I bought a car for no real reason.

When I was 19, I bought a '93 Oldsmobile Cutlass Ciera. Needed to. HAD to. Was his true? No. But for some reason, I got it into my head that I needed a car, so I bought one. This car specifically, needed to be bought as when I was a kid, my mom owned this type of car. Why did that matter? I don't know. But I wanted THIS car. This type of car. So I looked for one, and found it. Sixteen hundred dollars for this thing. Bought it. 

"Sixteen hundred dollars for a car that's twelve years old and that I don't need at all!? Sweet!"

I'll start from why I didn't need this thing. At the time I bought this car, I was living in my friends closet. True. I'll get into more of that story another time, but basically my last year of high school, I needed a place to stay. My friend asked his mom, and she agreed to let me stay there. Pretty crazy. So, I was sleeping in his closet. Not like closet, closet, but doors off, bed in closet, head in closet, closet. With that, I for sure didn't need a car. Getting my own place should have been a higher priority. Having my own room and a closet for clothes instead of sleeping should have been at the forefront. 

"Hey, man. You're staying at a friends. You gonna get your own place?"

"Meh, maybe. First I have to get an automobile, a PS2, and an outdoor pool. I figure that other thing out later."

Another reason I didn't need this car, was that I was actually working at my friends dads warehouse, and his dad picked us up everyday for work. Everyday. No problem at all getting there. And still, for some reason, I decided I needed this car. 

"Hey, you're buying a car. You need it to get to work and back?"

"No. Not at all. It's actually going to be way more of a hassle for me, but I'm doing it!"

I'm a stubborn weirdo sometimes, so when I got it into my head that I wanted and needed this car, I bought it. I found it in the paper, called the number, and went to the house to see it. It looked good, but this is coming from a nineteen year old who knows absolutely zero about cars and just wants to buy one. I saw it that night, drove it around the block, and loved it. It was still sixteen hundred dollars though, so I got nervous buying it. The woman called me the next day.

"So, you want to buy the car?"

"I'm not sure. I don't know if I have sixteen hundred right now."

"Well how much do you have? I trust you. Give me what you have now and give me and you can give me the rest later."

Right here I should have said, 'well that doesn't make sense. The car must be in terrible shape. Good day, lady.' But I didn't. I said, 'I'll take it!'

I pick up the car with my friend who's closet I was living in, and decided that the first song that came on the radio would be the cars song. That song, was The Hollies 'Long Cool Woman'.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1l0xpkk0yaQ

Which, thank jesus. It could have been ANYthing. Could have been 'Pictures' by Kid Rock. I like that song, but as a cars theme? 

"Alright, guys. Ready to get nuts? Let's start this road trip with the beast!"

*Presses tape into tape deck*

"I put your picture awaaaaay, sat down and cried todaaaaaay.'

"..... Can you take me home, Nathan? I'm feeling sad for some reason."

From then on, the car was referred to as the long cool woman. Which was great, because it's not small. It's a four door family sedan. I had so many ideas for this car. I wanted to lower it. I wanted to tint the windows and paint it black. I wanted to put rims on it. I was 19. I wanted to do all the stupid things that are done to cars. And I was still sleeping in a closet!

"Hey Nathan. You going to sign a lease on a new apartment so you don't have to wake up looking at clothes above your head?"

"Nope. Going to get spinners on this thing from the 90's. Who needs their own room? They spinning!"

This car, being from '93, only had a tape deck. So I bought a tape to discman converter, and velcroed a discman to my dashboard. Dead serious. When I wanted to change the CD, either the person in the passenger seat had to change it, or if I was alone, had to stretch over when I was stopped at a light to get some different songs going. At the time, most different songs meant Mike Jones. Don't care, I love Mike Jones, and I won't pretend that ASAP Rocky didn't take tons of sounds from him. Either way. I loved this car. Just loved it. But it didn't take long for it to start falling apart.

