You know how to properly pronounce "Ligier".

You walk proper lines through the grocery store.

You've paid $4.00 a gallon for gas without complaining.

You bought a racecar before buying a house.

You buy new parts because you don't know where you put the spares.

You find that you need a new house because you've outgrown your garage and the neighbors are threatening violence if you park one more vehicle on the street or in the front yard.

The requirements you give your real estate agent are (in order of importance) a 8-car climate controlled garage with an attached machine shop. Outside parking for 6 cars, a motorhome, a crew cab dually, a 28'enclosed trailer and a 34' 5th wheel. 3 phase 220V outlets in the garage for your welder.A grease pit. Convenient to a hazardous waste disposal site. Deaf neighbors. Across the street from a paint and body shop. Some sort of house with a working toilet on the property somewhere -or-hookups for the motorhome.

You measure all family acquisitions in terms of the number of race tires that could have been purchased.

You sit in your race car in a dark garage and make car noises and shift and practice your heal and toe, while waiting for your motor to get back from the machine shop.

You're tired of people asking how fast your car is and expecting to hear the top speed in MPH, not a lap time at some local track.

You have an immaculate car which you drive one day a week, and the vehicle that gets you around the other 6 days is rusted, covered with duct tape, and has a pair of Vise Grips holding the clutch cable together.

You promise yourself you'll fix it right after this season, or when you need your Vise Grips for something else.

You have enough spare parts to build another car.

More than one racer supply house recognizes your voice and greets you by name when you call.

Your grandmother is shocked to find you have a pair of jammies that cost $800 and the seat doesn't even drop down.

You think the last line of the Star Spangled Banner is: "Racers, start your engines!"

If you can't remember when you last worked on weekdays and rested on weekends."

After your answer to "How was your weekend?" the next question is always:

"And you do this for fun? Right?"

People know you by your "off"s. "Oh, you are the one stuck in the mud at Lime Rock last weekend!"

Your friends don't recognize you without a helmet and driver's suit.

You plan your job or your wedding around the race schedule.

You astound the clerk at Sears by bringing in a snapped breaker bar every other week or so.

You remember the dates and details of every race you've ever been in, but can't remember your phone number.

You know you might be a real racer when crawling around in the muck wrenching on your own car is much more appealing than reclining on the sofa, watching the pretty cars go around on TV.

A neighbor asks if you have any oil, to which you query, "Synthetic or organic?" and they reply, "Vegetable or corn."

You refer to the corner down the street from your house as "Turn One."

You always do a toe & heel down shift while whoever might be your passenger gives you a real funny look.

You buy real cheap tires for your street car, so you can save $$$ for the real (race) tires.