The time has come for me to finally get a car. Nothing flash, although for a time I had a Honda Type R Civic as my desktop wallpaper. Since I used to live in the city I needed a tiny, squat car that could fit into the smallest of spaces. Now that I'm out West (although not quite the fooly sick West), I can afford to get something bigger. Something that harkens back to my Bacolod years. Something that will fit my rapidly growing entourage and all our sporting paraphernalia. Something that's beauty and beast rolled in one, a multi-tasking mobile that can haul a film crew up a mountain one day and rock me and my date up to the Hilton the next.

Who am I kidding, give me something that won't die on me in the M4 in the middle of the night and I'm a happy man.

Am hitting the used car dealerships this weekend and it should be interesting to see if these salesmen are exactly the same as those clichéd characters you see in movies- loud suits, dripping pomade and charm. Since I can't haggle for shit and pretty much know nothing about cars, I'll get Pete to come along with me to inspect and bargain. The problem is, he drives a Mercedes, which would quite possibly give the impression that we were rolling in dough. So, I'll take Miguel too, in his more subtle looking RAV 4, and he can lean on the bonnet and look intimidating and hopefully scare the dealer to giving us 50% off. If those tactics don't work then I can always bring along Ala and Cat to bat their eyelashes and smile a little bit.

I wonder what car will "choose me?"