So last week we took a quick trip to LA to get some business done, and I know that sounds vague, come on, what is up? It's not something I can talk about just yet, although we did tell Leta that we were going to see the leprechauns. And we were going to ask them to stop tapping on her window, but we couldn't promise anything. In the meantime KEEP YOUR BLINDS CLOSED.

Was that mean? I hope so.

We initially thought we were going to be in meetings all day on Friday, but everything got wrapped up so early we decided to rent a car, drive around and enjoy the incredible weather. And was it ever incredible. PEOPLE OF LA: You have no idea! I know I didn't when I lived there, but after getting the shit beat out of me by seven consecutive Utah winters, I wanted to cry as we lazily sat outside on the balcony of our hotel room and sipped cocktails. IN MARCH. WITHOUT HAVING TO SHOVEL SNOW TO GET THE DOOR OPEN.

Now, Jon gets a little woozy in the head when it comes to renting cars. He's seen every episode of "Top Gear" and has fantasies about being a Formula 1 racer. And I won't lie. I LOVE a fast driver. If on our first date he had driven like a grandma I would have said, dude, you're cute and all, but there is no way I'm going to be able to get it up.

My dad just read that, got up out of his chair and threw up in the trash can underneath his desk. Sometimes the truth is ugly.

So we (meaning HE) got a wild hair and rented a BMW 3 series. Because he'd seen it on "Top Gear" and wanted the unique privilege of driving one at least once in his life. And, uh, let's just say it took several miles for him to get the hang of it, and the whole time he's going BRACE YOUR SKULL ON THE HEADREST. And I'm all, for the price we're paying for this rental I shouldn't have to be aware of the condition of my skull, thank you very much.

But every time he put his foot on the gas that car would jump twenty feet in the air, and my head at one point popped off my neck. It was ridiculous! And thirty minutes later when we found a parking space on Melrose, my body a tense wreck of nerves, limbs scattered from the dashboard to the back seat, I grabbed the keys and said, dude, we are taking this back right now and renting bikes.

And that's when he challenged me to take the wheel. Oh no he didn't.

You're going to challenge me? Did you know that this is the quickest and easiest way to torture a Type A personality? BECAUSE WHAT IF I'M NOT GOOD AT IT. The world will end and we will all die homeless and naked. I know because it has happened before.

So there I am in the driver's seat of a BMW 3 Series. You guys, I have absolutely no business being anywhere near a BMW. I am from the country. We ride horses and plows.

And as I inspect the gear shift I see that the D for DRIVE has an M and an S option next to it. Naturally, I assume that the S stands for SPORT. And the M? I dunno. Maybe, MOST PEOPLE USE THIS ONE. Totally feasible.

So I pull out onto Crescent Heights, and as usual there is a ton of traffic. So I certainly don't want the SPORT option. That's for race tracks. So I choose MOST PEOPLE USE THIS ONE, and suddenly the car is all RRRRR! RRRRR! Like it's choking on Polly Pocket.

And Jon starts screaming SHIFT! SHIFT! And I'm all, SHIFT? THERE IS NO CLUTCH. What do you mean SHIFT!

And he starts shaking his head and yelling, "YOU'RE IN MANUAL! MANUAL! Don't you pay attention during 'Top Gear'?"

Of course I pay attention during "Top Gear." The cinematography is stunning.

Needless to say, I got about four tenths of a mile before I pulled over, jumped out, and kicked the front tire. Do us all a favor: if you are at all tempted to buy a sports car, go hug a teacher and thank her for all the work she does so that she can get paid as much money as you're going to pay to throw your neck out.

The end.

Also, here are all the photos I took with my iPhone and then processed with TiltShift Generator which is by far my favorite iPhone photography application, no they did not pay me to say that, stop right there and enjoy the show: