I'm JR, That's How I Roll

(Most of you know this story, due to my inability to stop talking. Feel free to skip this post.)

So, my car's (read: my husband's car that he so kindly lets me drive) inspection sticker has been expired since December. Government agencies and environmental zealots tell me that this will make the world come to a horrible and bloody end. I like to live on the edge.

The truth is, I have tried to get the damn thing inspected. I have taken it twice, and I think Mark took it once, too. Our problem is a moody, clearly PMSing, brake light. It comes on when it feels like it, and naps whenever it gets tired. Obviously, these naps always fall during the hour it is being inspected. Never will the brake light JUST FREAKING WORK when I take it to the inspection place (which I lovingly refer to as Valvoline - seriously, they're so nice to me, and they think I'm cool for having a TransAm, which means they are all teenage boys, but whatever).

So I got pulled over on Friday, on my way to work. I saw the cop look at my sticker, I saw the cop turn around, I sat at a light with the cop behind me and watched him call in my plates... and then I drove for a little while because the genius decided to wait to turn on his lights until we hit a construction zone, where there was no place to pull over. I should have pre-empted him, and pulled my own self over, but like I said, I like to live on the edge. You never know, the urge to make a break might have overtaken me. I am from LA, the land of the police chases, after all.

Now, I have to say, this was one NICE cop. Seriously. I tend to get alot of tickets for expired things like inspections and registrations, so I've dealt with several of these guys. Most are okay, one (a bicycle cop downtown - yes, I was pulled over by a cop ON A BIKE) was a jerk. But this guy on Friday, he was cool.

"Miss, do you know why I pulled you over?" (Why do they always ask this? If I say, 'Because of the body in the trunk?', isn't that entrapment?)

"Because my inspection is expired."

"Right. Why is that?"

So, I tell him the whole thing. About the pissy brake light, and about how Mark HAS taken it to try and get it fixed, and NO ONE can find anything wrong with the brake light. It's just moody. And then I realize that this story is ridiculous. And I tell him that.

"Actually, miss, it's just ridiculous enough. I believe you. Let me go look at your brakes."

{Cop walks to back of car. Cop walks back to window.}

"I can't tell, you left your turn signal on."

{JR's face turns beet red. JR turns off turn signal. Cop returns to rear of vehicle.}

"Well, it's working right now."

"I would so take it right now, but I have to go to work!"

"I understand. Let me see your license and insurance and we'll get you out of here."

It is at this point that I have to confess to the nice cop that I don't have my new insurance card. It was somehow lost in the vast mailroom-wasteland that is our living room. BUT, I do have the claims receipt from my accident in February, surely that must prove something...

In the end, I got out of there with just the ticket for the inspection, and only 15 minutes late for work. I don't know why he let me slide on the insurance, but I seriously considered hugging the dude. And, it instigated a cleaning of the living room, which resulted in us locating not only our insurance cards, but also all of our tax forms. Awesome.

The top of our coffee table opens up, and it was full of mail before. Now it is mostly empty, which is great because I can put more stuff in there, like empty beer bottles. And cats.