All's Fair in Love, War...and Go-Cart Racing!

Mild mannered kindergarten teacher by day, terror of the circuit track by night. I would not consider myself uber-competitive. When there is a competition of any kind my field of vision gets narrower and narrower until I black out a little. So I am not the one to ask. Kidding.

I have learned that it doesn't really matter to me who wins. This is an odd thing to write as I have the U.S.A. world cup game playing in the background, but I think it is true. I am really interested in a good game with a little tendency to root for the underdog. Since I was not born with a sports gene I have learned this by watching Sylvia. It's funny to watch her enjoy a game. Even when we watch a Germany game Sylvia will cheer for the team making a shot on goal...whoever it is. And she will be be seriously disappointed if the shot isn't good...don't tell her mom.

Soccer aside, I have also come to realize that I do hold in reserve a smidgen of "win, Win, WIN!!" somewhere in the deep dark recesses of my psyche. The trigger for this jump into one-upmanship is apparently when I plant my bottom into the seat of a gasoline powered cart that sits very low to the ground. Who knew? The smell of gas, the high pitched whine of finely tuned lawn mower engines, the five point harnesses...I am hooked. It is not enough for me to master the course as we go racing around the track. I must get the people who are driving slower than I am behind me. I am ashamed to admit it but I have been known to, let's call it, nudge someone to announce my intention to push them into the wall...I mean pass.

I am not a monster. I have limits. I have never jammed a little kid into the wall...or spun them around...or rammed them into another racer to slip by on the outside. In order to clarify, my definition of a "little kid" is anyone under 58 inches. Did I mention that you have to be 58 inches tall to be a driver? Minor point to the story to be sure. Truthfully, I have never been aggressive to a dad and his child passenger because I wouldn't want that to happen to me. But not for the reason you might think. I would hate for my son to have to ask, "Dad. Why are there flames burning in your eyes?" or "Doesn't that sign say No Bumping?"

Actually, there are signs all over the place that say, "No Bumping." Only in my go-cart mania am I able to see 72 signs that all say the exact same thing and think, "There is wiggle room in what they are trying to tell us." This is strange for me. I am a black-and-white, right-and-wrong rule follower. Running around a pool? NO! Take more than one mint at the bank teller counter? Not me. Mix lights with darks? The devil you say! Wear white after Labor day? Well, I never really understood that one, but you get the idea! I have, "There is a rule for a reason." tattooed on my soul. (it is written in a nice Old English font, and there are no needles involved with a soul tattoo) I do not understand what flips the switch in my mind over to, that doesn't apply to me. Perhaps, since the publishing money hasn't come rolling in, I could do a government funded study about this phenomenon. There won't be any waste in my project...cross my heart.

Speaking of money...the reason we were in the vicinity of go-carts at all was to celebrate Jake's birthday. There is a place called Boomers out in Livermore and we had decided to let him take a few friends to come. They have mini golf, video games, bumper boats, games of chance (for tickets and prizes) and, of course, Go-Carts!

We researched it and found out that just showing up with a crowd was cheaper than booking an actual party and showing up on a Tuesday was even better! Their slowest day of the week must be Tuesday since they have specials to entice people to come in on that day. Sylvia and I figured it out, if we used their special, didn't do all the attractions ourselves, and brought our own cupcakes, it would be do-able. We must have missed the small print online and it seems that what we wanted wasn't what they would do. No problem, I only have a van load of boys standing behind me all prepared to bust out their puppy dog eyes if I start to talk compromise. I hope our kids enjoy bean and rice for about a week. That's not a typo...I plan on slicing the bean as thin as I can until pay day.

So I am coming down now from my go-cart madness now...sure wish that happened last night before the ride home, when I boxed out a Mercedes to race a Cooper Mini to the offramp.