I'm coming out with my name on here because KiKi is what people call me when I'm intoxicated, and my friend Eric recently decided it should be "Kinki." And I then spent the following two days mindlessly responding when being addressed as such.
So I've been to a lot of moto races lately, specifically AMA Monster Energy Supercross. It's fascinating people-watching. This is my generation's Nascar.
Motocross
Beer
Flat-billed hats
America
Augmented breasts
T-shirts
It's like if "Stuff White People Like" mated with "Stuff Nascar people like," or maybe just a close cousin to the "People who bought crocs also bought:" screen shot that I posted a few weeks ago, thanks to Maddox, my lover.
We went to Seattle last weekend as part of the Supercross circuit Reboyfriend transports through, and it's interesting to see the turnout for such a thing in one of the most progressive/evolved places in the U.S. The point is, it's fascinating no matter who you are. Latte-swilling yuppies or little-penis-truck driving yahoos, joined together in Monster Energy Sponsored harmony. (Audra was quick to point out how annoying the Monster logo was going to get, which is why we passionately HEART Audra).
Audra is Raul's girlfriend, and Raul is Reboyfriend's best friend since like 8th grade, and Raul and Audra are probably the cutest and funnest (it's a word for me today, back off) couple ever. We stayed with them in Seattle. They were good sports, given that we were the houseguests from hell. No, I'm not being modest or cute, and I won't even get into it here, because it was seriously and truthfully that bad. But let's just say it led to my first real "fight" with Reboyfriend. It was also the most endearing fight you ever did see (or in Raul and Audra's case, tried not to see, but probably unsuccessfully, because such a thing unfortunately cannot be ignored).
Cuz I was crying a little bit (tears of PISSEDness) and Reboyfriend was experiencing his first argument with the girl who throws words like "exploit" and "manifestation" at him in verbal combat. He took it like a man, given that if you had a choice between my words and a 2x4 in a fight, you'd briefly consider the 2x4. Not to try to sound like a badass when I'm so so not, but people like me who went to, like, six years of effing college for a measly BA in Words (I like to call that my major sometimes), spent more time than necessary being trained on how to use language powerfully, and when provoked, their words can rip the skin off your face, or make you feel like the world's biggest tool. (Poor Shawn from Nelnet, to whom I howled that I got "nice and divorced for Christmas!" when complications with name changes and bank account changes arose. He waived the phone-pay fee).
ReBF nodded intently and asked what he did wrong, and then politely gave his explanation, and then I gave him mine, and he stayed very solemn and said he would change [whatever I was bitching about]. Eventually, I cried and told him the real reason I was mad was because I really LIKE him, (face scrunching up, covered with my right hand, facing away in shame for admitting this), and I don't LIKE not spending time with him when we're in Seattle, and it then led to him concluding the fight with his verdict of "OK, well that was adorable." The end, of that. *Of course, he perpetually gets himself put on the chopping block with far less adorable shit, which will go undetailed here, but should be mentioned in case I should happen to wake up one morning and decide to give him the axe, and confuse you all with whiplash, after posts upon posts about what a precious pumpkin of cheeky farm boy impishness he has been. Wouldn't want to confuse you, dear reader of this blog.*
Between last Saturday, the race fumes, the semi-driving, and then this past weekend's moto event in Salt Lake City, I've been kind of testosteroned out. I will say that I did enjoy many parts of the races. Like, where you look down on the track and see 20 dirtbikes scrambling around a giant ant farm, all focused and stuff, only to get distracted by the aweseomeness of themselves soaring through the air over some jump, and doing the glory pose mid-air. Then getting back to business once back on the dirt. Boys are silly.
That's all I have to say about motocross.
Wait, no it's not. I also have to wonder about the point of Monster girls. And RockStar girls, and Red Bull girls, and Full Throttle girls, and all other hoochies who are paid to walk around like Judy Jetson's twin that does porn, with the name "girl" in their job title as if it is a profession to be one.
And THAT'S all I have to say about motocross.
