As a city dweller, I've never owned a car. I never had a car in High School and never needed one in DC or in NY.* But that doesn't mean that I don't like to drive.
Despite what CinS says, I am a good driver. I used to be an awesome driver, but because I don't drive too often, I have downgraded myself to good.
In my awesome driving days, I would drive like a maniac. How does this constitute awesome driving, you ask? Well, the sheer fact that I have lived to tell the tale of my once awesomely maniacal driving is proof enough of my skills. I used to rock Route 1 Nico Bellic style.
Earlier this week, I was in San Francisco for business and was driving all over the Bay Area. And I realized something. Driving rules. Even in a Chevy Impala.
I was so enamored of the drive that I decided to leave the comfort of my airport hotel and venture into the city to watch Heroes with my fellow Heroes cronies. This was the best idea I've ever had.
As a sidebar, I am a Heroes nut despite EW's opinion that the show has gone downhill. To me, this season's Heroes is last season's American Idol. Yes, the obsession is deep.
And like AI, I am not alone. My pals Gloria and Christian are equally obsessed, and gladly spend each Tuesday dissecting the show with me via email. Gloria and Christian both relocated to SF from NY so the prospect of watching Heroes, not only in the same time zone as my friends, but in the same ROOM, was too good to pass up.
So I was on my way to Gloria's house, happily jamming to some alternative rock station with a penchant for Fall Out Boy, when I realized that my friend does not have a driveway. Hmm.
While I am an awesome driver, I am not an awesome parker. But it’s not my fault. When I was 16, the state of Pennsylvania did not require you to parallel park.
So I arrived at Gloria's and found a space. A really good space too. The problem was that the space was in between two cars. I had to parallel park.
I tried to remember the rules of parallel parking as I put my blinker on and slid up to the car in front of my space. I aligned our steering wheels and attempted to back in. After a set of 15 forwards and reverses, I squeezed far enough into the space to stop blocking oncoming traffic. But I was still miles away from the curb. I had to call for reinforcements.
Yes, I phoned a friend for help parking my car. Yes, I am embarrassed. Yes, I probably need a lesson or two before I buy a car of my very own someday. But like Cher Horowitz says, "What's the point? Everywhere you go has valet."
*In case any friends from the mid-nineties plan to call me to the curb, I will admit that I did own a car for one fateful summer. It was a sic burgundy Camaro with a gold bottom and gold rims. I called it the Hooch. The Hooch was good to me, but my parents claim that it had too many problems to keep for more than a few months. I think they were just intimidated by its badassedness.
Despite what CinS says, I am a good driver. I used to be an awesome driver, but because I don't drive too often, I have downgraded myself to good.
In my awesome driving days, I would drive like a maniac. How does this constitute awesome driving, you ask? Well, the sheer fact that I have lived to tell the tale of my once awesomely maniacal driving is proof enough of my skills. I used to rock Route 1 Nico Bellic style.
Earlier this week, I was in San Francisco for business and was driving all over the Bay Area. And I realized something. Driving rules. Even in a Chevy Impala.
I was so enamored of the drive that I decided to leave the comfort of my airport hotel and venture into the city to watch Heroes with my fellow Heroes cronies. This was the best idea I've ever had.
As a sidebar, I am a Heroes nut despite EW's opinion that the show has gone downhill. To me, this season's Heroes is last season's American Idol. Yes, the obsession is deep.
And like AI, I am not alone. My pals Gloria and Christian are equally obsessed, and gladly spend each Tuesday dissecting the show with me via email. Gloria and Christian both relocated to SF from NY so the prospect of watching Heroes, not only in the same time zone as my friends, but in the same ROOM, was too good to pass up.
So I was on my way to Gloria's house, happily jamming to some alternative rock station with a penchant for Fall Out Boy, when I realized that my friend does not have a driveway. Hmm.
While I am an awesome driver, I am not an awesome parker. But it’s not my fault. When I was 16, the state of Pennsylvania did not require you to parallel park.
So I arrived at Gloria's and found a space. A really good space too. The problem was that the space was in between two cars. I had to parallel park.
I tried to remember the rules of parallel parking as I put my blinker on and slid up to the car in front of my space. I aligned our steering wheels and attempted to back in. After a set of 15 forwards and reverses, I squeezed far enough into the space to stop blocking oncoming traffic. But I was still miles away from the curb. I had to call for reinforcements.
Yes, I phoned a friend for help parking my car. Yes, I am embarrassed. Yes, I probably need a lesson or two before I buy a car of my very own someday. But like Cher Horowitz says, "What's the point? Everywhere you go has valet."
*In case any friends from the mid-nineties plan to call me to the curb, I will admit that I did own a car for one fateful summer. It was a sic burgundy Camaro with a gold bottom and gold rims. I called it the Hooch. The Hooch was good to me, but my parents claim that it had too many problems to keep for more than a few months. I think they were just intimidated by its badassedness.
1 comment:
I remember that car! The hoochie wagon! And I remember Beth and I getting severe windburn ON TOP of our sunburns in the convertible. We were shivering in midsummer.
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