Born To Be a Wild CEO

Get your motor runnin'. Head out on the HIGHWAY! Lookin' for adventure, or what ever comes OUR WAY!
According to Stix (my hubby) I was born to be wild but maybe I was really born to be a Wild CEO and I just made a wrong chess move or two (hundred...thousand). Perhaps, I coulda had it ALL! I coulda been a CONTENDA'!
Ahh, the sweet aroma of smelling salts and BAM! I'm back to reality. Hi! So, where am I going with this one?
Just sit back, put your feet up, pour yourself a drink and crank "Da Wolf" (Steppenwolf that is). We're going all the way back to 1994!

I'm fresh out of college and cradling an ever-so-useful theater degree in my arms (I mean really, should they even allow that as a major?!). I gaze upon my newly hatched B.A. and pray and then pray hard that it will somehow transform itself into a magical crystal ball with all the (right) answers.
As I await divine intervention, I'm thinkin' "Okay, AMG, you've gotten yourself into this mess, now what?" I KNOW! I'll be an actor!! I"ll gather up the tools one needs for this profession, humility and a head shot n' resume and go for it!

This story begins with my resume and ends with a wild motorcycle ride around a D.C. hotel ballroom featuring moi and the Head Honcho of a lil' ol' corporation some lovingly refer to as The Golden Arches. I prefer The Golden Gates of Freakin' HELL! But hey, one person's gut-expanding, artery cloggin', just say "Super Size Me!" eatery is simply an other's way to stretch a buck. I mean can ya blame 'em? You? Us?
I've been hatin' on The Big Macster and all his "is that even food?" deep-fried friends since age 13, when I was handed a bowl of plain yogurt sprinkled with wheat germ and black strap molasses and yum-a-roo! I liked it!

Okay, so, how did I wind up there, rolling with my homey, McDee-lite on a Harley? That's easy! At the bottom of my resume in a section us thespians like to call "Special Skills" right after "Sword Fighting" and "Speaks French" is stated "Can drive a motorcycle".

I had taken a week long class held in a DMV parking lot, et voila! I receive a 100 on both the written and riding part of my test! Woo-hoo! I'm a pro! I have the whole "shift gear with foot, let out clutch with hand" down. Well kinda, I mean, man! who designed that part of driving a motorcycle anyway? Can you say corn-husker-fusing (confusing). No worries, I've got it down, like a true nature's child, I am red-to-roll!!

A coupla weeks pass and I get a call from my agent asking if I am available for an appearance at a downtown Washington DC hotel convention? She non-chalantly mentions this appearance will include me driving the CEO of McDonalds around a huge ballroom a couple of times on a Harley and dropping him off by the stage. Wowee-ka-zowee, what an entrance! How do these corporate types dream this stuff up?
Who cares! I'm in. I'm available. I mean there is like seventy-five bucks at stake, how could I say no?

But wait, I've forgotten everything! In a panic I immediately call my middle sister who has (no lie people!) driven her BMW motorcycle across the US of A and back. I tell her what I have agreed to do. Long pause. I assure big sis that I can pull this off. No lectures please, I just need a re-fresher lesson! Realizing I'll be doing this stunt with or without her, she agrees! I show up at her place and we ride her really cool Beamer over to yet another parking lot to practice. I hop off and she shows me a coupla tips. Now it's my turn. I hop on, put the helmet on and then nothing. The bike has gone kaputsky. My sis tries a to revive it several times. The engine is flooded and the bike never starts up. Yikes! The gig is tomorrow. Ruh-roh.

The following day, I show up at the loading dock of the hotel where a guy named Randy with a spider web tattoo on his elbow is wheeling a rather large bike down off a truck. It's big. Wow, it makes the bike from my class look like Italian Barbie's moped.
In a panic I grab Randy by the shoulders and say "Help me! Please, help me". Non-plussed by my desperation, he gives me some pointers. I practice for like three minutes on the sidewalk, then a girl with a clipboard and headset appears on the loading dock and yells "Hey, motorcycle chick, you're up next."

I freeze, I'm terrified, I wanna hand the reigns over to SpideyTatts and make a run for it! But Miss Clipboard intervenes and leads me to the hallway outside of the packed ballroom. A gospel choir of 100 is on stage singing.
And then here he comes, The Wild CEO, Mr. Mc-freakin'-Donald's himself. He's 50-something, graying and wearing a really stiff leather jacket. He's all super-uber-confident in a I Rule the World! kinda way.

Maybe some of his corporate confidence is wearing off on me. I shake his hand extra firmly and say "Let's go for a ride". If he only knew, peeps, if he only knew. I'm rattling off a bunch of meaningless pointers as both ballroom doors burst open. The room is dimly lit and filled with a huge applauding crowd. I see 100 blue robes sweeping off stage left. Then I rev the engine A LOT. Boy that gets every one's attention. All eyes turn to the double doors. There we are, me n' Bobby McGee, silhouetted, engine revving. The crowd erupts into cheering, as we begin our maiden voyage.

The next few minutes are all a blur. The McDster is doing specifically what I asked him not to do and that is leaning way over to shake the hands of his adoring fans. With each shake, I feel myself about to lose the bike out from under me. Then miraculously Mr. Arches would see a familiar face and reach out to the other side and with a "Hey! How ya doin'?", I would right the bike again. We rode this crazy wave for well what seemed an eternity. It was all one big wink and nod fest. I have to admit the guy was good. After two laps, I bring him up to the stage and this time as he leans way, way over for one last handshake, that's it I can't hold this Hog up anymore. I'm gonna drop it. But just at that moment my passenger hops off. Whew! I right the bike and hightail it outta there.

Randy is there to gather up his baby. As I dismount he is smiling ear to ear. He knew that I was completely winging it in that ballroom. I'm smiling too, but for a different reason. I realized that me and Mr. CEO actually have at least a little bit in common, gumption. And having gumption's just another way of sayin' Born to be Wild, Baby!