Cops are not on my radar; thus, I am not on theirs

We all have our own self-soothing activities. Some of mine come in the form of rhythmic activities and/or exhilaration. Tonight on the way home from work I went from 0 - 60 m.p.h. in 6.8 seconds, which is pretty damn good for my totally-not-a-sports-car considering I started from a complete stop at a red light, hit the start button on my iPod stop watch the second I saw the light turn green, checked again for pedestrians/cyclists in a crosswalk, then stomped the gas as I turned about 70 degrees to the right (I was turning right from one street to another), hit a big bump in the asphalt (causing my tires to lose contact with the pavement), got traction again and then hauled ass up a hill to reach 60 m.p.h. before slowing down to five above the speed limit of 35 m.p.h.

I don't have a sports car. I do have a sport model car that I "accidentally" bought in January because I wanted my car to be a certain color of corporate Democrat gray/silver, thus overlooking the fact that this grey car cost a bit more than the black one I had been looking at. While black is attractive, black is also Certain Death on a rainy day or a dark night. I'd rather go from something of my doing, not someone failing to see me because I'm driving a vehicle that reflects a low amount of light. 

I told my therapist the other day that if I grew up in California, I'd totally be a stunt driver right now. She was not surprised, but seemed concerned at the same time. (This makes me feel weird, because I was raised without anybody giving a crap about my safety.) Perhaps it's weird because I am paying her. I feel like because if I am paying her for her opinion, she wouldn't care, but yet she does. Bizarre. 

If I win the lottery, I'm going to sign up for performance car/stunt driving lessons in a heartbeat. I will have the flu instantly and will be at Summit Point Raceway in nearby West Virginia the next day. I will also take a big, gigantic three-day weekend off and take my girlfriend on a dirt track date in North Carolina, just for the experience. I've had the experience once, but she has not, and I think that's a crying shame. There are worse things I could make her do. Like eat beef stroganoff with soy "cream cheese" substituted as sour cream. (Well, there wasn't any plain yogurt at Giant because that would be too "Whole Foods," so I saw the word "cream" and got excited that I found a substitution! Yes, bless her heart, My Fair Maiden has been through worse than boiled peanut- and Coors-infested dates. Sorry, Sweetie. I really had no idea how bad that would turn out.)

My fast driving obsession is a bit weird for someone who is terrified of car accidents and has never had a speeding ticket. But then again, it's not weird--not if you believe in the law of attraction, which embodies The Secret. I believe in the Secret.

I also believe in Peace and Doing the Right Thing and Being Compassionate and Loving Everyone as Much as Possible and Being Fair and Being Honest and Being Nice. Not that that means anything. I still get reamed up the ass anyway. Because the one second I put my foot down and say, "Enough is enough--I gave you an inch and you took a mile. No more!" people are like, "Aaaah, you are mean and inconsiderate." Two days ago I saved two spiders' lives, and I haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaate spiders to the core. Do you really think I would be mean, cruel to a human being? I would rather die than know that I made someone feel fragile and persecuted.

I mean, I changed my last name because it was German and thus was associated with too much negative energy.

Hence, Da Gregor!!!!!!!!

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Back to speeding/supposed "reckless driving": I never think about cops. If there was a cop sitting behind me tonight before I launched myself up a hill, I would've been really embarrassed to get pulled over, but not upset. It would have been my fault for not considering police in my speeding plan. I don't look for cops before I launch; I look for pedestrians and road hazards. Cops are not on my radar, nor am I on theirs. This was passed down to me by my mother. 

I know how long this post is going to look once it's posted and squishes over to the side to make room for my dated hyperlinks. So I'll quit now. Next time I'll probably explain why driving really fast or on a really challenging road soothes (and challenges me). Not that anyone will be holding their breath. I know I have been off the radar long enough to not deserve any sort of comments or frequent readership. If you happen to read this, you must be a stalker or some sort, shape, size, or variety. That, or you better email me. It's no fair to just read my blog and not send me a shout-out via email. Seriously. Cheating.