Bad girl?

I was having a really, really good day. I haven’t heard back from the city regarding the speeding ticket I received back in March. I was reminded of it when I tried attaching yet another note to my fully camouflaged fridge. (My complex fridge note-system is not yet fully implemented). I called the phone number on the back and found out that the "ticket number entered is not found". I was overjoyed. That would of surely been a few points on my record, ensuing in driving school and no less then half a grand for going a meager 55mph on Laurel Canyon.

On my way to Borders, I picked up Lora and boasted about my speeding luck. First time, I semi-cried my way out. Second time, the officer was not particularly impressed with my act; but the LA judicial system was. “Life is beautiful!" I happily stated, whilst Lora, always one to enjoy looking at the bright side of life the road, exclaimed “Turn on your lights - third time's a charm!”.

This I did.

We found a Kosher parking spot; a hop and a scotch from Borders. But, I knew things were not going to end on a high note when:

1) I parked next to a stolen meter
2) In close proximity to Michael Jackson .
3) And found three condoms scattered alongside the road.

But in actuality, my day did end on a VERY high note: To the sound of a siren right around midnight (after having dropped Lora off at home).

“Step out of the car!”

Okay. Sure. Step out. Trip. Silly me.

“Have you had anything to drink tonight?”

“Yes, a few shots of espresso”. The officer is not amused. Mental note to self: do not joke with cops.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand what I did wrong.”

Mr. Panties-in-a-Bunch states “I’m doing a DUI investigation.”
“Wow, that is very impressive! Can I take a breathalyzer test- I always wanted to!”

Mental Note to Self Numero Dos (I really should attach this one to my fridge - perhaps I already did): DO NOT JOKE WITH COPS.

“You’re driving with the lights off”

We’re in LA! On SANTA MONICA, in the heart of West Hollywood ! It’s brighter then day light! I felt like saying something along the lines of “officer, did you notice all the pretty rainbows!” but that would certainly land me behind bars.

He shuffles me into the backseat of the cop car. It was kind of cool for a minute or so. He looks up codes for what I did wrong and am potentially doing wrong on his handy-dandy cheat-sheet. Newbie.

“Driving recklessly. Under the Influence. Without lights on.” he mumbles random codes and with his utmost effort to sound hardcore and official, he demands to see my license.

“It’s in the car”. He finds my wallet, and after a five minute struggle, finally figures out how to open it. Not the brightest little crayon.

How old are you?

“Twenty one. Almost twenty two.”

With my ID in his hand and after inquiring, he states; “You’re nineteen”

He’s not very mathematically inclined and potentially deaf.

“Sir, you have my driver’s license in your hands. Please refer to the birth date.”

He proceeds to ask me all sorts of standard questions.

Address: Fountain Ave
Phone: 323
Birthplace: Uzbekistan
Insurance: 21st
Registration: In the passenger’s compartment.

Wait…birthplace?! Is that relevant?

I began to feel claustrophobic, and for once….scared. I take random walks alone at night , get lost in Southeast DC, wonder through the ghettos of Delaware, and never once worry for my safety. But, being locked in a cop car, by a person designated to “protect” me, made me feel queasy. I was actually relieved to see another cop car pull up. Maybe nothing was going to happen. Maybe I was overanalyzing. But it all seemed very odd. And very illegal. The other cop was older. He questioned Mr. Panties as to what was going on. I was clearly sober and looked innocent enough. Mr. Older Cop opened the door and after hearing me complain and noting that I was clearly sober…he APOLOGIZED.

All in all, 24250 and 16028(a) beats 22359VC any day.

Anyhow, how does a big, bad criminal look like after a wild night of downing espresso shots and studying at Borders?








Oh, “What’s that in your hand,” you ask?

My Apologies! I forgot to introduce you guys to Jack! My new toy! He has a long extremity that expands up to 6 inches for a steady, long distance shot.

Recently, I almost jumped on another toy (to be named Lou, as in, Reed). But, that big extremity on Jack’s body costs almost twice as much as Lou in his entirety. Besides, I need to learn how to play with Jack before I begin pulling Lou’s strings.