A visit with the police and a bad excuse as to why AND GOD CREATED WOMAN (77) has barely been watched.

Ask anyone who knows me at all, I'm not much of a driver. Brief history: failed my driver's test three times (could've easily been four if not for my father's failure to bring an insurance card), gave up on the whole driving thing for years and years and years, thanks to the kindness of a good friend drove illegally for two months before getting my license two days before I graduated ... from college.

Since then I've driven sporadically, usually with breaks of six or more months in between and hell, I've been pretty happy with it. Low gas-payments, a love of walking, and no run-ins with Johnny Law.

Until last night. The story of last night:

1. I accompanied Alex on one of her childcare jobs, a babysitting gig for two of the coolest people, let alone parents I've met in a while. Just fun-loving people with a fantastic child that couldn't have been more warm, open and inviting. We got there, martinis were drank (babysitting is always better with a few under your belt), Elmo Pasta was served. And then, there was a knock at the door. Drunken parents needed a ride to the theatah, they were late and Taylor Hicks and Grease were waiting.

2. This found me ten minutes later, cruising the city streets of SF (city driving, another thing I've never done) in a monstrous Chevy Avalanche with four extremely drunk women generally cursing, screaming, and having a blast of a good time. Of course all of these women have two minutes before the show starts, and I'm gunning this tank of a vehicle through the streets of a city I barely know. My passengers jump out, literally jump out, at their destination and I'm off, alone and in a city I know nothing about.

3. And I quickly realize I have no idea where I am. I'm in a huge downtown in an unfamiliar car and I'm completely lost and my only reaction is to pick up my cellphone and call Alex ... which it turns out is totally illegal in this wonky state and seconds later I find myself pulled to the curb with a mustached police officer asking for my license and registration (neither of which are in the car). All of a sudden I'm worried that my breath smells like booze, and then the heated seat cushion starts firing on all pistons and I'm sweaty and dealing with the police, and for whatever reason all I can think is, "this shit always happens to me ... and I wouldn't have it any other way."

Mr. Mustache left me with a nice little citation and court appearance. Hopefully my sheer charm and baffled ignorance will help me shirk what might just be a hefty fine.

I had an entire weekend to watch this movie, and try I did, but due to an inability to stay awake during movies after consuming any amount of alcohol, and the fact that I'm rippling with excitement about all the shit I want to do in this city with Alex, I didn't finish it. Hell, I barely made it to the five minute mark on my first try, and ably bungled my second attempt to watch the film as well.

Thus, hopefully, I'll be able to get through it tonight and have something to say manyana.

I'd say sorry, but I'm not.

Tuesday: And God Created Woman (77)