First, the power steering went. I went over a bump, and somehow that cut the power steering cord. Power steering fluid just poured out, and the steering wheel started to seize up. You ever drive a car without power steering? It's like driving a ship on land.

"Avast! Thar be the gas station. Start pullin er into the dock, we're gonna pillage the potato chip aisle. Yar!"

Another problem with this car that I couldn't know at the time I bought it, was that the gas gauge didn't work. It would only work up to half, and then below half you would have to guess at where you were at. This sucked MANY times. I never knew where I was gas wise. Playing Russian roulette with myself.

"Oh, man. How far can we go? It's below half! Way below or like a quarter tank? No damn idea! Turn that Mike Jones up!"

Twice I completely ran out of gas. Once was coming down a hill, and seriously and thankfully, at the bottom was a gas station. I was barely able to pull in there. Second time was on my way to work at 7 am. Pulling out of a parking lot, the car completely died on in the middle of the sidewalk. I was half way in the street, and half way in the parking lot. Had to call a friend to help me push it, then walk to a gas station to fill a can. This part of the car was never fixed.

Didn't know this either when I first bought it, but the brakes were complete trash. Going down a hill once, (most of the issues were on a hill) the brakes just started grinding. Sounded like metal on metal. I was with a friend and I went right to Canadian Tire. Best idea? No, but I was nineteen and clearly didn't care about money at all.

"You can buy these chips for two dollars."

"Here's five, keep it! I'm over paying on car repair, why not everything!"

I was with a friend of mine and told him that I would be alright with any price, as long as it wasn't a thousand dollars. Just then a Canadian Tire employee came out.

"Who owns the '93 cutlass?"

"That's me."

He sits down beside me, and said, 'It's going to cost you a thousand dollars to fix those brakes."

My friend thought was hilarious, started laughing and ran away. I told the guy that I didn't have that, and he said it would be minimum four hundred to fix it. So I paid him four hundred, they fixed the brakes, and me and my friend drove to the casino. I did not win that money back.

If I knew anything at all, when I was bought this car I would have checked the tires. Would have looked at them AT ALL. I didn't, and that came to bite me one day. The tires on this car, were bad. Bad bad. I was driving once, and a front tire exploded. Crazy because that day I had driven EVERYwhere. I had driven people home, I had been on a highway! Not where it popped though, thankfully, and seriously, happened on a side street while I was going down a slight hill. This car was not good on hills. 

"Where do you live? Down there? Can't do it in this chariot of bustedness. She can't handle going down."

I ended buying brand new tires, and the car felt great. At this point, I had put more into the car than it cost, and I still, in no way, needed this car. Brand new tires on a  car, and my bed was a broken futon in a closet. Ridiculous. 

"You have your own car? Sweet. Your place must be great."

"My place is someone else's place. And my room is a room in someone else's room.... Let's stay in the car."

At the end of the day, this car cost me thousands of dollars, with repairs and everything, and when I moved to Toronto I sold it for a thousand. Someone bought it for parts. I had had this car for about seven months. That's it. Seven months with the long cool woman. Still loved that car though, and even though I didn't need it, I'm happy I bought it. 

Twitter @nathanmacintosh

Best Dancer In High School.

There was a point in high school where I was drinking a ton and was really depressed. I didn't really know at the time that I was depressed, but I wasn't in a good place. I hated going to school, just hated it. I was showing up to school hung over every Thursday. Me and some friends called Wednesday 'Wasted Wednesday'. I was going to improv classes, then meeting up with friends at a place we called 'The Bar.' The Bar was a flipped over fridge we found in the woods. Every single Wednesday, we'd meet at 'The Bar' and drink. I'd drink a full quart of rum to myself, then go to school the next day. I was going to school every Thursday like I had lost my job at the plant. 

"Nathan, you okay? You look terrible. The factory shut down?"

"No. 'Wasted' and 'Wednesday' sort of go together. That's it."

Every Thursday, the first class I had was english. At 9 am. I would basically be crawling in there. One day after class my teacher stopped me. 

