1988-1993 The Silver Bullet
My first car was a 1979 Ford Fairmont called the Silver Bullet. It didn’t technically become mine until 1990 when my parents abandoned me in Blaine to open a restaurant in Chippewa Falls, WI. I loved this car the way all teens love their first cars, but I loved this one extra-special hard because it had a tape deck. I have many found memories of loading up the Sister Club + Jodi Hanson and driving to the beach in Spring Lake Park, shouting along to DJ Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince’s “Parents Just Don’t Understand” the whole way.

At some point in 1990 the blinkers stopped blinking. You had to blink them manually by moving the blinker wand (? Is that what that think is called?) up and down. This was actually much easier than it sounded. Friends who drove my car always tried to imitate my smooth blinking moves, but failed miserably.

The Silver Bullet died in the winter of late 1992 (or maybe it was early 1993) from a small fire in the steering column.

1993-1994 The Bitchin Buick with the Cutlas Supreme Door, Grover
Neither of these cars lasted very long and neither of them had blinker problems. The problems were, obviously, much bigger than blinkers.

1994 – 2000 Sugar
After Ruby, Sugar was my most favorite car of all the cars I’ve called my own. Sugar was a sweet-ass 1979 Chrysler Newport roughly the size of a hearse. For real, grown adults could lay down in her back seat. And why wouldn’t they? Her seats were covered with blue velvet. She was an enormous, gas guzzling, non-functioning windshield wiper having, dream on wheels. My parents gave her to me the summer of 1994 when I was interning at the Eau Claire Leader-Telegram and needed transportation. My friends and I loved her with a passion. She was easily the most popular car in our group, which was tough because at the time my friend Goetz drove a lime-green 1979 Ford LTD (the same kind of car featured in the Beastie Boys’ “Sabotage” video which was ridiculously popular when I was in college — the video, not the car).

Sugar was a car with a personality. Her speakers were ridiculously good. Her ashtray was always overflowing. The passenger door only opened from the inside, and her left blinker didn’t work for like four years. Sure she was probably a rolling deathtrap. No, I know she was a rolling deathtrap because one day in 2000 I went to get her muffler fixed and the dude told me that he couldn’t let me drive her anymore she was a hazard to me and everyone on the road with her. But man, I loved her.

2000 – 2001 Clyde
Clyde sucked balls. He was a 1980something Something or Other that I hated hated hated because he sucked and was not Sugar.

2001 – ? Ruby
Ruby, as you know, is my much-beloved 1999 Chevy S10. I love her to death. Remember that time I crashed into the side of the hill and was totally bereft because I thought she’d be totaled? Yeah that sucked. That’s how deep my love is. Even when her blinkers got all shitty last weekend my love didn’t falter. Not for a second. And, in fact, my love for her and for me grew two sizes today. Because you know what? I fixed her busted right blinker all by myself. ALL BY MYSELF.

For people who are mechanically inclined, this is probably no big deal. But I am not mechanically inclined. When it comes to car problems I’m a big, fat, irrational doomsday-spouting baby. However, today when I was googling what kind of damn bulb I needed to buy to fix the blinker I stumbled on a video on how to fix the blinker. It involved removing two screws and then popping a bulb out and popping a new one in. I could totally do that. AND I DID.

It made me feel like the strongest, most empowered woman in the whole entire world.

(and this feeling lasted approximately two hours until I found a small, brown worm in the middle of the living room floor and promptly lost my shit.)

The post Auto History Told Through Malfunctioning Blinkers appeared first on I Will Dare.

but then i had decided to do something productive. i had loaded the dishwasher and begun to clean out the refrigerator. i came out here, to the living room and noticed an e-pal was on. wahoo! someone who would listen to me whine and then tell me everything was going to be alright. wrong. abandoned again.

i did not know one could cry horizontal tears. maybe it’s just the wetness of my lashes and the constant blinking that is making the inside of my glasses all wet. all i know is the crying really tires me out and maybe a nap is just want the doctor would order.

The post going bananas appeared first on I Will Dare.

he died in a most humiliating way and now i am sans car for an indefinite period of time. the stinkiosity of this whole situation is unbelievable.

so, yeah i was supposed to go to wisconsin yesterday for some binge drinking. it was going to be swell. sister #4’s best friend owns a bar in chippewa falls. i was on my way to mom and dad’s place to meet sister #4. we were gonna take her car.

so i am pulling onto the freeway and clyde starts acting all goofy. like he won’t go higher than 35 and then he just stops going. the speedometer falls and i am sitting on the shoulder with my hazards on.

so i am sitting there trying to get clyde to start, and he just can’t seem to do it. my hands are shaking and i begin to sweat. i think about crying, but realize that might not be such a good idea. so i sit there for a bit, sweating and shaking when a state trooper pulls up behind me.

fuck.

so i sweat some more and roll down the window.

