Canada's Bad Seed

The other day, I was an oblivious witness to this "car accident." I use air quotes, which normally I despise only because it was more of a love tap than an actual collision. I also say oblivious, because I watched the whole thing happen and didn't even realize until 10 minutes later that it happened to be Justin Bieber whose Ferrari was nudged while he was blocking traffic.

Evil demon spawn

Now, unlike most people I know, I didn't have particularly strong feelings one way or the other regarding the Biebs. He was just this silly little boy that made crappy music and pre-teen girls squeal. I can't judge those girls too harshly since I too was a victim of expertly marketed and well-groomed young boys who made crappy music. Though I maintain that it was way less crappy than the piffle they dare to call music these days. That's right, PIFFLE.

Pictured: Not Piffle

Because he was barely on my radar, other than an adorable sketch on SNL with Tina Fey, I just didn't care. That was until the other day when I saw a 16 year old kid test driving a car worth more than I will ever make in my lifetime. That pissed me off to begin with. But once I heard the conversation that took place after the accident, I was livid!

Biebs started going off about how this poor lady hit him on purpose because she knew who he was (paranoid with delusions of grandeur???) Then when she started speaking in Spanish to someone nearby, he started ranting and raving about how "This is America," and she needs to speak English. Finally, he demanded to see her green card. Really dude? First of all, you sound like an ignorant, racist prick. Secondly, your own girlfriend is latina. You are soooo not getting laid for at least a week. And thirdly...

Shania is watching you, Bieber. Always watching.

YOU'RE CANADIAN FOR SHANIA TWAIN'S SAKE!! If it wasn't for your crappy music, you would be the illegal alien. And speaking of illegal aliens, the woman speaking Spanish happens to work at the Spanish Embassy. So good luck ever trying to play a concert in Spain again. She probably has mad connections and can shut down your visa quicker than your fan's attention spans. You're welcome Spain!

Next up, Justin Bieber!

It has been a well-documented fact that I love Canada and Canadians with all my heart and soul. Every Canadian I have ever met, and I've met quite a few, has been exceedingly kind, generous, hilarious, and awesome overall. Now I know it's not right to generalize. But when you've met many fantastic people from a certain country, you start to get a feel for the values they tend to espouse as a nation.

Pictured: Canada

So you can imagine how betrayed Canada must have felt by the actions of this one bad apple-faced goon. Maybe he's just a kid who got too famous, too fast, and spent too much time on the mean streets of LA. But that's no excuse. I think he needs to take a serious time out back in his mother country to refocus on not being a jackass hoser.

It was hilarious how this minor, and I can't stress minor enough, collision (bumper cars have more violent impact) became such a big story. The police showed up and agreed that there wasn't even enough damage to take a report. I saw myself that there wasn't even a scratch on either bumper. But the Biebs had insisted on calling the cops and what the Biebs wants, the Biebs gets. Douche.

Aspirations of a Meter Maid

When I was little, the very first job I ever wanted to have (besides jet ski instructor, even though I'd never ridden a jet ski and wasn't sure such an occupation existed), was a meter maid. I remember seeing one their little cars parked on the street in downtown Sacramento and thinking that was the coolest ride ever! I didn't want the Batmobile or Barbie's dream convertible. I wanted a metermobile.

SO FREAKING COOL!!!

I thought I would just drive around in my little car all day and say hello to people. I didn't realize that meter maids are probably one of the most hated professions behind IRS agents and referees. As I grew up and learned to seek approval from my fellow man, this career seemed less and less likely. I can't stand being yelled at, or being the bearer of bad news. But I still wanted the little car. That's when I discovered golf carts. I don't play golf, never plan to play golf, and even mini-golf is boring and difficult. But I knew that someday, I'd drive one. I don't know what kind of satisfaction is derived from driving a smaller than normal vehicle. But I drove a go-kart once and it rocked my world. So imagine my delight when I discover that my new place of business owns not one, not two, but THREE golf carts solely for our discretion!!!!

MINE AT LAST!!!!!

And today I was handed the magical key to these babies. Happy holidays, indeed! I haven't learned to drive them yet, but I plan to as soon as I kidnap a co-worker and coerce them to show me. Violently if necessary. Who would have thought that this job I took to pay the bills would turn out to be the fulfillment of a lifelong dream? The people rock, the work is fun and stimulating, and there are treats everywhere ('tis the season after all)! And did I mention the golf carts? Days just fly by, and so far it's been just fine and dandy. I'm only three days in though, so we'll talk in six months and see how much the golf carts affect my contentedness.

An Ode to Stan

Stan is my partner-in-crime, shoulder to cry on, and best friend in the whole wide world. He just happens to be an '89 Mercury Topaz. I first met Stan on October 21st, 2003, otherwise known as the day I failed my first driver's test. Apparently you can drive perfectly the whole time and still fail automatically because of bike lanes that your hometown doesn't have. Anyway, the whole day I was absolutely distraught, wearing sunglasses to class to hide my tears because all I wanted to do was drive.

