I like to think of my car as my second home, since I seem to spend so much time in it these days. I feel quite connected with my car, the little white VW Golf that could. A lot of people name their cars for various reasons (Neil Patrick Harris named his car Judas. He has a Prius. Judas Prius, get it?) but I somehow never got around to naming mine. I thought about it a couple times, but all I could come with was…car. Either way, my car is my home away from home.

In my car I have: an umbrella bought from H&M in London, Clinton Kelly and Stacy London’s book, “Dress Your Best,” the current issue of New York magazine, my gym bag, my makeup bag from J.Crew, my purse, the new Anthropologie catalogue, a tin can shaped liked a London phone booth with change in it for meters and a Los Angeles travel guide.

I also have two post its with directions to Sony Studios (one without highways and one with - neither helped), the ticket and press packet to Sex and the City on my dashboard, along with a strawberry car freshener that no longer smells of anything. In the back seat I’ve got more than I should, including some new gray Dolce Vita shoes, my portfolio full of clips and some miscellaneous papers I just threw back there because there was no where else to put them at the time.

My car kinda serves as a public storage, except it’s private, and I like it that way. When I get around to it, I do clean it out eventually. At this point, I wouldn’t have any other car. It keeps me warm in the winter, cool in the summer, stores my stuff and takes me throughout Los Angeles every day to Santa Monica. I love his little hatch back and that I can fit into virtually any space and that despite the current gas crunch, it doesn’t cost that much to fill him up, compared to what other people pay anyway. Right now, with the average gas in L.A being somewhere around $4.15 to 4.50, it takes me $50 to fill up my tank. When I first started driving in high school 6 years ago, I think it cost about $25 to fill it up. How sad.