"Nathan, I know you're showing up to class drunk."

"I'm not drunk. I'm hung over. And can you be little quieter? My head is going to explode."

I was in a bad way. One time in this class, I had my head on a desk trying not to spin or whatever the hell was happening, and a girl looked at me and said 'You're hot'. Now, had I not been hung over, my head pounding and this girls voice not destroying my fibre, I might have responded differently. But all of that happening, I said 'Fuck you.' That was my response. 'Fuck you.' Just awful. 

I was really down, and on a path to nothing good. I decided after grade 10 that I wasn't going to go to school for the first semester of grade 11. Just wasn't going to do it. Everyone told me that I'd never go back to school. Every single person told me that I'd never go back and finish high school. I knew that I would. I knew I would go back and finish school, I just needed to change some things. I took the time off of school, got a job, and quit drinking every single week. 

"Nathan, you okay? You look alright. The factory open back up?"

"No. I just decided to stop drinking like my wife passed away in a car accident."

I started to be in a better mood. I started to hang out with people who were fun, didn't need to drink and do drugs, and were into the same things I was. I started to think more positively. And I started to think about going back to school the next semester. Also started to think that I wanted to go back in a different way. I wanted to be that dude at dances. You know, THAT dude, the guy that had people circling him. The guy that was crushing it on the floor. Wanted to go back and be that guy. I remember walking around the dances before I stopped going to school, and I felt weird and out of place. I didn't like it. I would only try to dance with girls that I was friends with, and pretty much only slow dances. Then, 'the dude' would just start tearing it up. People would be excited. People would circle around, jump around and smile. 

So, I set out to do that. At the time I had started to really love Michael Jackson. I don't remember why, or really how it started, but I loved the man. I bought everything, and I'd come home after work and learn the moves in my mirror. I would dance to Michael Jackson, staring at the mirror, thinking of being the dude in school. This went on for months. Me working a fast food job, coming home, tossing on Michael and power dancing in my mirror. 

"Nathan, you okay? You look greasy and tired. The music factory start up again?"

"I'm started not to know what these comments mean. Please stop them."

After that full semester of working and dancing alone, I went back to school. Before a dance rolled around, there was a karaoke contest in the school. I signed up. Could I sing? Not at all. I hadn't come home after working a fast food job and sang in the mirror. So what did I do? I danced. I danced to Billy Jean. Had all the moves down. I was up there feeling great. I knew I didn't sing so I didn't think I was going to win, but I just wanted to perform. The contest winner was based on audience applause, and I won. I won a t-shirt I'm pretty sure. I was so excited. People were telling me how great it was. Dancing in my mirror alone like a nut paid off. 

"Nathan, you okay? You dance at night alone for the future enjoyment of others. You want a job at a factory instead?'

"I swear to christ, stop this."

Dances came around, and I became that dude. Well, one of the guys. There was another dude in my school who break danced. He was great. We would be the dudes at dances. People wanted me at dances. They'd come around, and people would ask me if I was going. Lots of people. I put on shows at school with another friend of mine who was a pop locker. I had a bunch of confidence and was having fun. I wasn't hurting anybody, mostly myself. Wasn't drinking or doing drugs. I was doing good in school. Having fun with just life. This went on for a couple years, and I was voted best dancer in my high school. Was I that good? No, but I was known. And I mean, how many people are even dancing in high school? 

Now, I didn't think that was thing that would upset anyone, but it did. There was someone in my school who hated that I was voted best dancer. They thought they could dance better than me. When they would see me in the hall, they would start dancing. Just stop mid conversation, and start dancing. 

"Yeah, you know, I'm probably going to go to that par..."

Then he'd see me and just start crushing. I knew he was mad at me, but I didn't get it. He wasn't dancing at school. I asked him once if he wanted to put on a show with me. We could both dance, entertain people. He just stared at me, then was like 'naw, man. I ain't into that.' Okay, well I tried. I thought that would be the end of it, but one time while walking home from the store, a guy came out of nowhere.

