Thank you, Bob

For letting me revisit my high school days in this post, although I've gotta say, you're wrong about the girls. My friends and I absolutely had the same rules for riding shotgun - god, I HATED getting out of the car at our destination only to immediately hear Sara Freedman go "Gun!" and know that I had lost it for the ride to the next place. She was quick - got so maaad when she didn't get gun. (side note: she also originated, "Ok, are you ready to J-E-T, jet?" and genuinely believed that she was the 'B-O-M-B, bomb, bitch.' No - you really can't write any more generic teen phrases and god, I love that girl).

This was when we rode in my friend, Sarah Tackett's, Jeep and I hated having to squish into the back with no windguard, your hair flying all over the place, not even being able to hear the radio that they were playing in the front seat. I could put up with it if I was riding past all the horse farms on the way to the Spindletop pool or something, but not on a Friday night going over to Brad's house. You looked insanely windblown after the 5 minute ride - like you'd been hit by lightening by the time you got to the party.

Ok, well, yes (and I admit the lameness), the part of me that enjoyed pretending I was in a bad '80s movie like "Teen Wolf" or "Fast Times" - all the senior girls, riding in a Jeep and arriving late to the party- over-rode the windblown annoyance, because even though I was windblown, I could still be like, I came in the brand-new Jeep. The stares that a car-full of high school chicks got in that thing was ridiculous. (I, on the other hand, had a 1989 brown Oldsmobile station wagon - a gift from my mom - but also an endearing car that became known, ironically, as the "Shaggin Wagon" - in those days, I used more discretion with my smoochers - until it died on me).

And absolutely - bitch was the worst. No one wanted bitch - except now, as Bob says, in nyc cabs. Everyone in the backseat gets to choose where you're going next while the person up with the driver is stuck having to smell his B.O. Again, i can put up with these instances when I'm drunk and start talking about my relationships or making stuff up to try to ensure a free or discounted ride (it's my bachelorette party works about 60% of the time - but the key is elaborate, elaborate, elaborate - the more grandiose, the better), but definitely not when sober.