Dreams

I met up with (another) old friend last week. I hadn't seen her since I ran into her a pharmacy where she worked when I was picking up a prescription for my dad. Thanks to the "magic" of Facebook, we got back in touch and met up at Houlihans for a beer.

We did the usual catch up chit-chat: college, boys, jobs. Our drink came to an end, and as we were walking out to the parking lot she asked me if I had my dream car in light of the fact that I still lived with my parents. Sheepishly, I said no, and pointed to the injured, cursed, silver car in the parking lot.

Unless you've just crawled out from under a rock, you have probably heard me complain about my car. I purchased a used 2007 Dodge Caliber in October, 2008, convinced I had scored a deal. OK, I thought it was a bit loud, but that was cured by blasting my radio.

Five months after the purchase, I was driving to work when the car in front of screeched to a halt. I followed, and was immediately slammed from behind. Fortunately, only the cars were hurt, and the other party was a complete gentleman. My car was fixed, and I went merrily on my way. So what if my sister had to go that last 2 miles into Rehoboth with a box on her lap after stopping off for supplies on our way into town for our girls weekend...

Seven months later, still not one full year into ownership, I was broadsided leaving my street. Again, nobody was hurt, and strangely enough the events of that day set me on the path of self-discovery I still find myself on. A few weeks later, I got the car back, and headed down to Baltimore to adopt the newest member of the family, my beagle Candy.

I made it those 300 miles from home to Batimore and back without incident, if you don't count the carsick new addition to the family. Later that afternoon, I dashed out to drop off some clothes at the dry cleaners - less than a mile away. I could have walked. I should have walked.

Sitting at the corner of my street, turn signal on, I was rear-ended a second time. My first instinct was to laugh - for a moment I thought Ashton Kutcher and Justin Timberlake were going to emerge from the car. I didn't get around to getting the repairs done - I had to hound the guy who hit me, and frankly once I had the cash, I didn't want to arrange schedules to be without my car.

Flash forward to last week and there I was, walking out of Houlihans, pointing to my car. Cracked bumper, essentially useless trunk. I mumbled an excuse about my "dream car" and we went our separate ways.

This past weekend, as I went about my Saturday errands, I noticed a grey piece of plastic on the floor mat of the car. A piece from the newly repaired door had fallen off. I went to roll the window up on the passenger side, and the button didn't respond. To add insult to injury, my car sputtered when I cut the ignition, as if to flip it's gasoline powered middle finger at me.

I know there are more important problems out there, but it grated on me. I got online and started checking out cars. The snowball was rolling down the mountain. After a few nervous hours, I got word that I had a car loan (no small feat these days), and took ownership of a brand-new 2009 Jeep Liberty - it had 4 miles on the odometer when I took it out for a test drive.

I had flirted with the Liberty when I bought the Caliber - I opted for the smaller, more fuel-efficient car. Now I have a shorter commute to work, and gas prices are lower. Not exactly green, but I don't have far to go these days.

Now I can answer "yes" to the question. Yes, I do have my dream car. Now, to get my dream life :)