Beep! Beep!

I am an aggressive driver. Most people don’t like to ride with me because they fear for their lives, which is fine with me cause I don’t like shotgun riders, as most of mine spend the ride saying “OH GIRL YOU ARE DRIVING TOO FAST!” or “YOU JUST TURNED LEFT FROM THE RIGHT LANE YOU COULD HAVE KILLED US!” (cept for Mr. SLS because my driving doesn’t scare him).

I can do a lot of what I do in my car because it sits low, is nimble, it has a lot of engine power and it’s manual shift so I can downshift for a burst of acceleration when I need it. If you like to drive 20 mph in the 20 mph zone, don’t get in my car. If you are the kind of person who won’t pull out into the intersection to make a left turn, don’t get into my car. If you slow down to a crawl to turn a corner, don’t get in my car. If I can walk faster than you drive, DON’T GET IN MY CAR.

::peels away from curb on two wheels::

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Lost wallet, mommy car

Mr. SingLikeSassy’s wallet is missing. Now, I am very observant. Maybe it’s the experience as a reporter, maybe I’m just nosey, but I generally see everything.

Anyway, Mr. SLS counts on me to remember where he puts his keys, wallet, iPods, cell phone. And normally I do. Yesterday when he was looking for his keys, cell, iPods and wallet I pulled the first three out of his hat that was underneath the throw on the sofa (I have no idea how I knew they were there, I told you I see all).

However, I was no help with the wallet. He looked high and low and in the car and even went back to the last place he had seen it the night before and it wasn’t there. I say it never came into the house because I would know where it was if it had.

Now, aside from the general need to have his money and ID (license and military), he was trying to get out of the house so he could renew the registration on his car, something he waited until the.very.last.minute to do despite my urging him to get on it. So no wallet, no license and an about to be expired vehicle registration. Hm.

Which means as I sat in the hairdresser’s chair and raced to see Idris and the Karma he was at home. Looking. And looking. And looking, looking, looking.

I called him to come meet me and look at the pretty cars and he said: “No, I’ll just hang around here. I feel like a non-person! I have no ID, no money, no ATM card. Nothing.” I ignored all of that, told him to go online and try to renew the registration and then come on downtown to meet me. I would be his human ID.

Once he got there, we spent time examining what will likely be my mommy car, the Mini Clubman:

We also took a gander at the next version of my car, the Nissan 370Z (I own the roadster):

And I made him spend some time with the car I used to have and still love, the VW Beetle, so he could appreciate it:

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I need a new camera!!

UGH! Everything is blurry. But anyways, here’s my boo-ness Idris:

Now, I’ll admit, I occasionally encounter some high profile actors, singers and musicians because of work and Mr. SLS. As a result, I’ve trained myself to be cool. Couldn’t do it for Idris. This is pretty much the first time since Will Downing held my hand and sang a couple of words to me at a concert a few years back that I got all extra with the groupie behavior. The combination of that tall glass of iced tea and the British accent just does something to me. WHOOWHEE. It was cool to see him in person because he seemed even more charismatic and handsome than I had imagined.

On to my other mad crush right now, the Fisker Karma. I didn’t take photos of the Tesla cause in person it wasn’t as impressive as I felt it should be. The Karma, on the other hand, was damn near the best thing since cooked food. It looks like a luxury car and not a toy. They had a sedan and a coupe convertible on display. People could order them on site, as well, though delivery isn’t until next year, I think. We won’t be getting an electric car anytime soon, however, as we have nowhere to plug it up.

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As good as Idris Elba looks on screen…

Multiply that by 10 million in person ::swoooooon::

On to the Tesla and Karma!

–
Sent from my mobile device

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Some women get excited about shoes and purses…

I, on the other hand, get excited by things like this:

:::drooling::

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VROOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!

I got my baby back!! I peeled out of the body shop parking lot with the top back just relishing all the things I love about my car. It was so funny to have all the men in the garage sweatin’ my ride and tripping over the fact that I can drive a manual shift.

One guy said, “I knew you were from the country when I saw that stick shift. City girls don’t drive stick shifts.” Well “city girls” don’t know what’s up. You haven’t really driven a car until you’ve learned what your friction point is and can stop and start on a hill without rolling or downshift to give you that burst of power you need to cut in front of that car speeding up in the next lane arrogantly thinking they are going to overtake you and your horses.

So I am happy again. I feel at peace. My car is back. Yay!

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My car is not ready!

Why isn’t my car ready??? I want my car back. Today was such a pretty day, probably the last top back day of the year and I missed it cause my car isn’t ready. No, instead I’m still riding around looking like a midget in this big 1930s-style gangstermobile. Ugh!!

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My need for speed

I woke up yesterday in a foul mood. Foul. I was salty and rude and grumpy. Then I got teary. I wanted pancakes the way Granny made them and I’ll never have those again because my Granny is blind now and can’t cook anymore. When I was growing up she would make me her fluffy pancakes every Saturday morning when I spent the weekend at her house. On Saturday nights we would bake a devil’s food cake for Sunday dinner dessert because that’s the only cake I liked other than her pigpickin’ cake (I still am not a big cake fan).

I decided I wanted to make some cupcakes in memory of those years spent in the kitchen with Granny. We went out for breakfast with an intention to go to the store afterward and get what we needed to make the cupcakes.

But then after we ate I was foul again (my body is still trying to realign itself from the hormones I’ve been taking) and decided I wanted a new car. So we went car shopping. We went to three different dealerships (there were like two people in them besides us. The economy is shot to hell) — BMW (I like the new X6), Volvo (Mr. SingLikeSassy likes these cars because of their safety record) and then Nissan cause I wanted to see what the latest upgrades were to the 350Zs.

They have a little more horsepower now, but for the most part their bells and whistles are the same. But there was a Nismo on the lot and I decided I wanted to drive that cause it looked so hot. Like this one, actually:

Well, dude let me drive and I got my Danica Patrick on.

As I said earlier, I love cars. Love them. When I turned the ignition the engine rumbled to life telling me we were about to do some business!! Then I pressed the clutch and we rolled off.

I.
Want.
That.
Car.

The ride is SO DIFFERENT from my baby. More horsepower. Tighter suspension. It drives like a race car. I could barely contain it at red lights there was so much under the hood.

I like the limited edition cache of this car. There are only 2,500 of these and I was driving #714.

But what’s most interesting is after driving at darn near 100 mph in this car, I felt better. The adrenaline rush helped push all that saltiness away.

I.
Want.
That.
Car.

plotting how to convince Mr. SingLikeSassy that we should buy the race car.

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I bought some gas!

(see this post for background) And dang it, it cost me darn near $70! Now, granted, my tank was as close to empty as it could get, but still, that’s a lot of money for my little car. Chaps me man!

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Gettin’ gassy

As I wrote earlier this month, I try to use public transpo as much as I can and fill my gas tank as little as possible. I have about a thimble’s full worth of gas in my car right now.

I realized today that I might be carrying this a bit too far. I *know* I need to fill my gas tank, but yet … I find some weird pleasure in the idea of filling my gas tank once a month. I’m beating the oil robber barons at their own game. Somehow.

I last put gas in my baby on July 5. I will not make it to Aug. 5 because we’re driving down to the beach next week in my car … but I intend to ride out this little bit o’ gas for as long as I possibly can without damaging my car.

I’ll let you know when I finally stop holding out and just get gassy.

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