Baby, You Can Drive My Car. But only if you drive an environmentally friendly one. (And no, baby, I will never ever love you if you drive a Hummer.)

Beep-beep-m-beep-beep yeah!

I’m not much of a car person. I was raised by an engineer. Those of you who have an engineer in the fam know that they are perfectly practical in every way. My perfectly practical father, aka The Voice of Reason, taught me and my sister that cars are merely transportation. You buy what you need, you buy what is just a bit below your means, you buy what consumer reports deems reliable & safe, and you’ve bought yourself peace of mind. Engineers thrive on peace of mind. How very Zen of them.

Recent study after recent study concludes that if you are looking for Car Nirvana in this world, you should stick with a Honda/Acura or a Toyota/Lexus.* Everyone in my family worships at this altar, except for my sister who was recently kidnapped and brainwashed by the Nissan cult. (She was always the more rebellious one.)

I shower my sister with grace for her choice because a. I believe Nissan/Infiniti rank third in recent study after recent study and b. who am I to judge when I completely lost my mind a few years back and decided to purchase a European car.

Oh, this car was cute. (I won’t mention any names because I don’t want to get sued.) But let me just reinforce that this car was CUTE. And everyone marveled how it matched my perky personality and my petite, mini stature.

I chose this car in a moment of vulnerability. A teenager totaled my Honda, and her insurance company was so generous as to give me three whole days to shop for a new car. In my desperation, I propelled myself into the arms of flair and flash. “Forget practicality -- I am traumatized! I am hurting! I want…no, Dad….I NEED this car to make me feel better. This car makes me feel stylish and sexy and….and….this car is rare -- Only four cars of this color were sold in the entire state! And ….and….Barrett-Jackson says it’s the next collector’s item!! Beep-beep-m-beep-beep yeah!”

Thus began my journey into Car Hell.

That car proved to be the bane of my existence. It mocked me every day when I entered my garage. “Maybe I’ll start for you today, maybe I won’t. Maybe you will need to tow me to the closest dealership in Timbuktu for the umpteenth time!!”

It taunted me during its monthly visits to the shop in Timbuktu. “You want your transportation back? Fork over another grand, sister!”

It sneered at me when I waxed sentimental over my deceased Honda. “You ventured out of Car Nirvana to explore Car Hollywood. This beauty is only skin deep. Sucker!”

Barrett-Jackson was obviously smoking crack

Approximately two years into this dysfunctional relationship, I decided that The Voice of Reason raised me better than this. I drove Ms. Skin Deep as quickly as I could to the nearest Honda dealership. I turned her pathetic, vapid self in, and I left with a sassy red & reliable Honda. Ommm…..

Reflecting on my recent foray into Car Hell (which, mercifully, turned out to be a less-than-eternal Car Purgatory), I couldn’t help but see the parallels to dating. Or more specifically, the parallels between men and cars.

Recent study after recent study concludes that my fair city is the Worst Place in America to Find Love. In other words, I reside in Dating Hell. As an evolved, emotionally intelligent woman, I would love nothing more than to achieve Dating Nirvana. But this can be a challenge when you live…well…in Dating Hell.

I attribute our city’s infamous distinction to our high proportion of flair and flash. We are close enough to L.A. where we have absorbed their ways through municipal osmosis. (I realize that I am making generalizations here, and that there are exceptions in both cities, including you and me, of course. Please don’t send me hate mail.)

Therefore, my city boasts an inordinate number of Skin Deep men driving Skin Deep cars. A large majority of these Skin Deep cars are…let’s just say…environmentally irresponsible. This is appalling anywhere, but it’s particularly alarming when we live in a city whose federal funding could get yanked if we do not literally clean up our act. An ominous brown cloud hovers above us, but who gives a crap? It’s all about looking gooooood.

