snapshots of an idle mind

October 2, 2007

head shakings

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to the ten percent of you that don’t fit into this post?  you know who you are.

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as some of you know i had a date or two with a man who drives a ferrari a while back. the particularly attention paying public may also have realized that he started an investment bank.

normally i wouldn’t be so specific but he did link the bank in the relevant post’s comment section.

anyway the man himself, though beautiful and funny, is not the point of this post. the reactions he engendered in the people around me are.

it was amazing. i mean amazing what people were saying about this man solely because he appeared to have money in the bank.

after ONE date with him that lasted a little over an hour (i had prior plans afterward) and was in fact ridiculously fun, i was telling some people about him (cause yeah, i don’t meet many men i like… er didn’t, lately they seem to be coming out of the woodwork) and i got reactions that stunned me.

things like

.you got a hot investment banker? you bitch!

uh dude? one date.

.you would hate the investment banker lifestyle.

um we know what that is?

.oh nice he’s rich!

how do we know this?

.he’s playing you.

for what exactly?

.etc

etc.

i was literally flummoxed. no one (except flower who met him and thought he was awesome) asked me if he was nice (yes) funny (yes) cute (check) hot (check) tall (mm-hmm) polite (yup) smart (seems like) or anything like that.

no one cared what he was like at all. it was all about the money or the lifestyle… and i so didn’t get it.

cut to the second date.

you know, the one with the ferrari and the driving. oh right, i may not have told y’all that it was a date. it was assumed by a few folks but i was playing my cards close to my chest since i liked him.

anyway we go on a date, i drive a ferrari and i dance around for like weeks about getting to drive the ferrari and i’m even more stunned that i like the guy more than the fucking car.

and of course since i drove a FERRARI i told everyone i know about getting to drive it which caused many questions about the owner.

but not the questions you might expect, once i admitted that said lovely driving experience had happened on an actual date it went like this:

.he’s rich? marry him!

uh TWO DATES!

.why aren’t you travelling with him?

uh TWO DATES!??!?

.what are you going to do about his lifestyle if you have kids with him?

uh TWO DATES!??????????????????????????????!

.oh those rich guys, they always go back to their own kind.

fuck you, are you calling me cheap and low class?

.just get him to buy you a new computer (mine died)

ew

.oh those rich guys, they love bohemian artsy chicks like you…

um what?

but do you see what didn’t happen? no one asked me what he was like, if he was respectful, if i liked him, if he made me laugh, if i wanted to jump him, if he tried to jump me… nothing.

it’s all about the money.

i’m stunned i have to say, and amazed that celebrities and the really rich ever date at all. i guess it’s no wonder that the celebrities and rock stars and supermodels and sports heroes tend to date within their own circles somewhat.

i mean how on earth would you know that someone liked you for you? any little innocent comment would set your spidey senses tingling and really, how would you ever be sure?

so what are people in those kinds of tax brackets left with?

matchmakers

matchmaking websites

high school sweethearts

dating in their own field or one nearby…

hrm… that’s about it.

i mean i don’t give a SHIT how much money you make so long as you can afford to live a decent lifestyle with some traveling and some eating out and some living well.

if you can afford your life? to buy me dinner on occasion? to live your dreams? to participate in mine? that’s all i really want from you.

and even i found myself having little imaginary scenarios where i got to play with the ferrari at the race track too… imagine if you were the kind of person who really cared about money…

you would do everything in your power to snag a guy like that.

how is he supposed to tell the difference between interest and dollar signs?

*shaking head* really stunned i have to say. i have so much more sympathy for celebrity love nuclearisms now…

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September 13, 2007

hello miss goodall

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it’s interesting what happens to me when i end up anywhere near the club scene. interesting because i never do quite what is expected of the usual person when they show up at a club.

the other day my friend oasis called me up and said “sass you have to come with me, i have an invitation to a film festival party!” [toronto international film festival, much partying, many celebrities, much traffic ridiculousness and irritation to the residents of the downtown core, much media hype etc] so i think fast and sigh with relief and say that i can’t go because i’m meeting my lawyer friend to make a waiver for my studio.

this is even true.

