More Mustang Fun

I'll take a break from the dating stories for a bit before men stop going out with me out of fear they'll be my new material. AKA before I become the Taylor Swift Of Blogging.

And we'll go back to Car Stories! Because I have a lot of those too.

I love cars, and I love to drive, and I pride myself on navigating city traffic aggressively...defensively. But I will admit that my Goldfish Poodledom takes over from time to time and I get distracted and have mishaps. One such incident happened a few years ago.

I was heading to Capitol Hill with two friends - Rod, the other Goldfish Poodle, and Brian, my Couch Dweller,

Couch Dweller: (/kouCH/dwel'er): One who sleeps on your couch and pays you some money each month, benefitting both parties because DC housing is so expensive it necessitates cramming people into apartments like clown cars. [We've all had one, or been one, at some point.]

and we are all in the middle of discussing where we are going when one of the boys tells me to just turn left. And in my distracted state, I immediately obeyed and turned left.

From the inside lane of the street.

Into a taxi cab on my left.

And I never realized before that there is some sort of Taxi Mafia in this city but I can't even tell you how many other cabs stopped to "make sure everything was ok". I guess they thought I would try to blame him for the accident? I pictured myself forever shunned, unable to get a cab to stop for me ever again because They Would Know I was That Girl. In any case, it was obviously my fault and thankfully did little damage to his car. My car, on the other hand, now had half the bumper hanging off.

So we settle things with the taxi driver and he leaves, and me and the boys are trying to figure out how to keep driving to our destination. And because this is DC and nothing is unusual, we see what looks like a t-shirt randomly laying on the sidewalk with no owner.

So now the boys are TYING my bumper back on with a T-SHIRT and we continue with our night. The next day, I drive to work.

At the White House.

The place where I embarrased myself HERE when I locked my keys in the car and another time when I accidentally hit the giant concrete barrier thing you are to wait in front of while a dog sniffs your car for explosives. The barrier thing sinks into the ground after the check is over -- I didn't wait long enough and basically high-centered my car on it, to the AMAZEMENT of Secret Service...

So NOW I drive in with my front bumper TIED ON WITH A T-SHIRT. And I'm SURE these guys are like "seriously, how did this girl get a job here..." and they feel sorry for me and offer to help:

by RIPPING my bumper completely off and shoving it in my backseat.

So I spent the next day or so driving around with a torn-up front end and a bumper in my back seat until I was able to get it fixed.

That poor car went through a lot more before I finally traded it in, including a denting in the roof from when I didn't realize a garage door wasn't ALL the way up... and many dents from where I participated in one of DC drivers' favorite pastimes: "Parking By Braille" (aka "tapping" the cars around you until you finally fit in a spot.)

I'm on my fourth car now and trying to do a better job of taking care of it but if you see me on the road, you might want to steer clear, just in case.