My dad felt so bad that he went out that very day and bought me a car. Before you think I'm a daddy's girl who is completely spoiled, keep in mind that Stan is almost as old as I am, and has more quirks than a Diablo Cody screenplay. Not only did my dad buy me the car, but he baked me a happy face cake (I am obsessed with happy faces, and even have a happy face tattoo), complete with yellow icing. So when I came home, he handed me the world's largest piece of cake, which instantly made me feel better. I felt even more incredible when I discovered that he had baked the keys inside the cake. (Looking back, I really hope he washed them first...) He then told me I had to find the car, in order to take possession. My parents' property isn't huge, but there are a surprising amount of places one could stash a 4-door sedan. So it took me an embarrassing amount of time to locate Stan.

Me and Stan, the day he died in the middle of an intersection.

He was kind enough to wait until after I had finished my Christmas shopping.

He also must have known that the tow truck driver would be hot.

When I did, I flipped out. A car of my very own! I sat in the drivers' seat and instantly felt at home. A month later, I re-took my driver's test and passed with flying colors, all thanks to my new friend. He's seen me through good times, rocking out with my girls to Bohemian Rhapsody on his surprisingly stellar sound system. He's seen me through bad times, sheltering me from the world when all I wanted to do was escape. He's seen me through daily commutes to the office, and long-term road trips of self-discovery. He's taken me back to my parents' house many-a-time, never complaining during the 500-mile trip. He also didn't complain when I ran right into that house on my very first day of solo driving, or flinched when I ran over a raccoon recently.

Most of my friends are on their second, third, fourth + car since high school, and I'm going seven years strong with my first love. We've had a few hiccups, but thankfully my dad can fix just about anything and what he can't, the good fellas at Foresthill Towing and Garage take care of. (They know Stan just as intimately as I do.)

As much as I love my car and as grateful as I am to have it, I can't imagine anyone else being able to drive it. To quote Jessica Alba in Sin City, "Nobody but me can keep this heap running." It takes a special mixture of love, patience, and understanding to drive a car like Stan. It takes even more to appreciate his idiosyncrasies. For instance:

1. Stan does not like to idle at stoplights or drive-throughs. He likes to go go go and if he can't, he sputters and dies.

2. If you leave the lights on and take the key out of the ignition, the radio will still play as if by magic.

3. Speaking of the radio, sometimes Stan selects random stations if he doesn't like the music you're listening to.

4. The last 3 digits on Stan's license plate are '666.' Even funnier is that when we bought him, Stan had a Jesus fish bumper sticker on his heiney. (Naturally I removed this. I didn't think people would get the irony and accuse me of being a Jesus freak.)

5. The roof upholstery is shredded, causing blue felt streamers to dangle freely in the wind.

6. Stan's entire right ear (side mirror) has been lopped off (when I ran into my friend's hedge), glued back on, and now the mirror is gone since I ran into the side of my garage once.

7. The gas gauge doesn't work, so you have to know his mileage by heart to know when to fill up. And good luck getting the gas door open.

8. Stan's left eye (headlight) has lost its cover after being carefully duct taped for so long. So now the bulb is exposed and could break at any second.

9. The back windows are permanently stuck open, as neither the power windows nor the power locks function.

10. The back right door does not open at all.

11. I'm a stickler for using my turn signal. Unfortunately Stan's blinker blinks once every 5 minutes, so you have to keep clicking the lever for people to realize you need to merge.

12. Stan has automatic seat belts that make a distinctive farting noise when they move up and down. It sounds like he is an old man with a colon problem.

In about a week, Stan and I will celebrate our seventh anniversary as car and driver, and we've never been happier. He may be a crotchety, sputtering, pig pen of an automobile, but he's still all mine. That's not to say that if/when I ever get financially solvent, I'm not going to buy a car that actually functions as it's supposed to. But no car will ever have as much character as my buddy, the Thelma to my Louise, the Murtaugh to my Riggs, the Goose to my Maverick. I love you, Stan :D

"Love keeps her in the air when she oughta fall down." -Serenity

Still Can't Sleep: Dream Car Photo Essay

My brain is just a-buzzin' tonight, even without caffeine. Though I guess a glass of red wine has the same effect. I'm watching Pretty in Pink (with the sleep timer on), and I got to thinking about my favorite film/tv cars. I used to be obsessed with cars, though this was before I ever learned to drive and found out that they're a pain in the ass. But there are still a few fictional vehicles that I would kill to own. Such as:

1. Andie's sweet purple car from "Pretty in Pink"

2. Cameron's dad's Ferrari from "Ferris Bueller's Day Off"

3. Jake Ryan's Porsche from "Sixteen Candles"

4. Simon's Corvette from "True Lies"

5. Marissa Coooper's Mustang from "The O.C."

6. Chuck's Nerd Herder from "Chuck

7. Mia's Mustang from "The Princess Diaries"

8. Indiana Jones' motorcycle w/ sidecar "Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade"

9. James Bond's Aston Martin from "Quantum of Solace"

10. Any BMW with Clive Owen in it is fine by me!

Ok, this took way longer than it should have and was a pain in the butt. It should also go without saying that I own the rights to none of these photos and am not profiting from their use. So don't sue me.

UPDATE!!! 7:41 the following morning. For honorable mentions:

1. The Batmobile (but only Christopher Nolan's interpretation. The others are kind of silly)

2. The Ghostbuster mobile.

3. Bumblebee (either version) in Transformers

4. Harold's combination Cadillac/Hearse in Harold and Maude

I'm sure I'll think of more and I wish it wasn't so tricky to upload pictures. But if you don't know what these look like, than shame on you!