Crash Course

A car accident and a parking ticket in less than 24 hours?! Wow. I'm on a roll. I really do enjoy a 40 something year old lady lecturing me about how expensive her BMW is. I tell her it's not everyday you come across a Forest Green '99 Jetta with Oregon plates. But Obviously she was too busy talking to me as though I was two years old.
"What were you doing?!" she glances down at the Oregon plates "Do you even LIVE HERE?!"

" I was driving, I guess I'm not used to you California drivers and LA Traffic." " I just moved here" ( I think to myself "Yes, a little Oregon country girl"; I'm going to play that card.

I feel belittled as the minutes go by and questions are asked. "Do you have your insurance? What is your license number? Do you workout?" Ok, maybe not that last question. But the answer is sometimes, and if so; 30 minutes of cardio. And if only the woman would magically turn into a 30 year old man, I could bend over and check out the dent-age I did to the bumper. Let him check out the junk in MY trunk and let me head of into the sunset on smog and smoke. Instead she stares at me in my 5 inch heels towering over her with a dumbstruck look on my face. "I've never really been in this situation before so I don't really know exactly what to do" I am annoyed of myself, I keep telling myself "Stupid.Stupid. Stupid." Surprisingly my height of a WNBA player, for that matter just an NBA Player, doesn't scare her or make her skip a beat. She's like a vicious little chiwauwa and I'm the cowardly great dane.

Of course, I don't have my license. I get a flash back of it sitting close to my computer, next to the pile of receipts, half way hidden under a 3/4 empty bag of honey roasted peanuts. DAMN.

" You DON'T have your LICENSE!?" exclaimed Mia (yes, thats her name I learned that later) good lord lady, did I stutter? I actually said that I do have it and just don't feel like pulling it out of my sleeve.

I give her my phone number and my insurance information because I feel like a guilty criminal.
Then... 10 minutes later- after I tried Calling Andrew five hundred times but failed every-time due to ZERO reception in the middle of Los Angeles.- my time comes:
"well can I have your phone number?!" she asks shining her blinged out wedding finger in my face holding her important pad of paper and pen.
I quickly jump to respond " I'm pretty sure I just gave it to you" I draw my index finger across her documentation "31086679**" "right there" ( written without any parenthesis or -'s. She eventually gives up on me and my unpreparedness after I hand over every important-looking piece of paper in my car.

I look busy digging in my car as she pulls away.

I head off to my casting which randomly is in a residential area at this fancy house. I walk back timidly hoping I wasn't trespassing some random person's property. I plop down in a chair and hand over my portfolio
"She looks way to young" the lady says to the man with lack of respect- I mean volume control- in her voice. "How old are you?"
"twenty two, just turned" I say quite viciously. You see for some odd reason the going age I seem to look is 16. That is the average age people think I am.

"REALLY? twenty two?" yes.
"Ok, we might as well let her try them on" she says to the man " But we only have ONE sample size and just two pairs of pants that are just that one size, so if you don't fit them then; that's that."
"OK!" I say in my pseudo chipper tone.

I take back the first pair. I am completely bloated. It's day two of the dreaded lady time of the month.
I slip in the first leg, then the second.... Booom-Bow-Surpiriiiseee...like a glove. they fit perfectly. For a white girl I've got enough junk back there to fill up a pair of jeans.

Pleasantly surprised, they take me over and take some photos, then the lady asks me to try the second pair. Same size. but "they fit a little differently".

I take back pair number two. slip into them quite comfortably, they are higher waisted, they're better suited for muffin-top control which is more of an issue this week for me.

They snap some more shots and I go on my merry way, I don't think I got the job but I think the little 16 year old showed them that I may have a young face, but my booty is definitely rotund.


The drive home wasn't pleasant, you see Andrew need the car at 12:30, which would have been no problem if I hadn't run into Mrs. BMW, But my phone STILL wasn't working. That would be like going a day without seeing a fake pair of pouty lips or Ta-ta's. It's like; am I NOT in LA? Where people text message on one phone while talking on the other. Because they're that important they need two phones. It's not like I was in some farm town, which would be understanding as to why there was no reception. But in the middle of Los Angeles?! Not comprehending.

I try and try and try to get a hold of Andrew, no cigar. Finally at 1:05 as I Pull into the Parking lot of his work, I get through to his cell. finally, as I'm walking up to his cubicle he picks up his phone. "Hey are you at work?" I ask " No I'm at lunch I've been trying to reach you!"
"Sorry, I got in a car accident so I was really delayed" " Oh, it's Ok, I'm eating lunch now though, I wish you would've let me know that you weren't going to have the car ready for me though."

As I stand by his cubicle with sweat dripping down my back and most likely steam shooting out of my ears; " OH, I'M FINE, THANKS FOR ASKING!" I hang up.

It's one of those days of the month, you just want to slip some chocolate under my door and not say a word. Come to find out Andrew supposedly didn't hear that I had gotten in an accident, but I'm still skeptical. I needed a little sympathy and I didn't get it when I wanted it.



I'm off to do a price check on bumpers made by BMW.