“what seems to be the problem?” trooperboy asks. i am not kidding when i say boy. i am surprised this guy even had a driver’s license he looked that young.
“uh, my car won’t go.”
“hmm, well you are leaving a pile of black suit here underneath your muffler. looks like you got a cracked head and are burning oil through your exhaust. but i ain’t a mechanic.”
“uh, ok.”
“so what do you want to do?”
“my parents live like 3 miles away i was hoping to make it to their place.”
“well, i’ll follow you for a little while. just put on your hazards and drive in the right lane.”

so with trooperboy in tow, i attempt to get clyde to mom and dad’s. i make it all of .0934 of a mile before clyde freaks out again.

in the meantime one of those flash summer storms has sprung up. sheets of rain are falling from the sky. it’s much too rainy to get out of the car. so trooper man starts talking to me over his loud speaker. only thing is, i don’t have a loud speaker with which to respond. also, remember that i am sweating like a pig, so the windows in clyde are all fogged up.

“do you want me to call a tow truck or do you want to attempt this again?” trooperboy says over the loud speaker.

first of all, that’s not a yes/no question. so even if he could see me shake my head through the foggy windows, i couldn’t answer this question. so i hop on my cell phone (YES! it finally pays off) and call my dad. without a trace of tears in my voice i tell him to call AAA and get a tow truck out here pronto. he says he will and that he’ll be on his way.

meanwhile, trooper boy is still talking to me over the loudspeaker and torrents of rain are still falling from the sky. so, i have to get out of the car. i timidly open my door, waiting for one of the cars that are rushing by at 65 mph to tear it off.

i run over to the passenger side of the troopermobile and tell him that i’ve called AAA and they will be here shortly. trooperboy is not happy with my choice of towing companies, but right now i could careless. because of the rain, my clothes and hair are now sticking to me. trooperboy says he will wait with me.

so i run back to clyde and jump in. i look in the mirror and ponder just starting to sob uncontrollably. but i don’t. i just sit and stare– listening to the cars whiz by.

suddenly trooperboy turns on his lights and sirens. . . he pulls out from behind me and is gone. whoosh!

so eventually dad and the tow truck show up. we tow it to mom and dad’s. for some reason the gods of towing smile down on me and clyde only needs to be towed 2.6 miles. which means i don’t have to pay for the tow. mr. towtruckdriver says he hopes that we aren’t gonna stick any money into getting clyde fixed. he lists off a myriad of problems and again i think about bursting into tears.

but i don’t cry. i just go numb. i am still numb, which scares me. you all now what a crybaby i am.

so here i sit, carless, 17 miles from work with roughly $200 to my name. right now my life stinks and i am hungry. that will be all.

The post R.I.P Clyde appeared first on I Will Dare.

So the clyde ordeal is turning into the giant clyde debacle of 2001. Well, really it?s not?I just treat it like a debacle. I took clyde over to sister #2’s and ben took a look. According to ben’s infinite wisdom (and that’s not sarcasm) clyde has “a mad power steering leak” and a minor oil leak, but he doesn?t know why the check engine light keeps randomly turning on. He advised me to quit being such a big baby and buy a new car.

Yikes! A new car? Born in 1988, clyde is the newest car I’ve ever owned. My dearly departed and still adored sugar was a 1979 chrysler new yorker. Sugar had over 300,000 miles on her when she went to the giant parking lot in the sky. I actually weeped when I had to clean her out for the final time. My friends and family treated me as though I had just lost a good friend, and I had. Sugar and I saw lots of things together and I remember the sunny may day when she finally passed 300,000 miles. U2’s “she moves in mysterious ways,” song was on the radio. It was a good day.

So yes, now I must save all my pennies for a down payment on a new car. I had my heart set on a blazer, but the brothers-in-law quickly put the ol’ kibosh on that. I hate when they agree. I hate even more when they agree and they never even consulted each other and it makes what they say all the more logical and rational sounding.

After much wailing and nashing of teeth, I am aiming for a juneish deadline for a new car. I hate being in debt. This will be my first car loan ever.

However, I am most excited about getting to name a new car. It makes me shiver with delight. Everyone keeps asking me what I will name the new car, as if these things can be chosen ahead of time. You can’t name a car until you meet it. I really hope I don?t get a car with a dumb name. My friend, the mad scientist, told me if I get into a car and it feels like it would have a dumb name, I should just get out and try another name.

Which seems to make a lot of sense. But usually one can’t name a car until they’ve driven it for at least 20 minutes or so. Clyde’s name came that quickly, so did sugar’s. I am hoping I get a car named Araby or Simon. . . I don?t want to end up with a Steve or a Sully.

The post cylde’s days are numbered appeared first on I Will Dare.

tonight, when i got home, i found ANOTHER letter from Midas in my ol’ mailbox. The first letter basically said, “suck it up bedwetter, we ain’t done anything wrong.” that pissed me off. so i sent another nasty gram via electronic communications and i got this letter. this letter was oozing sympathy and over-flowing with apologies about my recent clyde-fixing debacle. ha! ha! ha! ha! in the envelope were 2 $100 gift certificates to midas (as if i wanna go back, but how badly can they fuck up an oil change?)_and promises that a $100 check was on it’s way. yay! i win.

The post yesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyes! i rule! tonight, when appeared first on I Will Dare.