The Makings of an STD

Before you go thinking the worse, by "STD" I mean Serial Test Driver.

As many of you know, I'm a bit of an automobile junkie.  I like fast ones.  Expensive ones.  Sexy ones.  I love to drive and the sportier the car the bigger the rush!

I prefer to drive a stick.  I've heard all the ravings from those of you who have driven them about the paddle shifters.  I am aware that race cars (and Ferrari's) have gone almost entirely to paddle shifters.  I have test driven BMW's with 7-speed dual clutch paddle shifters and they are wonderful.  But I love to play with the clutch and feel like I'm DRIVING when I'm synchronizing the clutch with the gas.  I refer to paddle shifters as training wheels.

My late husband, Cecil, "forbid" me from having a manual shift.  His excuse was that I didn't have enough hands to drive a stick.  He said I would have my phone in one hand and a Coke Zero in the other while trying to steer with my elbows.  His theory had holes because that meant I couldn't even drive an automatic with only two hands.  The truth was that he was afraid that I'd wrap my car around a tree on one of my weekly trips through the mountains to see my mother in Dalton.  Dutifully, I put my stick shift dreams on the back burner and drove the little BMW Z4 with an automatic transmission that he bought me one Valentine's Day and, even though he made me promise I wouldn't speed around those hairpin turns on Hwy 52, I just had to test the car's handling.  I drove like a bat out of hell and had a blast each and every trip.  Yes.  I didn't keep my promise of no speeding but I did return home safe and sound without a speeding ticket each time.

I was on the road to becoming an STD when Tom and I test drove the new Z4 sDrive35i.  I was dating Tom when the old Z4 started giving me problems and knew that I needed to upgrade before it gave me real problems. Although the one we test drove had the paddles and not a clutch I was thrilled with it's quickness and handling.  It had twin turbos and could get up to 60 mph in less than 4 seconds!  (I know - I've done it!)  Tom is about the same as I am when it comes to cars.  He had jumped into a Porche Carrara while I was test driving the Z4.  Surprisingly, he got a bigger kick out of the Z than the Porche but that was because the Porche was not a Turbo.  I ended up going out of town to buy the Z4 sDrive35i that I have now because there were only two 6-speed manual transmission Z4s in the U.S. available at that time.  It was a choice between going to Florida or to New York so Tom and I were off to Florida to trade in the Z!

After that, Tom and I found excuses to go test drive vehicles.  If his daughter's friend's mother's uncle was looking for a new car we would make it our mission to find that perfect vehicle.  Instead of going to the movies or a nice restaurant like most sane couples do on their dates we go test driving.  While on these adventures we have run across car dealers who are quite the characters.  While looking for a new car for Tom we found a fellow who informed us that a convertible top that needed a push to get started was a feature called "manual assist" and the check engine light that came on when you cranked the car was telling us that there was something wrong with the seat.  In case you are wondering, no, we weren't taken in.

Then there was the salesman who sat in the back of the Mini Cooper holding onto his ball cap for dear life.  I didn't think I would care for a Mini Cooper but changed my mind when we test drove it.  Tom told me he had a surprise for me and, when we drove up to the Chevy dealer, I thought it was going to be a test drive in a Corvette.  Nope.  It was a dark green Mini Cooper 6-speed convertible.  I almost laughed it off.  We took off down 400 with Tom driving, me in the passenger seat and our salesman in the back seat.  He drove very nicely within the limit mostly.  He pulled over onto a side street and asked me if I wanted to drive.  The salesman must have thought I would drive like a granny and seemed almost bored until I spun it around in a half-donut and took off back north on 400 woo-hooing the whole way.  It was a fun little car!  I was up to 95 miles an hour when I noticed the salesman in the rear view wide-eyed and white-faced.  I thought he'd kiss the ground when we came to a stop.  Ironically, I ended up with a Mini Cooper of my own but, once I got my motorcycle license, traded it in on a Harley.

We've been kicked out of a few places, too.  There was the dealer who, when we asked if the price on a car was negotiable, told us we were in the wrong place.  We promptly bid him farewell.  I swear I think our pictures are posted on bulletin boards in the employee lounge at the dealerships with a caption:  "Don't waste your time with these two!"  The guys at a BMW dealership wouldn't let me test drive a GTR.  Allowed only to sit in the driver's seat with the engine cranked, it has become my mission to actually drive one.  And I think I have the place to do it!

