My brother told me that I was really risking a hefty fine by not registering my car in Los Angeles upon moving here. I did not do it and I continue to adamantly refuse to. I love my Colorado plates. I could say not registering makes it easier to spot my car, but the Buffs window decal and the fact that I am part of the 2% of Angelenos who do not wash their car frequently (ever) make my car stick out plenty. To be honest, I love my Colorado plates because I love Colorado. I flaunt them proudly and I have no desire to ever get rid of them. And, as I realized this weekend, I will go to ridiculous lengths to keep them.
Months rolled by and I didn’t register my car, my brother warned me that the fine would continue to increase the longer I waited. He also told me that after two parking tickets I would be forced to register. Three parking tickets later and my car still remains unregistered. But I still knew there was someone out there trying to take my Colorado plates away from me. What if I was pulled over for a traffic violation? I would have to explain to the cop where I was going without revealing that I have been sneakily living in Los Angeles with my Colorado plates for over a year.
I decided that I would always say I was going to ‘visit’ my brother. I mean, I’m sure I would be going to see him at some point that day or, at the very least, that week. And he does live in Venice while I live in Santa Monica, so I think the change in city makes it a legitimate ‘visiting’ distance. My ‘visiting’ story was locked down and parking tickets were clearly not an issue, but I was not at ease. And then, this weekend, my paranoia took a turn for the absurd during a routine interaction at the bank.
I was taken to a back desk to activate a new debit card. When the banker commented on my Colorado ID I thought nothing of it, and when he asked how long I had been in LA, I said a year. Shit. Now he knew that I have been living in LA with a Colorado driver’s license, and was no doubt driving a car with Colorado plates for a whole year. My mind raced, I should have said I was passing through, I should have said I had just moved, OR I could have been a normal person and realized this was a banker not a cop and he had no authority over my driving business. But it was too late; I was already panicked. The interaction continued with completely innocent questions from the banker followed by blatant lies from me.
Banker: What brings you out to LA?
Me: Oh, I go to school here.
Banker: Yeah? What school?
Me: Santa Monica College.
Banker: I went to Santa Monica College!
Me: Get out!
Banker: That is until I transferred to Cal State Northridge.
Me (as if considering Cal State Northridge for my next educational destination): What did you think of that?
Banker: It was great. It depends on what you’re major is. I went for business, but we have great psychology and communications departments. I don’t know what your major is.
Me: Neither do I! Still figuring it out.
The banker walked me out and we discussed how the recent renovations to Santa Monica College have really improved the appeal of the school. I have never set foot in Santa Monica College in my life.
When I reached my car and settled in I had a chance to reflect on the conversation and became upset with myself for several reasons:
HOW was I able to so fluidly bounce from lie to lie? Granted they weren’t good lies, this interaction was going to end before I could weave a tangled web and get caught in it. But, damn, I was shocked and impressed by how I directed those lies so effortlessly.
WHY didn’t I just recognize this banker as the non-threat that he is? He was making small talk, not investigating. And most importantly…
WHO was I? I didn’t even recognize myself. I jump at any and all opportunities to talk about CU Boulder and I opted to say I went to a two-year junior college? I couldn’t even flatter myself and say UCLA?
I’ve decided that from here on out I’m going to save myself the stress and trouble and just tell the truth when asked anything about my car. That is unless you’re a cop, in which case I’m visiting my brother.
On a separate note: I will try my best to write a post that actually tells you what is happening in my life not just daily interactions that I approach with nothing but alarming awkwardness. I'm going to Las Vegas this weekend for a friend's birthday party so I can pretty much guarantee something great and blog worthy will happen.
PS: I will shamelessly plug my twitter account again! follow me! senny24
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Silent Laughing Leads to Loudly Lying
I have realized lately that I dislike when people look to me for approval. I mean sure it’s flattering, but it really puts me on the spot. I should probably clarify what I mean by “approval.” It’s not like hundreds of people are lined up, presenting something to me in hopes that it receives my blessing. I’m mostly talking about a few encounters I’ve had recently in which others look at me to see if I am laughing as hard as they are at something we are watching. I’m a silent laugher and I’m kind of self conscious about it. I worry it does not give the proper positive reinforcement that my entertainer deserves.
This paranoia is only made worse when people look over at me to see how hard I’m laughing. Do they think I’m not showing my gratitude? I end up making myself laugh aloud, which sounds clearly forced. Then I just feel fake and like I’ve cheated my entertainer. But why, if my spectator is really enjoying this funny stuff so much, does he/she keep looking at me? Just look ahead and let’s regroup when it’s over. I’m not going to make a sound, no tears will be run down my face, I won’t slap my knee. What are they expecting?
I’m sure it’s not actually an approval thing. I don’t think people are looking to me for permission to laugh, it’s probably a camaraderie thing. Like, hey, we’re in this together. It’s just weird when the woman sitting next to you in the movie theater looks up at you expectantly at each funny part. It’s especially weird because she brought in what smells like day old McDonald’s french fries. If you are going to insist that we share a bonding laugh, then at least have the common courtesy to share your fries.
