Ohio Girl

Jeff Burton won Dover on Sunday. I am sure you have all heard by now. In the last 30 or so laps Burton drove his freaking heart out trying to pass Kenseth for the lead. He would pull within range, drop to the inside, and then fall back again. Almost there and then back again. So close and then back again. This painful push and pull was punctuated by camera shots of Burton’s wife whose face looked rather like a little girl watching someone kick her puppy. And just when you thought Burton would once again be relegated the bridesmaid, he did it. He made the pass and he won his first race since Phoenix in 2001 and more importantly, his poor wife got to exhale.

I have been thinking of Burton in the days since--his five-year slump becoming a point of contemplation in regards to my nearly five-month slump. Slump I suppose is overstating it. Bump in the road? Sharp, unexpected, curve in the otherwise straight and narrow? If you know me personally you know I have been alternating between constant weeping and angry ranting. Out of the ordinary even for me.

I somehow took a wrong turn in my recent move and have ended up on a losing streak professionally speaking. (For those who are interested, the family is great which is WHY I moved and which is why I should quit complaining so much.) I went from a job where I enjoyed some great wins—helping to develop innovative programming for women, working with supportive and like-minded colleagues, getting a great going-away party—to a place where asking questions is defined as insubordination and where people spend more time talking about one another in the hallway than actually getting anything done. I don’t fit in. I am not very popular. I feel like some mean guy is kicking my puppy.

It is an awful feeling to be liked one day and disliked the next. Burton must know something about that. One minute you are full of promise, the guy getting the Coca-Cola shower in victory lane, and the next minute the butt of jokes, the permanent hitchhiker on the NASCAR circuit. Just when you think you have proved your worth, your talent, you are sent back to the beginning to start proving it all over again.

Burton worked his butt off for five years to make that winning pass. I hope my slump will end much sooner. When it does, I want to be showered in soft drinks too.

Because the people demand it (at least the people in my head), here are the top five things on my mind this week. Feel free to respond with your own top five (or ten, or whatever) of ideas, movies, eateries, complaints, presidents (please don’t forget Chester Arthur—the father of the civil service system), or what-have-you.

1-Turning 33. This actually has not been on my mind much at all. I have been busy with other things. But today is the day and people keep reminding me, so here it is. 33--who cares? 30 was big. 32 was fun. 33 is an odd number, which I hate, as those of you who know about my OCD tendencies are aware. And people are always telling me it is the age when Christ was crucified. What exactly am I to do with that information?

2-Psycho Boss.

3-The Chase. Although I have neglected it here in blog world the lead up to the final ten races for the NASCAR Cup championship have taken up copious amounts of brain space. Richmond was a nail-biter with Stewart, Kahne, and Martin taking turns riding the 11^th-place bubble. Junior held on for dear life with a less than ideal car. Kahne raced his way in. Stewart was shown the door. Poor Tony. I thought we would see a fit of mythic proportions in the post-race interview, but he was humble and calm. He deserved to be in it. My predictions? Hmmm. Kenseth and Kahne show the most momentum. Junior will have to continue to fight to make any headway. Anything can happen, which is exactly the way I like it.

4-Corn Hole. Who knew throwing sacks into a hole could be so satisfying? Even WITHOUT alcohol. It is impossible to live in southern Ohio and not give into the charms of corn hole. Drive around anywhere and you can find families, old folks, meth addicts, or college students playing a strip-corn hole format--tossing sacks, drinks, and conversation all at once. A good time had by all.

5-Ovulation. I am ovulating. How do I know that? Because cliché as it is any woman in their 30s--sans children--knows the moment an egg is set free from the nest. I blame the feminists AND the anti-feminists for this hyper vigilant state of affairs. The feminists for their ‘you can have it all’ fairly tale and the anti-camp for their obsession with breeding.