Stick Shift So I've been learning over the past three days how to drive a stick shift. My boyfriend, Connor, is in Germany to see a couple of World Cup soccer games. Bastard. He left his car for me to drive and it is standard. So needless to say I've been bucking all around Portland. Today I had a lot of things I needed to accomplish before getting to work at nine. I needed to take a bath (I take baths instead of showers, get over it), let the dog out, get ready, get my dog's stuff together, get myself and the dog into the car, drop off a movie, bring the dog over to my parent's place in Scarborough, get gas, go to the post office and then finally go to work. If I had an automatic car I would have left my house at 7:45. This morning, to be safe, I left at 6:45. Side bar comment. We normally have a hell of a time getting Duke to sit once he is in the car; however, since I've been driving stick, he gets in and lies down immediately. Thanks Duke. Everything went fine, dropped off the movie, got gas, dropped off the dog, went to the post office and then headed to work without incident. Well maybe the woman I almost ran over, because I didn't want to have to deal with first gear, could be considered an 'incident'. She was j-walking. I blame her. The only thing left to do on my list was get to work and park the car. I was going up a hill next to my building when I saw a spot. Good. But in order to park there I needed to parallel park...on a hill...on a busy street. Bad. First I had a wave of panic engross me, then the hives suffice it to say I started sweating like a 500-pound man in a chicken suit. I knew the first attempt was crucial. If I could back into the space close enough to the curb the first time then there wouldn't be inevitably superfluous maneuvering. I lined up my car with the car in front of the spot; put it in neutral and coasted back. Not bad, I ended up about three feet from the curb, ok, maybe three and half. I was thinking maybe I could leave it there. Three feet wasn't that far. I mean, if you stand three feet tall you are a midget or a dwarf, a midget or a dwarf is, well, little. Therefore, three feet to the curb times a midget or a dwarf equals I have no idea what I'm talking about. Right. I got out to get a better angle. To be honest, if no one was there, I would have left it. However, due to the fact that I was blocking a lane of traffic and people were yelling obscenities in my general direction I decided it best to move my car closer. Note to self; don't block a lane of traffic in the center of town in rush hour. Second note to self; when someone asks you if you are retarded they most likely mean that as a rhetorical question and answering them may cause them to become more escalated. I got back in my car...quickly. Put her into first, bucked a couple inches and stalled. First again, buck, stall. I revved the engine to about 3,500 and shot forward then slammed on the breaks just in time to avoid slamming into the car in front of me. I put it in reverse. Bucked. Stalled. You get the point, no? I finally managed to park and by managed I mean I ended up one and a half feet away from the curb and more diagonal than parallel. My tally: it took fifteen minutes, four to ten stalls, fifteen mini breakdowns, three angry commuters who were verbally expressive, two angry commuters who were more visually expressive, and a group of 17 year old (give or take) boys asking me if I needed help in order to park the car. Not bad. I think this whole driving a standard thing is going swimmingly. You?