My personal favorite amongst these Mr. Skin Deeps is the Hummer driver. Who on earth needs a Hummer, I ask you?!?! The military? Yes. The Mr. Skin Deeps? No. Go ahead, Mr. Skin Deeps. Keep on thoughtlessly driving your monstrosities to compensate for your lack of penis size and your obsession with blow jobs while the rest of us (including your children) choke on the brown cloud as our interstate crumbles.

Beep-beep-m-beep-beep BLECK!

I could go on and on about men who drive similarly obnoxious vehicles, but it’s too draining, it’s an utter waste of time, and I have to shave my legs and get ready for the ballet tonight.

This is what it boils down to: we have two camps of cars and men. They mirror one another, if you will.

Camp Hummer et al. pitch their tents in Dating Hell. They are flashy, narcissistic, and depreciate very early on. They drain precious energy and deplete bank accounts. They are utterly unreliable – maybe they’ll be there for you, maybe they won’t. They are always thinking about trading up.

Vs.

Camp Honda/Toyota et al. pitch their tents in Dating Nirvana. They are attractive with a touch of style, but with no desire to flaunt it. They are environmentally responsible and socially conscious. They are reliable and hold their value (as well as yours). They are content sticking with a good thing.

Women, we deserve men from Camp Honda/Toyota.** Now, I must admit, I grew up in the arts, so I tend to have an eye for all things aesthetic. If I were asked to create a wish list, I would prefer an Acura or a Lexus man. And a hybrid definitely gets my heart fluttering a little faster.

I am ready to take a test drive. Does anyone have a Get Out of Dating Hell Free card, by any chance?

*For the purposes of this post, kindly ignore the recent snafu that involves an 8.3 million car recall. I devised this theory long before the snafu, and I would rather not recall my theory at this time. The way I see it, Toyota is facing its existential crisis, and with proper spiritual guidance, will emerge as a Car Warrior once again.

**For the record, I would rather not date a recalled man. Only certain Toyota/Lexus models may apply at this point in time. Thank you for your understanding on this sensitive issue.

***Dad, are you sure that the Prius was not recalled?!?!

“Health Starts Here” and Ends at a Burger Joint

I get cranky when it comes to my cable company. I “save” money (their term)/"throw away a small fortune" (my term) by bundling phone, cable, and Internet, and for this expenditure, I consistently receive shoddy service.

Naturally, I am less than thrilled when I receive mail from my cable company. I usually mumble a few obscenities and assume that they will be socking it to me with yet another price increase.

Last week, they surprised me! My cable company graced me with a good will gesture of coupons galore! A coupon clipper, I am not – I couldn’t be bothered with keeping track of what I need to buy, where I need to buy it, and when I need to buy it by. I don’t do well with restrictions. Restrictions make me feel a little claustrophobic. However, there was one very special coupon that caught my eye: a 50% off coupon for lunch at Whole Foods. Since there’s no such thing as a free lunch, I thought a halfway free lunch was mighty enticing!

I noticed that the coupon expired today. The claustrophobia quickly subsided when I realized I that I only had to keep track of this puppy for a few days. I put it in a spot where I would find it Monday morning, and come today at noon, I escaped to my halfway free lunch adventure.

Once I arrived at Whole Paycheck (as my father likes to call it), I quickly noticed the disclaimers in the coupon’s fine print. Tiny disclaimer #1: Must be used on an item in the prepackaged case. As a loyal Whole Paycheck shopper, I knew exactly where to find this case, and….it was at half capacity for some very odd reason. Tiny disclaimer #2: Must be used on “Health Starts Here” item. I counted 1, 2, 3, “Health Starts Here” lunch items – none of which appealed to me.

I asked a friendly Whole Foods “team member” (they are not “employees”, if you are unaware of the culture) where else I might find “Health Starts Here” items in a store which I had been led to believe sold exclusively healthy and “whole” foods. He directed me to the sandwich counter. Yum! I love, Love, LOVE their wraps, especially the ones with the spinach tortillas. The sandwich guy said that he didn’t think I could use my coupon there. I threw him a pitch: to me, Health definitely Starts Here with a spinach tortilla, lean white meat chicken, avocado, and a few other goodies tossed in for good measure. I sold the guy on my idea, but his manager didn’t bite.

