I think I'm a car stalker.

I do things that, in hindsight, really freak me out. They seem logical at the time, though. Like this morning, driving to work, the car in front of me was a Volkswagen Beetle. As the law of averages will tell me, there's a 99% chance that when I see one of those Beetles, it will be a female driving it, and there's a 99% chance that she will be cute. Don't ask me how this works, but it's true. Try it some time. If you see a guy driving it, GET AWAY AS FAST AS YOU CAN. You'll get sucked into one of those paradox things like Marty McFly at the end of Back to the Future when his mom & dad almost don't get together. All fadin' away and shit. And you know you don't want that.

Anyway, I catch up to the Beetle and see that, of course, there's a cute chick driving. I am, for some reason, compelled to keep my car close to hers for no reason other than she's cute. What can I do with this knowledge of her cuteness? How on earth would I even start a conversation while driving? Even if I could, what would I say? "Hey baby, if you tune to 94.7 you might be able to pick up my iPod. I've got some Al B. Sure playing. It's new jack swing time in Maki's Hyundai." (As an aside, yes I have "Night and Day" on my iPod. Yes, I just referred to myself in the third person. And yes, I drive a Hyundai. Fuck you, my warranty kicks your warranty's ass.) Somehow, I don't think saying anything to her will work. I mean, all we appear to have in common is a similar commute to jobs that suck the souls out of us slowly, day by day. That approach wouldn't work either, I'm thinking. "So, commuting to a job that sucks the soul out of you slowly, day by day? What a coincidence! So am I!"

Really, is there any approach that could work? I could take the car stalker thing to the extreme, follow her to wherever she works and ask her for her number. Then, approximately 3 seconds later, get pepper sprayed. Even Al B. Sure wouldn't be able to comfort me after that. I could always get in an accident with her, that's a guaranteed way to get her phone number. Of course, I'd probably get the pepper spray again, too. Along with an astronomical insurance rate. So why in god's name do I feel the need to get my car close to this cute girl's VW? No good can come of it. Yet I do it anyway. I'm like a construction worker yelling at the babe walking down the street cause he heard some dude pulled it off one time in '78. No sense whatsoever. How am I not a stalker, with behavior like this? I scare me sometimes.