"Yo, you think you can dance better than my dude?"

It was winter time. I had a big coat on, was holding some gummy bears I had bought. 

"What? Who is your dude?"

"Yo, you serious? Yo, man, he don't know who you are!"

Then, also out of nowhere, came the guy who was mad I was voted best dancer. 

"You don't know who I am?"

"Yeah, I do man. I didn't know he met you. What's up?"

The other dude jumped back in.

"You think you can dance better than him?"

"Man, I never said that."

"Let's go around the corner and have a dance off."

This was actually said. This guy wanted me to have a dance off with his friend in the winter behind a bar. I'm guessing he'd be the judge? And this was exactly what I'd come up to him about in school! But do something like this in front of an audience, not in the snow behind a bar I used to go watch drunks fight in front of.

"No, man. I'm not doing that."

"Ahhh, look at that. He's scared to go around the corner with us because we're black and he thinks we'll rob him."

Not in anyway was that what I thinking. I was thinking 'it's cold. This is ridiculous. I'm going back to my friends house. Can I just eat these gummy bears.' Thought I'd run the show thing by him again.

"Dude, why don't we do this at school?"

"Naw, man. You scared."

Then, they walked away, and I walked away. We never had an interaction again, and I graduated soon after that. After school, pretty much quit dancing all together, and started doing comedy. In a lot of ways, should have kept dancing. Comedy does not NEARLY make women run like dancing does, and nobody has ever asked me to go behind a bar with them and have a joke off. There's no 'Step Up' movie about punchlines. 

"Yo, he can tell a joke? I bet he's good in bed."

None of that. But either way, for a little while, I was that dude.

Twitter @nathanmacintosh

Sibling Day.

I know. Sibling day is not a real day. It's an internet thing. But still, it made me think of some things. I have a younger brother. We look very similar. Same father. Same mother. Both of us have red hair and skin pale enough to use as wax paper. My brother is two and a half years younger than me. I was around for a couple of years before he showed up. I was the only child for awhile. I don't remember too much about it, but I'm pretty sure it was great. 

The Dust Buster - One day my brother showed up. I wasn't a fan. Now there were two of us? How the hell was this gonna work. I wanted all the attention. One night my mom was downstairs. I went to his crib, and took a dust buster to his head like an ECW match. The dust buster was sucking up his tiny hair, and he was balling. I don't know what I was trying to do, I just wasn't a fan of him. My mom came running upstairs to see why he was crying, and I hid the dust buster. 

The Reese Cups - I was in grade two, and my brother wasn't in school yet. I got off the bus home, and my mom said, 'Hey. I got you guys some reese cups. Alex has them in the room.' I went into our room, and my brother couldn't be found. No brother. I looked around, then opened up the closet. There was my brother, on the floor, eating all six reese cups. Weird look on his face. He was probably sick from all the chocolate. I'm pretty sure I started to cry. No reese cups for me. 

The Dinky Car - My mom drove us to the library once to drop off a book. I was five, brother was almost three. I had a little dinky car that I was driving on the door. A dinky car from the 80's. Just a pure piece of metal. My mom goes into the library, and my brother starts calling me a bum. I told him, 'Say it again, and I'm throwing this dinky car at your head.' He looks around super coy, then looks at me, 'you're a bum.' I hauled back and whipped this thing at his head. Bam! Hits him above the eye, and he bursts open. Blood is running down his face, and he's screaming. He's bleeding bad. Bleeding like he's in an ECW match. I run into the library. I tell mom that something happened. She gets to the car, and sees this complete mess, and I tell her that Alex was jumping around, fell, and hit his head on the door. We drive to the emergency room, and instead of stitches, the doctor glues his head back together. This surgical glue or something. As he's gluing the wound back together, the doctor glues his glove to my brothers head. My brother is screaming as this doctor is pulling on a glove that is stuck to his forehead. 