“oh” says she, “that’s fine since nothing ever happens until midnight anyway”

“crap” think i, “now how do i get out of it? dammit not working until eleven the next morning!!” and so i say okay since i’m forever NOT doing stuff with her.

so i go and i hang with the lawyer friend and then head home (though i would SO rather hang with her) and i whip out my most gorgeous dress and toss on my face. yeah this literally takes all of ten minutes, i just can’t be bothered spending an hour getting ready to do ANYTHING except maybe be the maid of honour at lividviv’s wedding and even then i mostly stood around and rearranged my dress.

it helps that i’m blessed with hair that looks good when it gets out of bed.

so, there i am all dolled up on command and she and another lady friend of hers pick me up and off we head. and you know? i should have known better, i should have but i didn’t.

so as we pull up to this place (i’m already yawning of course) she says ‘i don’t know if we can get in’ and i’m all uh don’t you have an invitation? and she’s all ‘no, i have a pass… but i don’t know if it will work’ and i just sort of sigh and gird my loins.

i mean i do not club. i club for something hilariously fun like bridesmaidmania [actual photo of ME but i failed to really be tacky enough] and i’m perfectly willing to go to some hoi polloi shindig and press the flesh (something i am in fact ridiculously good at but in no way crave) but i really don’t go clubbing like ever.

hence the loin girding.

so off we go and they let us in and of course it’s because there’s no one there and then they decide to go find the party.

go find the party. on a wednesday night.

oh god.

so we end up at some place on brant street at what is reported to be ‘the tommy lee party’ and i find myself sitting on a riser watching a whole pile of people try to be cool enough to be invited into the vip section. i don’t really know why because it didn’t look very fun in there either but hey, i’m a snob…

so, as always happens, i totally forget to participate. in fact i end up sort of sitting back in my pretty dress and people watching (that and the music had absolutely no groove to it so who could dance?) i love the people watching, i could write papers on the ridiculous things that people will do to get attention in a club. (don’t even get me started on the people you smile at, they look at you like you’re trying to steal their souls.)

from the girl in the backless dress that i desperately wanted to feed to the girl with the great rhythm pretending to model on the catwalk to the men walking around being oh-so cool with their noses at least ten feet in the air to the men who made the women look uncoiffed to the shirtless guy with the guitar he was pretending to play to the girls i was with.

these girls who did nothing all night but look challengingly at everyone who came near them and yet refused to speak to anyone and then, immediately upon leaving each venue, complained bitterly about how much toronto sucked, how canadian men are ‘so lame’ and this city is soooo boring and they can’t wait to leave and and and to the point that i was blessedly relieved to be able to claim morning work and come home.

i mean really, if you don’t like it here? why are you still here?

i mean i can sort of see their point about dating in toronto, it’s definetely a crap shoot… but with that kind of attitude really, what do they expect? they look down on anyone who comes remotely near them and don’t speak to any of the men they actually find attractive.

how the hell does that work?

as for the rest of the crowd? it made me sort of sad. here are all these people who are so clearly trying to have fun and trying to be noticed… most especially the little gaggles of starving women dressed in their ‘sexiest’ (skankiest?) clothes who parade around and hope that someone famous or rich will discover them and rescue them from their lives.

i wish they would learn that the only person who can rescue them is themselves… knights in shining armour do not exist and even in the stories they pick the women with spines every time.

mostly i just wanted to drag them to a place that sold food and force feed them…

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it’s really tragic to see someone driving a porsche or a ferrari who doesn’t understand what shifting gears is for.

i mean it like physically hurts to hear… [such a pretty car behind me today and such pathetic driving…]

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speaking of ferraris, explain to me how driving that car has rendered my car more fun! that makes no sense but it’s true.

there i am doing racing corners on my favourite stretch of road and flying out of lights and just generally partying down in my little honda. i haven’t done that since before i replaced the ball joints!

oh yeah, baby drives like she’s young again!

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yay i’m fully booked for the next three weeks!

my life really is coming up roses these days!

