In the Car

Living in Los Angeles, I spend a stupid amount of time in the car. Thems the breaks. I know you've been asking yourself "What does Staci do to maximize all that time?" Well, I spend about fifty percent of the time thinking (about how to save more money, how to decorate the condo, imagining my next international trip, how I can help the people I love) or praying. I barely ever listen to music in the car anymore, which is a shame. I do, however, do my own over-the-top versions of songs I don't even know why I'm singing. Yesterday it was Pass the Dutchie. With an exaggerated Jamaican accent to up the fun. I mean, really. I have conversations with people like my brother, when I wish I had said everything I needed to say on a particular subject. I fall in love with the studious guy in the car next to me at the stoplight. I relive the past and hope for a future that I can be excited about. I try hard not to get into an accident or hit a pedestrian.

All that time in a car, you'd think I'd be thinking about a swankier ride than my 12-year-old Toyota Corolla, Lola. But I hate the idea of having to research cars or have a car payment and I've never really been the sort to dream about a particular set of wheels. When I was a teenager I wanted a Toyota Celica. A Celica, People. What a dork. If you asked me right now what kind of car I'd want if I could have any car, I'd have no clue. I am pretty ignorant about what's even out there. Although I do like my dad's Honda CRV. And the Mini Cooper is growing on me, but an itty bitty woman in an itty bitty automobile might be overkill. A little pick-up truck might be fun. Perhaps a '53 Ford? Crap. I think my subconcious has been wanting things behind my back.....