In which I perform manly internet searches.

Yes, I did feel stupid googling "auto show babes" to find the best pictures. And yes, I felt even more silly when that didn't produce sexy enough results and I conditioned my search with "hot auto show babes." Admittedly, that spandex queen isn't quite what I was looking for, but she's showing the requisite amount of leg. And if the Workplace Big Brother spied anymore "sexy car babe" google searches I'd have to officially relinquish my status as a girl.

Anyway.

I love auto shows - make a point to go every year when the scaled down version rolls through Seattle. Get a huge kick out of peeking under the hood, playing "find the USB port" in the console of each one, settling down into those nice leather seats and imagining how much more fun, more comfortable, more stylish my next road trip to Napa would be were it spent behind the wheel of, oh the Volvo C30...or the Acura RDX...or the cute little BMW 1 series. If I had that lovely Nav package, I wouldn't NEED to continually work to hide the sad fact that I was born without an internal compass (read: born female. it's true).

BUT - it also got me thinking about my next job, since frankly this week from Hades makes barista work, or garbage man work, or Strip Mall Tax Prep Service Advertiser work (think that Liberty Tax guy in the Statue of Liberty costume) or Dog Walker work or Mall Kiosk Hair Extension Sales Girl work sound pretty good. Pretty good indeed. But none of those sound as good as Auto Show Booth Babe. Put on a hot dress (definitely add the Ridiculous Bra), sexy heels, too much eye makeup, and stand around looking svelte, coy, brainless, vacant-eyed and vaguely unattainable. Make that Buick LaCrosse look like just what every man needs.

Oh - and speaking of Buicks...

Played hookey from work last time the auto show came through town - did my best to completely avoid the Vacuous Buick Booth because there had been such an uncomfortably concerted effort to convince us ahead of time that the redesigned LaCrosse would revolutionize the way "my generation" views Buick. I didn't want my Buick Views revolutionized. I'd been revolutionized enough by how annoying the Scion People still insist on being. So, I tried to slink past. Cast a sidelong glance at the LaCrosse. Admitted it didn't look bad, exactly, just: bland. Not overtly American, just: beige. Not distinctly Middle-Aged, just: too large. Oops - now there's a sales guy approaching. Head down - eyes to the floor. Quick - grab blackberry, Pretend to Text. Shoot - he's speaking:

"What do you think of the new LaCrosse? It's going to Revolutionize Your Generation's Views of Buick."

Fine. I'm stuck. May as well be polite. Bat eyelashes. Smile. Walk his direction...

"Don't like it."

Oops - now sales guy is going to have a heart attack. Here I am, their new target demographic, trendy shoes and all and I've written them off already and it's only 3pm on the first day of the show.

"It's because you haven't touched it. Come here. TOUCH the car."

"Are you serious?"

"Just lay your hand on it. You'll see."

Great. Seriously? Now if I pitch a fit and refuse to touch the car I become That Girl With Irrational Fear of Buicks. I'm not that girl. I'm the Girl Underwhelmed By Buicks and Non-plussed by This Salesguy.

Ok.

Approach car. Extend hand.

ZAP!

Righteously shocked.

"Ow!"

Cue moment of Salesman's dreams:

"It's ELECTRIFYING, isn't it?!"

"Oh, that's one way to put it."

"So, what do you think. It FEELS good, doesn't it?"

"It's, uh, really smooth paint." Stop looking down my shirt.

"Would you buy one?"

Again - are you kidding? Okay, let him down easy. He's got nothing but middle aged dads and their bored wives and sons to look forward to for the rest of the afternoon anyway.

"I'll be honest, it's a little...Too Big to fit." Smirk. "To fit me, I mean. I drive smaller, lighter cars. And I parallel park every day. This beast would be a pain in the ass to parallel park."

"Handles like a dream...I used to sell Cadillacs - I'll be honest, this thing out-handles the Cadillacs, hands down."

"Sure. It's just that, well...I sit in a lot of traffic. I don't get much opportunity to, oh, really let loose, open it up, feel the power...drive hard..." and other such innuendo. "Oh, you know - I see my Dad over there - gotta run."

Phew. Narrow miss. Next thing he would have wanted me to sit in the thing - stroke the wheel, grip the shifter, caress the stereo controls, melt into the smooth, leather embrace of the LaCrosse. Fall in love, basically.

Thankfully, it's time for cold shower over at Honda.

But enough about the Seattle iteration of the Real Deal. This week the Big Boys take Detroit. For 14 days, American Automobiles strut their re-vamped, re-designed, re-marketed stuff (and visitors ignore them and bee-line to the Love-it or Hate-it Porsche Sedan, the automotive industry's most grievous oxymoron...). Oh, to visit the Real Deal someday. I'm pretty convinced James Bond would be there somewhere. And platform slingbacks would be perfectly acceptable attire. And sitting down inside a Buick would instead involve showers of glitter and perfectly chilled glasses of Krug and the Booth Babes would look like Allesandra Ambrosio and the salesmen roles would be played by Aaron Eckhart and Billy Zane. People would pile into the backseats for little speed-dating style mini-parties before they move on to the next model. The fun would last until the sun comes up. There wouldn't be such a thing as a "high-brow concept car off-limits to the public." Every day would open with a live performance by Flo-Rida.

Er...wait. Detroit.

No....

Generic-looking executives in suits. That's pretty much it.

Either way - they've got Hot Chicks Standing Beside American Cars. Either way, I'm not buying that Buick.

That IS the LaCrosse hanging on the wall there, yes.