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irony

not getting a ticket for doing 140 in a 70 in a ferrari

and getting a ticket EXACTLY a week later doing 60 in a 40 in your own car.

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September 7, 2007

oh shit, now i have to become independently wealthy…

Filed under: bliss,cars,driving,engines,ferrari,life,surreality — sassinak @ 11:41 am

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or cylinder envy part deux.

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or oh my, be careful what you wish for even inadvertently.

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yesterday i had the singular privilege of riding in a ferrari.

oh my god you guys you have no idea how hot these cars actually are until you’re in one. i mean sure they’re pretty and they certainly look and sound hot flying by you on the street but somehow, somehow you just don’t get it until you’re sitting in one.

when you’re IN the damm thing you can feel all that power and somehow the happy throaty growl of a well tuned engine on the prowl cannot be replicated no matter how you drive beside it. you have to be in it to get it, you just do.

not to mention the incredible urge to stroke the freaking thing. it’s just so pretty you want to pet it like a really expensive slate-grey cat.

funny things happen when you’re in one of these cars, some guy was so busy ogling the car that he forgot to watch the road and tried very hard to take out our front end while he was drooling over it. literally had his head hanging out the window looking back at us instead of watching where he was driving.

he then informed us that this car must be better than sex whereupon i came up with one of my better lines and replied “clearly you haven’t had sex with me” and he just shook his head and drooled and then the light turned green and he took off as fast as his little accord (one of the ugly ones…. the whole 1994-2006 line of accords is ugly) would take him in some strange attempt to show off.

unfortunately he did it while looking back at us and nearly took out a parked car!

anyway people point and stare and chase your car and take pictures and parking enforcement officers half the time don’t even ticket it…

but then.

oh my god

but then.

clearly my evident appreciation for this gorgeous beast and my questions about transmissions and my total car nutsness had their way with the driver and he whips into mount pleasant cemetery and stops the car and says ‘get out’ and i do.

i think we’re going for a walk in the cemetery. oh no.

not so much.

“come here” says he and i do. “get in and drive” he says and i gulp and sort of look like a panicked deer in the headlights and stare at him.

“but i might break it!”

i mean literally i was so excited and really rather terrified at the same time. i think it was worse than a virgin on her wedding night!

okay maybe not that bad.

anyway so in i get with great trepidation and very gingerly place my hands on the wheel and he adjusts all the seats and mirrors and sticks it in automatic mode (rather than manual) and sort of looks expectant.

torontof430.jpg

(yes that’s the actual ferrari i drove sitting at mosport…)

like i’m stepping on an egg i touch the accelerator and start to drive. drive like i’m just learning how and i’m afraid of all the buttons… and oh my you guys. you can’t possibly get how awesome driving a ferrari is until you do it.

mount pleasant cemetery is an old old institution in toronto that happens to have great little windy roads everywhere… View Map

so i drive around and play with the corners and then change to manual mode to try the paddle shifting and generally just giggle like a twelve year old while driving around on what is effectively a little baby private track. except then i run into another city street and he says “okay take it out”

and i’m like “you’re nuts mister… but okay”

and off we fly down this road and that with him all the time chuckling over the responses people give to a woman driving a ferrari and me totally laughing at how much fun this car is from a dead stop. cause yeah, my honda is fun out of lights but this? wow.

eventually we’re on a lovely road through the don valley and “floor it” he says and i do and it throws me back into my seat and “try the brakes” which i slam on and holy shit. SO GOOD.

anyway i take it to a dead stop in the middle of the road and then just punch it (shut up i looked if there were cars behind me first!) and wow. wow.

you guys i do.NOT.HAVE.WORDS!

about the best way i can describe how awesome driving a ferrari is is to say that for the first time EVER in my life i suddenly feel a little bit of this quest for wealth. i mean hey, if i can make a million bucks i can buy a ferrari… or maybe i’ll make a half a million and buy a twenty year old ferrari… or or or…

dudes it’s SO MUCH FUN!

so yeah, you thought i had cylinder envy on wednesday?

*laughs fool head off*

i had no earthly idea. none.

i heard little growly purrings in my ears all night long… (well okay i heard some other stuff too… lol)

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