Typing at you live from my Starbucks studio on the corner of Redhill and Edinger in lovely Tustin, California. Outside is parked my Silver BMW
325 328i loaner car from Crevier BMW. Inside I’m parked at a table in the far corner looking at girls wearing jeans that are too tight and business-type guys wearing shirts that are a little too blue.
At the dealer, there was the guy referenced above. Turns out he was one of those “I’m too important to have to wait” people too.
Ahhhh. Orange County. And, I don’t belong here.
Don’t get me wrong. I like the OC. The beach, the sterile cleanliness of Irvine. The funkiness that is 17th Street in Costa Mesa. The true weirdos in Laguna Beach. Like ’em all.
Before you OC residence get in a snit, this isn’t in reference to any of you. It’s your neighbors, the people you work with. Heck, it’s probably your boss. Whoever they are, they aren’t my kind of people.
They lease their BMWs and Mercs because they think they are supposed to. The go to Newport Beach bars for no other reason than so they can say the word Newport Beach in the office tomorrow. They have no cash and probably living on the edge of debt, if not completely submerged in it. All in an effort to live the OC lifestyle with their OC friends and OC cars and OC happening places.
I’m a simple guy. I like simple things. I like to pay for things with money I have. I don’t have fake teeth, boobs or have had any kind of surgery to alter my body in anyway. I don’t have a thing in the common with these people and wonder if they know they are like this.
Again, this isn’t all the OC peeps. I have some great friends that are great people that live in the OC. Somehow they are the ones that managed to not get caught up in the OC haze.
It’s the rest of them.
For the record, I would **never** drive a car because I think it would impress people. Ok, except for an Audi R8. But c’mon, you’ve seen it, right?