If I were a super hero, my super power would be Getting Lost.

I've decided that driving in LA is officially not my cup of tea.
Shocker, right? Really original thought, I bet you've NEVER heard that one before.
Well, I am just making a personal declaration that I already previously felt was true, but was solidified for me this weekend. Details? Why certainly...

I took one of my friends, Kendra (who ironically was the first prospective student who stayed with me last year at Biola Bound. She now attends Biola, and lives in my dorm, on my floor...across the hall. Crazy) and we went to the LA Fashion District to get some merchandise for Go Lucky, which I have done several times before.

When we arrive, I realize neither of us have cash, and we have to pay to park. Hmmm.
So, brilliantly I decided we would just drive around and find an ATM, get cash, and be on our way. The plan was working perfectly, I punched in all the info into my GPS and I was dodging cars and pedistrians like there was no tomorrow. When we get to Washington Mutual ATM aka a tiny kiosk inside a mini-McDonald's (classy, right?) I just tell Kendra to hop out and get the cash and I'll swing back and pick her up because there was no parking on the busy street. Perfect, or so we thought.

It turns out that one-way streets and I are not the best of friends, because I got SO incredibly turned around that I ended up on 16th street when I dropped Kendra off at 7th street...seriously? seriously. So here I am, in my Jeep (which all of the sudden feels like driving a tank with zero turn radius around all these tiny BMW's and crowded streets) with only Gypsy (my GPS, whose satille reception was too weak to do any good) by my side, and I am near tears wanting SO badly to know where I am and how to get back to where I was. Meanwhile, Kendra is calling me every few mintues, by herself, on the street corner getting hit on repeatedly, perfect.

I finally after a good 20 minutes of frantically making right turns, squinting at street signs and suppressing all desires to cry, I make it back to Kendra and we scream and whine the whole way back to the Fash. Dist. And at the end of the day, the man at the parking garage ended up liking me a little more than I preffered or anticipated and let us park for FREE. The $20 from that cursed ATM is still in my wallet.

Moral of the story: Make friends with parking lot attendants with hopes that they will fall in love with you and give you free parking. The end.