As mentioned earlier, I bought a car. And I’m still finalizing everything. Once I got paperwork A taken care of, I still had to take it back to get the damn radio fixed. After the second attempt at the radio, I had to take care of paperwork B, insurance. (Incidentally, don’t let your dealer do your insurance. I had a quote in hand, just needed to double check that I had the requisite amount of coverage, and I had to wait a couple of hours just to sign the paperwork because they talked me into going through them for it instead. And it gets better.) I then try again at the radio, only to find that the electronics guy wasn’t there that day. At this point I should note that it’s damn near impossible to get a hold of these people over the phone, so most of these items were taken care of by driving ten miles to see them in person. I try a fourth time, and it then takes a day longer than expected. The upshot is that I got a brand new radio (or deck or car stereo or whatever) at no charge to me. I finally get home, freshly installed radio playing The Beatles’ Revolver, and find a letter telling me that the insurance was declined because the dealer signed me up for some package or another that requires me to have a license for at least three years. They are fully aware that I have had a license, to date, 13 days. So I have to get my own insurance before the 20th of this month, and then go up there to take care of paperwork C because they fucked up.

That said, I’ve long since gotten over the sheer terror at the obscene amount of money I now owe these people, and now that I have my MP3 player plugged into the stereo, I finally feel like I have my own car, as opposed to taking a week-long driving exam. (Incidentally, my test itself took all of ten minutes. Kind of a letdown.)

Lastly, I guess people actually give a damn about what other people are driving? You’re all weird. But it’s a 2002 Pontiac Bonneville, 4 door, V6, in that odd reddish-purple that’s alternately called “maroon” and “burgundy.” A childhood spent watching Bugs Bunny prevents me from calling it “maroon” myself. And I will say this: for such a big car, this thing is pretty damn speedy. Probably because I learned to drive in SUVs.