Utterly dejected, I walked back to the prepackaged case. I wasn’t about to throw away a halfway free lunch. I decided on the Power Salad. I liked the name. I envisioned myself feeling incredibly powerful for the rest of the day. And I also liked that the “salad” was a bit on the unconventional side. Not a shred of lettuce to be found. Nope. This Power Salad consisted of whole grains such as Kamut (I like the way Kamut trips over my tongue when I say it and when I eat it), butternut squash, edamame, almonds, raisins, and a few other goodies thrown in for good measure.

I returned to the office to eat and chat with girlfriends. I didn’t contribute much to the conversation, as chewing all of those grains and nuts was a lot of work. Quite exhausting, actually. I only had time to eat about a third of my lunch. And there’s only so much nuts and grains one can eat anyway.

Approximately ½ hour later, I found myself heading over for my first trip to the vending machine. The afternoon plummeted from there. Feeling less than powerful, I decided to therapeutically reclaim my power by writing a letter to Whole Foods. O.k. So I didn’t actually send it to Whole Foods. I’m not that pathetic. I sent it to my lunch companions for a good laugh instead.


Dear Whole Foods aka Whole Paycheck,

Even though I enjoy vegan dishes, I have decided that I cannot eat them as my sole meal. (Unless they are those delish little faux buffalo wings that contain a high soy protein isolate content which apparently is not the best for you either, but let’s be practical here.) Today’s selection, which you billed as a “lunch”, is really a side dish.

Since nibbling on my healthy “lunch”, this is what I have consumed:

1 strawberry shortcake ice cream bar from vending machine visit #1
1 bag of Baked Lay’s sour cream & onion chips from vending machine visit #2
1 apple
1 cup of white tea with lavender (delightful)
Copious amounts of water
2 pieces of gum

Since nibbling on my healthy “lunch”, I have lost track of how many times I have fantasized about scarfing a Carl’s Jr. cheeseburger. I will be free to consume said cheeseburger in approximately 2 hours. Let the countdown begin!

There is a silver lining in all of this torture. I have stopped thinking about a certain member of the opposite sex for the first time in a week. I am too hungry to care.

Yours in healthy eating (but within moderation),
Late Bloomer


Two hours and fifteen minutes later, I pulled into the Carl’s Jr. Drive Thru. For those of you who live in parts of the country that don’t have Carl’s Jr., I am truly sorry for your loss. Carl’s Jr. is “Home of the $6 Burger” which, in this recession, is now $2.79. Yes, you guessed it. Today I received both a halfway free lunch AND a halfway free dinner. Now when does THAT ever happen, I ask you?!?!

For those of you who are sorrowfully in the dark, the Carl’s Jr. $6 Burger (which is now the $2.79 Recession Burger) is a REAL burger containing 100% Angus beef. I can’t actually tell you what Angus beef is, but it tastes like it is really good quality, and that’s all that matters to me.

I eat healthy 95% of the time, but like I said earlier, I’m not a fan of restrictions. I patronize Carl’s Jr. (this is not a paid advertisement, by the way) about once a month or once every other month, depending on my hormonal forecast. I stop on the way home after one of my bi-weekly blissful massage experiences. Today, my massage therapist reminded me as usual to drink lots of water post-massage because apparently my body is excreting toxins at an alarming rate. To me, that means it is prime time for a cheeseburger. I may as well consume one when my body’s getting rid of junk like there’s no tomorrow. Since I was particularly ravenous during tonight’s visit, I also ordered onion rings. As a health food nut, I am well aware of the health benefits of onions which have antibacterial and antiviral properties which come in really handy this time of year.

Honestly, between the “Health Starts Here” lunch, the antioxidants in this afternoon’s white tea, the toxin-eradicating massage, the flood of water, and the superfood properties of the onions, I don’t think my body will even recognize the cheeseburger.

Guilt is laced with restriction, and I am not going there.

Bon Appétit!