I found a description of the difference between men's cars and women's cars. Men keep their cars spotless and their homes a mess. Women keep their homes spotless and their cars a mess.
I keep them both spotless but I'm a known liar.
I've noticed that a guy will cry if his car gets hit by another car. A woman will cry if she has to tell a guy that his car was hit by another car. That she was driving.
I really don't like any man driving my car.
I don't care what they claim but they have no idea where they're going. My ex-boyfriend and I took a trip to Palm Springs, in the desert. I fell asleep for 10 minutes. When I woke up there was snow everywhere. I said, "Where are we?" and he said "I think we're almost in Palm Springs." And I said, "Well, why don't we pull over here and ask this Canadian Mountie exactly where we are?"
When he's driving, it's always "We'll take a right at the light then turn left at the exit." When I'm driving it's “Get in the southbound lane and go west at that intersection." Like I'm Davy Crockett and there's a sundial in the car.
Moses wandered in the desert with the Jews for 40 years. I'm guessing that was supposed to be a 10 day trip. And Moses' wife probably spent the whole time saying, "Moses, don't be a schmuck, stop and ask Achmed where we are."
I have an elderly neighbor who I drive around so he can do his errands. He's 89 years old and reads every road sign out loud. FOOD GAS LODGING, 65 MILES PER HOUR, 280 MILES TO CALIFORNIA, which would scare me because he'd distracted me so much I'd crossed over into Arizona.
I'm still amazed they sent men to the moon with a car. What did they want to prove? That they couldn't ask for directions on two planets?
Los Angeles is a big city, 10 million people, and every one of them has a car aimed at you. The only time I was hit by a car I was standing in the bedroom. Of my apartment. On the second floor.
Everywhere you go you have to valet your car and depending on where you go, it can be very expensive. I once valeted at the new Wolfgang Puck restaurant and then couldn't make rent.
I hate to give them money to park a car. Maybe if they changed my oil I wouldn't mind so much. Of course if I go out with a guy and he won't valet, I think he's an asshole.
Another thing that drives me crazy about Los Angeles driving is when the stoplights go out and they send in police officers to direct traffic. Instead of, you know, catching killers. The cops start talking to you through your window. They’ll make 2 circles in the air and then point to the left and I’m thinking I got a 10 yard penalty and am offsides.
I understand why minivans put TV screens in the backseats for kids. Nothing is more boring than taking a long trip and having nothing to do but listen to the radio or CD's. Last year I started doing books on tape. Only once by accident I rented a dirty one and had to pull over and get a motel.
Which was embarrassing because I was alone.
End of chat.
