I loved Juno.
I saw it on Saturday night in pitch darkness at the Moonlight Cinema. It was quirky and bloody hilarious, although I think I MIGHT HAVE A PERMANENT ELBOW MARK IN THE SQUISHY FLESH OF MY RIGHT SIDE because my Alias-obsessed friend Kris kept nudging me in the side everytime Jennifer Garner came onscreen, and she kept making this funny noise that I normally associate with hyperventilating.
(N.B to Kris: Hey, if I didn't embarrass you on my blog, what kind of friend would I be?!)
Anyway, it was all peachy once we were actually seated on picnic rugs in the botanical gardens, but we hadn't realised that the Moomba festival was also going on- and so parking was, to put in succinctly, an absolute bitch. My friend Loui drove us in, as I am possibly the worst city driver ever- in fact, I suck at reading maps full stop. I must say, I was in absolute awe of Louise's parking skills- she was driving The Family Car, which was a very large station wagon...a very large MANUAL station wagon.
We couldn't find a parking space ANYWHERE, even though we circled for 25 minutes like a big white station-wagon-esque bird of vehicular prey. Up down, up down, circling, through the slip lane, back again, three phone calls to Kris later...we attempted to park in a permit zone, we deliberated on whether we could get away with obstructing an old and unused driveway, and we ended up in a very tight residential court with no room to swing a cat, attempting to park whilst not blocking a residential driveway.
Louise ended up doing some kind of three-point correction which was nothing short of spectacular, if you minus the crunching sound of her towbar hitting something in the dark- and then, we heard a voice out of the darkness like an angel of parking mercy:
"Hey, did you guys want our space? We're moving out now."
And that was that.
Kris drove me back to the initial rendezvous spot where I'd gone in with Louise. She knew exactly where to go and exactly how to get there (one day I hope to achieve this kind of zen-like clarity) and off we went with no navigational problems whatsoever, singing blithely along to TLC, but with the windows rolled up because earlier in the night (or rather, early hours of the morning) someone had seen fit to throw a bottle at us as we were standing on a street corner. And pumping JoJo out of a little hatchback doesn't quite cut it with the hardcore teenage homies, even though the bass in Kristine's car is probably capable of moving one's bowels.
In comparison to Loui's reversing skills, I was forced to drive my version of The Family Car on Sunday morning- which is a freaking MASSIVE Ford. My dad had taken my hatchback but neglected to reverse the car out- which sits on what is actually a little patch of grass which is at a perfect NINETY DEGREE ANGLE to the driveway. To further complicate things everything is bordered by some concrete steps and a rather painful edge of decorative rocks. It's like one of those horrible trigonometry problems where you have to calculate the angles of reversing.
I can do it in any other small car (albeit with MUCH difficulty) but The Family Car.
The only good thing about the Family Car is that when people see the P plates, and see my Death-Star sized car ("Look at the size of that thing!") coupled with the fact that when they squint, there is a terrified looking female Asian driver clutching the steering wheel...they give me space.
It's like being one of the Four Horsemen of the Vehicular Apocalypse. If I had to choose three other fellow Horsemen, they'd be Old Person Driver, Bloody Volvo Driver and Stupid-Young-Man-With-Subwoofer Driver. (Honourable mentions to people who own a Dodge. How the hell do you get enough fuel to run that TANK?!)
Anyway...so I was running late for work as I had to open up the store- and I had spent ten minutes looking for my hatchback's keys and freaking out when I saw the garage was empty before remembering Dad had taken it- and so I was very stressed. And then I hear this almighty CRUNCH and oooh look, I think that was the back fence.
No wuckers, Daphne. We'll just try it again, but slooooower...
...CRUNCH. CRACKLE.
There is now a rather nice little fissure in the wooden slats of our fence, except my mum insists that it was there before already, so no one actually cared.
In the end, I had to call Mum and get her to come down and reverse it for me. Which was pathetic, but necessary.
And that, friends, is why I like to drive hatchbacks.
