Have car, will drive.

Usually, when my father asks me if I want to use his car during the winter while he’s in Mexico, I laugh in his face and say, “Hells no, my Pap-dawg!  I ain’t need no hassle of gassin’ it and worryin’ about it and dealin’ wit’ no alt’nate side o’ the street bullshnizz and diggin’ it out of the snow and shizz.  Keep yo’ crazy car, old man, keep it!”  (I’m paraphrasing.)

This year however, I got struck by a whim.  I said to myself: “Think Carrie.  If you had a car, you could more easily get to those gigs in Jersey or Connecticut or north of The Bronx without as much of an issue.  You’d be free to take any gig and you could get really well known across the country and become really famous and invest wisely in your fame and retire and take a nap.”  And I love naps so I accepted my father’s generous offer.  He added me to his insurance and suddenly, I have a car.

This last week, I lived the dream.  I booked a gig in Long Island and chauffeured myself and another comic to it.  (By the way, this particular gig was so inaccessible via public transportation that when I asked Google maps about it, Google went into a weeping trembling coma.)  We did the gig and I drove us back to civilization.  A mini-roadtrip!

And yesterday, I chauffeured a comic to his gig north of the city and he actually paid me.  We got there and I did 23 seconds of crowd-work before introducing him.  We had a giggly comic-bonding ride there and back.  And, bonus: he had a GPS device which is really the only way to travel when you have no idea where you’re going.  AND… I faced my fear of driving on the streets of Manhattan, which I have been raised since birth to fear.  Go me.

Anyway, I have a car and I want to drive it.  If you’re a comic and you need a ride to a gig, I’ll trade you a ride for a spot.  Or money.  Or both.  (Depends on the gig.)  Let’s live the dream!