Confession
Friends, it is about that time of year when I find it necessary to make an embarrassing confession. I have added a few people to The List since my last confession, and so I think it important to admit that I am, in fact, a fan of, well, NASCAR. Tonight I'll be watching the Bud Pole Shoot Out while sipping on a fruity wine and feeling very conflicted, very conflicted indeed.
I can't help it. It's my dad's fault. And my boyfriend's fiancee's. I'd go into more defensive detail on the matter, but I can't be bothered at the moment. Just be forewarned that I will upon occasion herein discuss such things as "pit strategy" and "post race inspections," and maybe, if things get really out of hand, “bump drafting.” Look. Some of you have been known to discuss things like American Idol and hip-hop rap things I can’t even name. So none of your cringing and “it’s just cars going ‘round and ‘round in circles”ing. We all have our guilty pleasures, and this is mine. It could be worse you know. Somehow. I’m pretty sure.
I can't help it. It's my dad's fault. And my boyfriend's fiancee's. I'd go into more defensive detail on the matter, but I can't be bothered at the moment. Just be forewarned that I will upon occasion herein discuss such things as "pit strategy" and "post race inspections," and maybe, if things get really out of hand, “bump drafting.” Look. Some of you have been known to discuss things like American Idol and hip-hop rap things I can’t even name. So none of your cringing and “it’s just cars going ‘round and ‘round in circles”ing. We all have our guilty pleasures, and this is mine. It could be worse you know. Somehow. I’m pretty sure.