Sprint Cup team has forced me into a fast left-hand learning curve with a steep bank.  Up until I met him, I thought all the driver did was get in the car, push a button, and turn left.  The only thing I wasn't sure about was whether they were allowed to use cruise control or not.

Can you see where I might have been a little lost when we first met?


Now I'm so educated, I should have a PhD in NASCAR gossip.  I know that no one wants to get assigned in the pits next to Dale Earnhardt, Jr. because he isn't the best at parallel parking while going 70 miles an hour.  I know the drivers who are nice to their fans and Mariah-Carey-Diva-Like when they get into their motorcoaches.  And I know immediately what's happened at work that day by the smell of burnt gear oil that rubs off on me when I give him a welcome home hug.

Judging by what's going on at the Las Vegas Motor Speedway today...he may smell like a lot of things when he gets home tonight.  But champagne from Victory Lane won't be one of them.

ARGH.