If my car wasn't such crap, I might feel better. But it's practically got pieces falling off of it as I drive. I'm going to pull away from one of these houses one day and leave a muffler or something next to some million-dollar bit of statuary.

I am tutoring these high school girls with impeccable French manicures and perfect highlights, who dress in sweats and T-shirts on the weekend, who drive Camaros and who like Eminem. They're ordinary kids, yet it seems like such an alien life.

I don't really care about being wealthy, it's just an odd feeling of dissonance. This is not my beautiful life. I feel the same way when I'm driving through Beverly Hills and I see all the Mexican women waiting at bus stops-- the nannies and housekeepers of the Rich and Famous.

I picture them going home to their small houses in the Valley and I wonder what really goes on in their heads when they're making fresh lemonade for Jennifer Aniston, or wiping the ass of Michael Douglas' baby. (Or Michael Douglas himself, but let's not think about that one too closely...)

It's a weird association, I know. Maybe it's just experiencing how The Other Half lives, and trying to remind myself that fundamentally, there's very little difference. I mean, who doesn't love Eminem?

Many of you have written me about this--I was interviewed and photographed for a magazine article a while back, and the magazine is now on newsstands everywhere.

Unfortunately, the picture of me is Less Than Flattering (the photo shoot was a couple hours long, I know there were cute pictures of me in there somewhere) and the article makes me sound like an insipid twit. Faaaaabulous.

Wanna hear the worst quote? Of course you do, because it's embarrassing as hell. "I'm big-- pardon the pun-- on loving yourself just the way you are."

Oh, my god. I hang my head in shame. I commit seppuku under the crepe myrtle tree. "I'm big, pardon the pun." I would never say something so utterly INANE.

"See, I'm not big ON this, but clearly, I am BIG, in that I am a big fat person! Get it? GET IT?"

The thing that kills me is that it makes me sound stupid. If there's one thing I've got going for me, I'm not stupid. And this article has me saying things like that. I'm big, pardon the pun. Oh ho ho ho.

Kill me.

While I'm sort of on the subject, when I was in Los Angeles, my parents could not stop talking about my weight. Except they totally don't get it. My dad said to me, "Well, I haven't really looked at you yet, but Mom says you're really getting somewhere!"

That is offensive on like eight levels. Okay, hi, I'm your daughter and I've been here for two days. What do you mean you haven't looked at me yet? And while you're saying this to me, why not take the opportunity to look at me while you do it. What are you looking at, if not at me? The wall right behind me? A spot right above my head? Or do you mean you just haven't looked at my ass yet or something? And if so, GROSS!

And secondly, what do you mean "getting somewhere"? I'm glad to know that there's somewhere I'm supposed to be getting. They keep saying "keep it up" and stuff. They don't care about bike riding as a hobby at all, just as a weight-loss mechanism.

My mom said, "Oh, we're going to be new women together" or something (she's on Weight Watchers and has lost 25 pounds so far). I said, "Well Mom, I'm active, healthy and happy. I feel pretty good the way I am." She stopped short. "Oh. Yes...." she said, sort of weakly.

Nope, she doesn't get it.

Another thing my parents don't get is pop culture. I have never met two people so wholly ignorant of anything resembling pop culture, even though they've lived in America for decades upon decades.

I came up with a cruel test. I asked my mom to name any three actors. She answered, "Ronald Regan.... John Wayne.... and Jack Ritter." Jack Ritter! That is just killing. My dad said "Marilyn Monroe, Arnold Schwarzenneger and Frank Sinatra." Well, okay then.

Then I asked them to name three living actors, because I am mean. My dad's only contribution was "Kenanu Reeve." My mom's first answer was "Austin Powers" and then she couldn't think of any more. We started talking about something else. Finally, five minutes later, Mom got this look of glee upon her face and shouted, "Robert Redford!!!" All proud of herself.

No, she doesn't know pop culture. But she sure is cute sometimes.

I got my car back and everything, and it cost me a little less than I envisioned paying. That's the good news. The bad news is, now the axles need to be replaced. I am afraid of throwing good money after bad to fix my falling-apart car, even if the Protective Spirit of Grandma does come standard.

I am debating the wisdom of car shopping. Not for a new car-- that would be impossible-- but maybe an old Honda of some type-- a blue hatchback Civic, reminiscent of the Geo Pet. From a dealer. With a warranty.

One concern is insurance-- even with an old Honda, insurance is going to cost way more than it does on my 300 year old Ford. And car payments, which I really can't afford-- but I don't want to buy something crappy, either. The whole point is to have a reliable car.

At least the brakes are fixed, and I've bought myself some time. Until the axles fall off, anyway. That's the breaks, I guess!

Pardon the pun.