Cars and Women

I never liked owning a car. Insurance, loans, maintenance, GAS; it's all just a pain in the ass. Thankfully, my current line of work allows me to never need to own one.

In fact, I've only owned a car at any time for about two years, and that was just not fun. Because watching money that normally went to savings and booze go to loan payments and gas is just a quick route to depression.

And speaking of depression, every car I have ever driven reminded me of a girl. Its body styling, its road performance, its sound system all reminded me of something - to paraphrase R. Kelly. Yes, I gave every long term rental and company car I have ever possessed a girl's name.

Speaking of R. Kelly, his trial's jury selection starts today. I am not saying the R is innocent, but I am a big proponent of jury nullification. I mean, Ignition is a fantastic song (not the remix, which is only just awesome) and I would like to pretend that it was the inspiration for the Lock and Key dating parties. Surely that is worth a mulligan.

Being in the driver's seat puts you in a certain mood. Some cars are empowering, others are emasculating. I remember the first time my boss from my construction job asked me to drive his hulking F-350. It was so big and huge, at first I felt powerful, then I felt like I was being felt up by a bull dyke. It was a mixed bag.

Then there is the car I have now. In previous jobs, the difference in status between a midsize sedan and a midsize SUV was huge - the difference between being the tallest midget and someone worthy of any respect at all. Every time I get into this domestic vehicle with a generic color and no options I can't help but feel like I've graduated to the next level.



None of them made me feel like Britney. Britney was a brand new 2002 Pontiac Grand AM GT, candy painted cherry red with ninja blades for wheels. Sure it had cloth seats and the body was more plastic than metal, but it looked fantastic and felt great to drive. She was just like her namesake, Britney Spears... circa 2001; looks good, a great ride, but still cheap.



Britney and I had a lot of fun bouncing between Indianapolis, St. Louis, and all parts in between. One of my female friends sent a picture of herself to her former students in Brazil - the kids wrote back asking who was her friend that owned the Italian sports car.

But alas, I had to give up the car when I moved to Minneapolis. And after a brief affair with an early model Grand Prix, I met Brit-Brit's sister Briana. Briana was a 2003 Grand AM GT. Briana was as hot as her sister, but more rough and tumble. She fell victim to the two feet of snow covering roads in to Vermillion, SD one winter. And one New Year's Eve some jackass busted off the rear view mirror at a party at the University of Minnesota.

In spite of that, Briana was never jealous. I remember one night at the U of MN, I drove up to a fraternity house and a cute brunette drinking from a strangely familiar bottle shouted to me from the porch, "Hey, what are you driving?"

I said, "A Pontiac Grand AM GT."

"GT, you just HAD to add the GT on?

"Look at it baby, its 2/3 the way to a GTO!!"

She smiled, I walked up, and noticed she was drinking Goldschlager with no chaser. Things got interesting after that.

After Briana, the cars I drove started taking on characteristics of women I know, and know very well - even ones who read this blog. There is the silver Impala that I currently own, who is reliable in spite of the fact that I have had to have her dragged out of flooded streets and I don't trust her dashboard lights. Then there is the Nissan Altima that was a sneaky sexy car that reminded me of a girl just out of reach. And of course the Chevy Equinox who I stumbled upon and makes me feel lucky to drive for no reason at all...