And by "my" I mean it's my brother's girlfriend's car that she has graciously allowed me to borrow. What's that term about not looking a "gift horse" in the mouth? I have no idea. But I do know that although this piece of shit is better than humping the bus.
Still, after smoking a hot piece of ass like my former ride, this seems unjust. Although it's clocked barely 58,000 miles, it screams in agony when asked to do modest things, like steer, brake or accelerate (if I ever find who stole my baby, he or they will lose a testicle, or 2).
When steering straight on, the steering wheel rests at a 45 degree angle. None of the right side doors lock. And it staggers to life when I twist the key. Oh, and it reeks of her dog. Am I bitching? Yes. Should I be? No.
Really, I'm trying my best not to be a little bitch, but...I'm driving a car with plastic wheel coverings! NOT FAIR! I thought if I did everything right, as in getting a decent education, showing up (mostly) to work on time, not being a douche bag, things would take care of themselves.
Never in my wildest, unforeseen dreams/nightmares would I think my life would result in driving a FUCKING Saturn. Ever. The irony is that I learned how to drive stick on my brother's Saturn coupe (oxymoron!) and hated that green-ish POS. UGH. I used to have an Acura, owned 2 VW's Jettas, rocked a Trans-Am and not one but 2 Mercedes Benz 300E's.
I guess I'm just a sore loser. :(