This is personal.

There are, at last count, millions of cars on the road. Billions? How the heck is someone supposed to stand out? Snazzy paint job? Check. Rear spoiler? Double check. Rims and tires that cost more than the rest of the car combined? Got it. I mean, I 've seen it all. Seconds after turning sixteen, I proudly showed my mom all of the spoilers and sun shades and louvers I was willing to spend my own money on to turn her boring red 1978 Toyota Celica into a lean, mean, driving machine. I think it went something like this:

Mom: What do you want to do to my car?
16 yr. old GM: You mean our car?
Mom: Did you pay for it?
16 yr. old GM: I was only 15 when you bought it. Now I have a job and want to make up for it.
Mom: Well I won't be seen driving around looking like that!
16 yr. old GM: Like what?
Mom: Like some 16 year old from the ghetto!
16 yr. old GM: Mom the cars in the ghetto don't look this good.

And on it went. Suffice it to say, the Celica remained boring, and mom didn't have to look like a jackass driving her own car. But there is one dubious bit of personalizing done out there that sometimes makes you laugh, sometimes makes you angry, and sometimes makes you say WTF? I am talking about vanity license plates.

I used to have one, actually. Back in my young and stupid and playing ultimate frisbee all the time days, I thought the name of our beloved team, the Flying Spuds, should be immortalized on my 1986 Chevy Camaro. But Flying Spuds exceeds the 7 letter limit in Illinois, so I settled on FL SPUD 1. I got it. My friends got it. But everyone else asked me if I was a potato farmer from Florida. That's when I realized that I looked dumb out there on the roads, as no one in their right mind would ever believe there were potato farms in Florida.

Today, in a social experiment, kind of, I wrote down every personalized plate I saw. So in no particular order, they were: GUAPO, MY BENZ 1, M OR W, ARISTOS, JSCNU, ECRA 1, M 16, PHILOS 4, KINOLA 6, ATS I, WTSOX, AVERY 9, SANDIAS, DNITA 67, IM MD 3, REAL LS 1, GRR ARGH (I shit you not), BKM 89, OSCAR 79, J STEW 2, SIGNSN 3, INTRNT, and MY UHOH 1. Now taken as a whole, most of these fall into the category of huh? Obviously they are personal to that person, but I haven't a clue. A few are clear cut, like M 16. He also had some sort of gun sticker, and he had veterans plates. So yea, don't mess with that guy. And the MY BENZ 1. On a Mercedes. Really? Your flippin' car that says "Mercedes" everywhere, and has the little unmistakable Mercedes logos all over it? Thanks for clearing that up. You spend an extra $100 a year to tell us what you already spent $75,000 on: that you're loaded. One guy is a Chicago White Sox fan (figure it out). And one woman is always pissed off. When I passed GRR ARGH, I looked at her and she did look pissed.

But a few plates beg a few questions. Like the lady hunched over the steering wheel like a 90 year granny in a spankin' new Camaro. Guess which one...her plate read, MY UHOH 1. UHOH as in "Watch out road, here I come in this rocket ship with wheels and I really suck at driving?" Or UHOH as in "I'll be paying this car off for a decade?" Or what about the INTRNT guy? Are you telling us that A. you invented the internet or B. you use the internet? If it's A, then you are more full of shit than Al Gore. If it's B, then congratu-freakin-lations. Welcome to the real world Neo.

I can't end without mentioning the 3 most memorable plates I have ever seen. The first was 1. That's it, just the number 1. It was an old Checker Limo, the second in a 2 car motorcade, and as I passed, I saw then Governor Jim Thompson. "Kewl," I thought. The other was one that pissed me off a little. It read, U ENVY ME. Umm, I do? And who the f$%k are you? I looked over as I passed, and she was a hot blond with a smug look on her little face, and I thought, "What an egotistical thing to do." Should I cut her off, run her into the ditch, so her car catches on fire, and as I run up to the window as she reaches out of the burning auto crying for help I can say, "Now who envies who bitch?" Well, I didn't. I should have, but didn't. Then a few weeks went by and I went to a friends barbecue and guess what car was sitting in the driveway? Well it wasn't my friends car, but his next door neighbors. I asked him about it and he responded that yea, she basically walked around like her shit didn't stink. Now her shit may or may not have stunk, but I'm sure glad I didn't run her off the road.

And the third? This is no joke. A neighbor, whose name was Jay, gave his wife a loaded Cadillac Escalade, or Chevy Urbantank, or something ridiculous like that, and had put on vanity plates. She was Jay's girl, and he wanted the world to know it. Nothing wrong with that. Except, in the confines of the 7 letter limit, JAYS GIRL missed by one. Personally, I would have gone with JAYS GRL. Everyone would get it. But he opted for this: JZ GIRL. Um, when I read it, I see something totally else entirely. Like a girl who is in love with, hmmm how to put this delicately? In love with a certain male fluid that spurts out of the, um, well you get it. Now driving down the road, everyone doesn't look at her plates and know to whom she belongs, they look at her and think she is a porn star. And I never had the guts to say a word to her.