We recently achieved STD super star status.  We found a place (I won't reveal where) that allowed us to test drive an Astin Martin Vantage and a Ferrari Californian.  I once said that I'd marry the guy who bought me an Astin Martin and, consequently, backed out when it was seriously offered.  Good thing too because now I'm throwing rocks at the Astin Martin.  One would think the Astin Martin would be luxurious.  On the outside it has a classy style.  Although it ran like a scalded dog, was a beloved 6-speed manual transmission and sounded like a monster when I revved the engine, it handled rough, it definitely had a masculine ride!  It was minus several niceties that I've grown to love as a BMW owner.  It didn't have driver assist (keeps manual transmissions from rolling back when you take off on a hill), automatic windshield wipers and memory seat positions among other features. I felt like I was taking a step back in value.

The Ferrari, on the other hand, is my new lover.  Sorry, Tom.  Although I'll stop short of marrying the first man who offers a Ferrari as a wedding present I will keep the option open.  It has it all with only one exception.  It doesn't come in a manual transmission.  It was a hard top convertible (something you couldn't get in an Astin Martin for any amount of money) and sports all the little bells and whistles I have on my Z4 and more.  The best part was the ride!!  It handled like a loving partner.  We meld together so completely that you couldn't tell where I ended and the car began.

Sorry.  I lost myself for a moment.  Later today Tom will pick me up and we are off to another dealership and test-driving adventure.  This time we are driving (and possibly buying) a Shelby Cobra Mustang with 600 horsepower down to the wheel that we've been assured is a total beast.  It's for Tom's son and we had to promise him that we would not spin those brand new tires.

Cooking With Allergies

I don't know what's more dangerous, eating or cooking with food allergies!

Over the last decade I have found out that I am allergic to almost every thing I love to eat.  Cheese.  Milk.  Eggs.  Peanuts.  Cranberry.  Pineapple.  Rice.  Black Pepper.  Cayenne Pepper.  Lima Beans.  Oregano.  And oh, so much more!  A banana split would kill me because I am allergic to bananas, strawberries, ice cream, the milk in the chocolate sauce, peanuts, whipped cream and pineapple.  Even the cherry on top is suspect!  I never get invited to anyone's house for a home-cooked meal because they are afraid they'll cook me the wrong thing and restaurants fear me.

About once a week my boyfriend, Tom, and I go to Johnny B's here in Dahlonega for pizza.  They have the best if you like thin crust like I do!  The bartenders know exactly what we want and know that half of it is to be without cheese.  (Yes, I said "bartenders" because we only eat at a table when there's no room at the bar.)  About 50% of the time they make a mistake in the kitchen and the pizza comes out loaded with oregano and with lots of cheese -- but that's okay.  We even encourage it.  They make us a new one and we get to take the "mistake" home with us.  It's a windfall!  Tom has pizza for later.

Whenever I eat something I shouldn't I don't always know it right away.  Many of the foods I can't eat (milk, cream, butter...) affect me a day or two later by causing pain so severe I sometimes can't walk.  Those are called "latent allergies" meaning the allergens collect in my joints and muscles and give me mock arthritis pain.  Don't ask your medical doctor about this.  They will deny it.  But I'm living proof that there is a such thing!

The foods that cause immediate reactions are the most troublesome.  Whenever I just taste some of these my neck swells, my arms and legs itch, my face itches, I break out in rashes, I double over with pain, I get blisters inside my mouth or I start sneezing.  And - sometimes I do all of the above.  I feel the symptoms come on then run for the Benadryl, dancing around like an idiot scratching whatever part of my body I can reach and cussing at myself for eating what I shouldn't have.

I love to cook but find it's downright impossible to season and salt food correctly without tasting it.  I'm not going to torture my dinner guests with only foods that I can eat so I cook myself a little something on the side.  If no one is around to test the "poisonous" food for me I'll sneak just a tiny little taste of (for example) potato salad (yikes! eggs and mayo!) or those sausage bundles (cheese!!) I recently made for the Super Bowl party.  It never fails.  The slightest little bite sends me into my allergy dance.

I don't even have to taste the food to feel the affects.  I can simply touch foods sometimes (like when I form meatballs with my hands - eggs!) and start breaking out, itching, cussing and running for the Benadryl.  If it wasn't so darned dangerous it would be entertaining!  Oh, heck.  It is entertaining to Nancy and Tom who get a kick out of watching me cook.  It was Nancy who coined the phrase "Cooking with Allergies".  She chose that name as the title of my cooking show, should I ever have one.

I'm learning to use gloves (not latex 'cause I'm allergic to it) and keep a bottle of Benadryl handy at all times.  I haven't learned to stop tasting the foods yet but I can always blame it on other people because they aren't around at the time to be my royal tasters.  Lord forbid if I should ever blame myself...