The Chin Explosion - When I was little, I had superman pajamas. They were great. They had a little cape attached to them. My mom asked me to take some towels up to the linen closet. I get to the bottom of the stairs, and start thinking superman in these sweet as pajamas. I tear up these wooden steps, wearing socks, and slipped. I come down directly on my chin. Bam! Opens right the hell up. Opens up like I'm in an ECW match. My mom rushes me to the emergency with my brother. We get there, and have to wait. I'm holding one of the towels I had been taking upstairs to my chin, bleeding everywhere. My mom asks my brother to take a dollar and get a ginger ale. He puts the dollar in, and no ginger ale comes out. So, my brother starts kicking the machine. Just booting it. Other people in the emergency room are cheering him on. 

"Yeah! Get it! Kick it!"

Ginger ale falls out. The emergency room cheers. My brother brings it over to me. 

"You need it, Nath."

The urine - My brother and I were really into video games growing up. Had just about every system over the years and spent countless hours playing and beating games. Majoras Mask came out for Nintendo 64, and my brother pretty much locked himself in a room for three straight days. Came out of the room, looking like he'd been to Nam or involved in an ECW match, and went 'beat it.' I was in there a day or so later with my girlfriend at the time. We were fifteen so it was pretty innocent. The room was dark, and there was a bottle of coke on the floor. I took a sip of it, and it was the strongest tasting thing ever. I thought, 'Maaaaan this is flat!' Because I'm stupid, I took another sip. Just another blast of hell to the mouth. THIS time I figure out what had happened. My brother, while beating this game, DID NOT leave the room to piss. Instead, just right into this coke bottle. My girlfriend is going, 'it's that bad? Let me try it!' 'No! No! It's awful. I'm getting rid of it.' I assume this was my brothers way of paying me back for the dinky car. 

The Clothesline - My brother and I hung out a lot when we were very little. By the time I was about twelve, I thought it was kind of stupid to hang out with my younger brother. Thought kids would make fun of me. Really stupid thought, but I was little. One time we were at my grand parents house. I'm pretty sure that we had been arguing a bit about some stupid brother thing. I went outside to get our clothes off the line, and my brother locked me out. I took his clothes, and through them on the ground. He let me back in. 

"Why did you do that? I was just getting out clothes?"

"You were? I thought you were going to do something bad to them."

Then he started to cry and said, 'we could have been friends again.' Kept crying. I felt bad about that at the time, and honestly, still hits me a bit now. He just wanted us to hang out again. Really dumb that I thought hanging with my little brother was stupid. 

The Porn - Rogers used to have a cable box. On that cable box, you could order porn. My brother and I were both in the age for porn. When I would order it, I would try to find things that sounded like actual shows or movies. 'Sopornos.' 'Forrest Hump.' That sort of thing. So that if I did get questioned, I could say 'I messed up! Was trying to get something else.' My brother? Not the same. Would just get ANYthing. 'Whores.' 'Super Whores.' 'You won't BELIEVE what these Whores are doing.' One day we were in our room, and our mom kicked in the door. 

'I just got a bill for four hundred dollars! Which one of have been ordering these dirty movies?!'

Me and my brother both say, 'wasn't me.' Our mom is LOSING it.

'None of you, huh? NEITHER of you ordered these skin flicks?'

To this day, 'skin flicks' said by my mom is the most disgusting thing I've heard. Both of us still did not own up to it. Our mom went on to call Rogers, ask them if there was anyway there was a mistake, was told that those movies were ordered from that our house, by our remote. No mistakes. My brother and I never talked about it, because we both knew we were wrong, and both thought we were the only ones ordering them. 

The brother - There are many other stories about many other things, but basically I love my brother. He's always been an inspiration to me even though he's younger. He's hilarious, an amazing writer, interesting, and speaks his mind. People think that I may be loud at times and talk a bunch, but I was always the quiet one between the two of us. I love my brother.