The Nelsons Come to Town

13 May

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One of the great bonuses of dating someone who is amazing is, that person typically also surrounds him/herself with amazing friends*, and you get to inherit them. Two of my favorites, Brittany and Sam, came down from Indianapolis and even put their beloved greyhound Treat at overnight camp to hang with us for the weekend, and it forced us to get out of our comfort zones and try things we wouldn’t normally try without visitors. For Zack, this meant biting the bullet and heading to the zoo**, which we’ll talk about more in a later post. For me, it was time to suck it up and get down in a go-kart for the first time in my life. The results were … mixed***.

*I do have some pretty great friends, it’s true.

**I think I decided I disliked the zoo in that period between childhood and adulthood when I didn’t know what one did at the zoo without Instagram and Vine. I’m all-in on Zoos now that I have a task.

***It wasn’t as bad as this picture. Sorry for the worst selfie ever taken.

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The first night that Sam and Brit got to town, I had them all to myself because Zack was still at work. I picked them up from their swanky hotel downtown and we headed to a yummy dinner at Hillside Farmacy. We enjoyed all of the deliciousness there was to enjoy, including a fantastic homemade ice cream sandwich which was probably my favorite dessert I had all weekend (and, people — I had a LOT of desserts*). We then trekked back to the apartment so our friends could meet Scooby, who they were already the official godparents of, seeing as they gifted Scooby a stuffed parrot when we first got him. Scoobs seemed to sense that bond right away, and varied between melting in their laps or gently gnawing on Sam’s arm.

*This wasn’t even her only ice cream sandwich of the weekend.

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The next day, it was go-kart time. Whenever you have to sign away your life in some creepy death waiver before you do an activity, it’s not a good sign*. Usually those are the activities I just decide to avoid. But there were CHILDREN go-karting at no miles per hour so I figured, might as well do what I can here. This shot from behind me was taken by Zack, and the guy in front of me is a rando who we ended up HATING** because he and his song kept purposefully running into Zack and Sam as if they were in bumper cars. They managed to avoid me but would speed quickly around me and Brit, who took our time getting our bearings.

*It’s usually the best sign.

**I dropped an F-bomb on the kid the second time he hit me, and stared him down. He’s lucky I wasn’t near him when we exited. 

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Since I got to take my time, I quite enjoyed speeding around the little track, not going too fast but fast enough to get some wind in my face. I took the corners very slowly, but would speed up on the straights as much as I could. My little buggy sounded like it was going to fall apart sometimes*, so I wouldn’t ever go top speed**. Brittany was cautious, much like me, but our boys were comfortable being a little more reckless.

*I spun out once, but that was my own overzealousness.

**I only went top speed, except on turns.

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After our first race around the track, Zack was about to wring the neck of the little obnoxious boy, so he asked if that kid would be back on the track for the next race*. We were assured he wouldn’t be, and asked to line up in a line of 11 cars. Surely, I thought, they won’t make us all go at once. 6 was somewhat crowded already. We joked with the mechanic while he helped me get my seatbelt on — all of the guys, when buckling me in, would always assure me they weren’t “trying to cop a feel,” which already made me creeped out as it was. It got worse.

*That’s a nice way of putting it. I called him a “little b****” to the guy running the track.

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Nevermind. This is the worst selfie ever taken.

Zack and Sam were serious about being competitors*, but Brittany and I were really there to joy ride, and figured since each race cost $30 a person they’d just freakin’ deal with it, because, you know, we paid our good money. But, nope. Apparently, even though Brit and I stayed far, far over to the side to let others pass, we were going to slow. At one point, somehow, some dude in the random group of seven riding with us lost control and went into the side barrier, hard. He was totally fine, but at this point the flag holder decided to chew us out like we were kids in gym class**. He was very pointed with his words, saying, “There is slower traffic on the course, alright? I can’t force them to go faster, so you all need to WATCH. OUT. or I will stop this race and make you all go off the course!! You got me?!” OK, coach. Thanks a bunch. Shortly after the chewing out, the race was “over,” and Brittany and I were rerouted before we could even finish our last lap. The mechanic, apparently not understanding that we were done at this point, decided it’d be nice of him to come over and tell us, “You aren’t in trouble, y’all, but just make sure that if you’re going to go slower, you want to keep to the inside.” Yeah. Thanks.

*It was a race, after all. The goal was to have the fastest lap time.

**The guys who ran the course really did act like dick head gym teachers on a power trip.

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After that abysmal experience with K1 Racing, Brittany and I were ready to feed some deer and let the stink of the zoo wash over us, taking the place of the stench of asshats at the racing track. It was a shame, because I really enjoyed myself speeding around corners the second time around*, and I know we’d have all enjoyed ourselves more if we’d had the track to ourselves. But, now I can cross that off of my list of life activities (and maybe give it another go at a different track, because … you’re finished, K1**. Done.) Check out how our day at the zoo was next!

*The second race was the best. All of our fastest lap times went up 10 seconds and I really got the hang of it. Aside from the wanna-be gym teachers and clowns on the course who kept bumping us, it was a lot of fun.

**I almost threw my K1 card and $5 off coupon out at my desk. Then I put it in my desk. It’s not quite garbage material, it’s not quite wallet material, but it’ll die a slow death in my work desk.

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