This paranoia is only made worse when people look over at me to see how hard I’m laughing. Do they think I’m not showing my gratitude? I end up making myself laugh aloud, which sounds clearly forced. Then I just feel fake and like I’ve cheated my entertainer. But why, if my spectator is really enjoying this funny stuff so much, does he/she keep looking at me? Just look ahead and let’s regroup when it’s over. I’m not going to make a sound, no tears will be run down my face, I won’t slap my knee. What are they expecting?
I’m sure it’s not actually an approval thing. I don’t think people are looking to me for permission to laugh, it’s probably a camaraderie thing. Like, hey, we’re in this together. It’s just weird when the woman sitting next to you in the movie theater looks up at you expectantly at each funny part. It’s especially weird because she brought in what smells like day old McDonald’s french fries. If you are going to insist that we share a bonding laugh, then at least have the common courtesy to share your fries.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Learn To Road Rage!
I have been fairly frank about how I feel about the drivers in LA, but in case I’ve been too subtle, let me make myself clear; they’re terrible. I can count on one hand how many drivers I’ve seen make a right hand turn from the left lane LAST NIGHT. It is strange, though; since I’ve lived here I’ve seen very few car accidents. Please, please do not use that information as a basis for an argument that that means California drivers are good. It actually makes their dangerous and sporadic maneuvers more disturbing because that means all other drivers are adapting to their environment, this awful, free-for-all driving environment.
Where have all the courteous drivers gone? Are they crossing over, never to return again? Like when a vampire bites a human and changes them into a vampire forever; there is no turning back when you cross over into the California drivers category. But I’m going to fight that change! I will never become a California driver. I even have proof. I have been living in LA for over a year and have driving here for what seems like, and most likely equates to, longer than a year and just a few days ago was happily reminded that I still got it! (‘it’ being proper driving etiquette.)
I was driving in the left lane, like a normal person, when a woman trying to turn onto the street from a sidestreet on my right, honked. I looked around, confused. I was in the left lane, the right lane (the lane one is supposed to turn onto from a side street) was wide open so I wasn’t blocking her from making her turn, it wasn’t an intersection so I didn’t blown through a stop sign or stop light, I wasn’t speeding, and I wasn’t talking on the phone. I ran through all the possible scenarios that would warrant a honk, and confirmed that wasn’t doing anything wrong so surely that honk wasn’t for me.
But as I was easing to a stop at the upcoming stop light, the woman who honked rolled past me, yelled “fucking white lady” at me through our open windows and then cut me off. I was shocked. Only in California would someone not even know how to properly verbally assault someone on the road.
I cannot and will not claim to be a road rage expert, but aren’t you usually supposed to insult the driver you have beef with? Yell something that is sure to get under their skin, really put them down and shame them into making better driving choices? Was I supposed to be offended by being called a “fucking white lady?” It would have made sense if she yelled “dumbass” or “bitch” because no one wants to be called something they're not, especially in a derogatory tone. When did road rage insults turn into declaring observations? If road rage is now based on obvious physical characteristics I would have yelled back, “fucking highlighted hair!” But I didn’t because I made no driving mistake to defend!
If driving like a “fucking white lady” means driving well and within the law, then yes, I AM a fucking white lady! Well, and I’m a fucking white lady regardless.
Where have all the courteous drivers gone? Are they crossing over, never to return again? Like when a vampire bites a human and changes them into a vampire forever; there is no turning back when you cross over into the California drivers category. But I’m going to fight that change! I will never become a California driver. I even have proof. I have been living in LA for over a year and have driving here for what seems like, and most likely equates to, longer than a year and just a few days ago was happily reminded that I still got it! (‘it’ being proper driving etiquette.)
I was driving in the left lane, like a normal person, when a woman trying to turn onto the street from a sidestreet on my right, honked. I looked around, confused. I was in the left lane, the right lane (the lane one is supposed to turn onto from a side street) was wide open so I wasn’t blocking her from making her turn, it wasn’t an intersection so I didn’t blown through a stop sign or stop light, I wasn’t speeding, and I wasn’t talking on the phone. I ran through all the possible scenarios that would warrant a honk, and confirmed that wasn’t doing anything wrong so surely that honk wasn’t for me.
But as I was easing to a stop at the upcoming stop light, the woman who honked rolled past me, yelled “fucking white lady” at me through our open windows and then cut me off. I was shocked. Only in California would someone not even know how to properly verbally assault someone on the road.
I cannot and will not claim to be a road rage expert, but aren’t you usually supposed to insult the driver you have beef with? Yell something that is sure to get under their skin, really put them down and shame them into making better driving choices? Was I supposed to be offended by being called a “fucking white lady?” It would have made sense if she yelled “dumbass” or “bitch” because no one wants to be called something they're not, especially in a derogatory tone. When did road rage insults turn into declaring observations? If road rage is now based on obvious physical characteristics I would have yelled back, “fucking highlighted hair!” But I didn’t because I made no driving mistake to defend!
If driving like a “fucking white lady” means driving well and within the law, then yes, I AM a fucking white lady! Well, and I’m a fucking white lady regardless.
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