Thursday, January 28, 2010


No I am not going to write about A Street Car Named Desire, nor will I write about the second rate beer that I truly adore.
My car is my refuge. No, I am not a crazy car buff and I am not going to write about the specs and details of my car. However, Sine the day the state of Pennsylvania gave me the privilege of being a licensed driver, my car has been my home. Just take a look inside, it is truly lived in. The saddest day of my life had to be when my Saab, aka "Stella" kicked the bucket. My Saab was my home. I did everything in that car. For the sake of modesty lets keep all the thoughts clean. But seriously whenever I wanted to get away, I just got in my car and drove. Whether to pick up my boyfriend or go to Sheetz for a Smaggle. My car was a place where I could just let go and forget about the world around me.
Currently I drive "Bessie" my soccer mom mobile. Yes she is a station wagon fully equipped for carpool. I admit this is about as bad as driving my mothers mini van, but it works. I cherish the time in my car. I can smoke and not care about who is watching. I can wear pants and no one sees them. I can blast "goyish" music and no one hears it.
Today after watching maybe one to many episodes of "Big Love," my new favorite Mormon addiction; I had a thought about why I love being in my car so much. The episode I was captivated by was about how the child bride of the Mormon compound leader was escaping from the compound. She took down her braids and changed her clothes. I then thought about my long drives home. When I am a comfortable distance away from the "compound," I take down my hair, take off my cardigan and breathe. An acquaintance once proclaimed to me, I bet you listen to hardcore metal when you drive, I bet you head bang the whole ride home. Now this acquaintance happens to be a neighbor who is extremely frum and also happens to be a metal guitarist. The funny thing about this situation is that he is completely right. As soon as I feel that I am far enough away from what I feel is my uncomfortable place, I turn of the Uncle Moishe and Journeys tapes and blast metal and head bang for five hours before arriving home. I let loose and shed all memories of the "compound."
My car is my freedom. I takes me away to a better place, where I am happy. It keeps all my secrets and never tells a soul. I will admit I do take advantage of this freedom and often take the long way back from school to the bungalow, but any chance at freedom is worth it!

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