Hello, Brain Purge

Hey friends.  I promise this isn't an "I don't know what to write about today" post, because I do know, I just haven't yet.  I have a whole list, in fact.  I also wish I could say that it's a lack of time, I'm so busy and popular, but really it's just a time management issue.  I've been spending a lot of time in other places on the internet but I've also been spending a lot of time navel-gazing.  I've been productive in a lot of ways that don't show here.

Last Thursday, I was at a meeting with the race team owners, going over my hopes and dreams and plans and list after list of things I feel like I need to get done, things they probably wouldn't have assigned to me if I hadn't dreamed it up in the first place.  But things I want to do.  Lists.  Everywhere.  We were sitting at a restaurant with a laptop and an aircard and my notes strewn all over the table.  The owner/driver (yes, it's intentional that I never actually put any of these names into text) is sitting next to me, and he pulls up this site on his laptop and points to the screen and says "What's with this anyway?  Is this something you do every day?"

Well, no.  Not anymore.  Because now I spend every day working for *you*.  But I digress.  It's a labor of love, and I've never enjoyed being involved in an auto racing venture as much as I've enjoyed the past few months with this team.  And I guess that's all I'm trying to say with these first couple of paragraphs.  In the past, when I've gone a little AWOL from DuJane, it's been due to needing the break, having nothing to say, fearing what I'll say, or mental illness.  And this time, the mental illness is only because I am ridiculously bad at Photoshop, I forgot what that one hunk of CSS was supposed to do, and OMG OMG I'M SO GOING TO PUT MY FOOT IN MY MOUTH IF I HAVE TO CALL THAT IMPORTANT GUY.  Also?  I don't look so good in red and black.  I selfishly hope that I help land a sponsor so enormous that we have to repaint the cars, in a shade that looks better on me.

So.  Yeah.  The next race is 3/27/10 in DuQuoin, IL, if any of you are interested in saying hello to me.  Between now and then, I also have two home shows in the Rockford area, lots of opportunity to see me in full Fake Smile Salesgirl Glory.

In other news, my hair is getting long.  In typical me fashion, I haven't gotten it cut since The Big Cut, so it's like two inches longer now, and still asymmetrical, and I really need to take care of it, but I haven't yet.  This is the part of the conversation where Marc starts lobbying for me to keep my hair short and everyone else in the whole world responds with "Nooooooooo."  The whole world is right.  Marc is wrong.  I look terrible with short hair.  Which means I won't be drinking this weekend while I'm with him, because he'll slip me something and I'll wake up in some SuperCuts while he cackles maniacally.  IT COULD HAPPEN.

The bait that BLC and Amy and Marc used to lure me to Michigan this weekend is the Ann Arbor Folk Festival.  Lots of sweet names on that list, but most important to me is Rosanne Cash.  It has been 5ish years since I've seen her live, and I'm . . . oh god.  Can't even talk about it.  Let's just say it means a lot.  I'll be a blubbering crying mess.  About the same shape as J.E. would be in if I'd invited him along if I'd known about the whole Jay Farrar thing.  Heh.  Hopefully he won't get around to checking back in here until a week or two from now when it's too late.

The last time I saw Rosanne live, with my friend Mike, I made a CD of my favorites to play on the way to Milwaukee, because he'd never heard of her.  Halfway into the CD, he turned to me and said "All of these songs are about trains."  That night, Rosanne's opening act, Josh Ritter, began his set with a song that included the line "all of my songs about trains."  This time when I see Rosanne, I'll get there ON A TRAIN.  I don't know what that means.  But it means something.  Write it down.

What else have I failed to comment on lately?  OH.  Football.  Saints in the Superbowl!  Peter Pan is ecstatic, of course, as he deserves to be.  It was not that long ago that my mother attempted to buy a Saints blanket off of QVC or HSN, one of those NFL home shopping shows, and when they asked her what team she wanted to order, and she replied "the Saints", they told her there was no such team in the NFL.  Pete's been waiting a long time for this, and what a wonderful birthday present it will be for him.

This is one of those posts that in the re-read, makes me realize that BLC may have been right about my need for Ritalin.  Instead, I'll probably call my brother.  Somehow, he manages to focus me, even when I'm interjecting random bits of nonsense ("OH NO DON'T TELL ME YOU WANT TO BE STEVEN CURTIS CHAPMAN") into our conversations.

I'll be back again soon, with something substantial.  Promise.