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2003-05-13 - 8:16 p.m.

If it�s Wednesday, I must be driving a Malibu

My poor truck, Gray, is in the shop still.

Did I tell y�all we bought a new truck?


Gen:So, are you busy tonight?
Well, yes. We�re going to impulse buy a new truck.
Pause from Gen. You mean the Suburban you�ve been thinking about for a couple weeks? Baby, you�ve measured the garage � that does not count as an impulse buy.

Just when I thought I was cool.


End of April marked the finish of Chevy�s lucrative �0% for 5 years financing� offer, so, farewell to my nine year old Tahoe, Jake. Carmax will find him a good home.

I hope. Let me explain about the hick gene that runs in my female lineage.

My mom drove her Jeep Cherokee until the sides rusted through and you could see the road through bits of missing backpanel. My dad bought her a new truck for Christmas, because he was tired of the town thinking we were too poor, when the truth was Mom just loved her truck. (On a sad tangent, she hated the new truck. The luxury Cherokee was a screwed up design from engine to exhaust system � and she threatened at least twice to return it through the dealer�s plate glass window � which made them very responsive in sending a tow truck at her convenience.)

I had trouble saying goodbye to my Tahoe. Roland tried to understand, but it puzzled him that I was upset when he said Well, Carmax doesn�t resell anything over 100,000 miles does it? Don�t they wholesale it? Or use it for parts?

Parts? I wail, wanting to be fiscally irresponsible and wrest my old truck from the evil and impersonal Carmax system.

Instead, I called my mother, who comforted me. Sometimes, a girl just needs her mother.


We, being new car owners, took the Suburban to Crown.

Cuan, being a boy, got in the truck and petted the new interior. We sat comfortably chatting, turning knobs and explaining how I hadn�t read the manual yet, until Cuan decided we should go back in the house like civilized people before the neighbors concluded we were dealing drugs.

Laugh. Yes, it�s true. Utility vehicles are most often stolen and shipped to South America.


The dealership threw in this sealing treatment for a good price. Extra coating on the body, undercarriage (which is what rusts first the way we treat our vehicles and the way the state salts the roads), seats.

Monday, I drive from my class in DC to the dealership north of Rockville (gag two hours there, much less the hour home), and hand over Gray for a POS Chevy Cavalier.

(The suburban has acquired the name Gray, which Gen says lacks imagination and Ragnarr says � well, that clever thing Chuck thought up will not be repeated around me if he ever wants another Theo pizza.)

Tuesday, they do a beautiful job. Another 90 minutes on the road contemplated why HOV really doesn�t work as I struggle northward on 270 interstate, and I get my keys back.

Except, one block away from the dealership, the �airbag failure� light comes on.

GRRRRR. Back to the lot, where my horrified customer care person is apologetic. I call Onstar, they confirm the problem is exactly what the indicator lights say.

Side rant: Do you know how MUCH it irritates an engineer when the vehicle outputs advanced diagnostic information, include GPS position, to Onstar service but I, the vehicle owner, cannot see said information from the driver�s seat? Data denial.

I leave with a Chevy Malibu and I�ll have to call this morning to see what on earth a cosmetic surface treatment did to the airbag electrical system.

Very tired of the long driver to and fro the dealership.


Whoops � pretty late. Gotta leave for training.

BdeB � I��ll get to that bit about the brick, the horse and the goat eventually.

Scribble to Theo

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