They Shoot Horses, Don't They?

Grr.
 
My car bufed the pooch and enjoyed it today—right in front of the dealership!  The damn catalytic converter completely exploded, or some shit that shouldn't be happening to me right now, since I just bought the hematite-coloured beast last year. 
 
I love hematite; did I mention that?  I am such a pathetic girl sometimes that I find it revolting.  I make fun of Girls Like Me.  Maybe it is self-loathing.

Butsoanyway.

So all of a sudden, I’m driving a diesel semi, and so I swing a right instead of going straight, and go to the dealership.  This isn’t my original dealership from last year—I’m not talking to them, ‘cos they suck—this is my adopted dealership.  :-)  Some of the Service Whatevertheycallits are cuties.  

As I was saying…

So ever since I bought this car, I’ve had nothing but despair.  I had to replace the brakes earlier this year ($350), then a servicing thing ($450), and then something else, I forget, but I have the receipt in my glove compartment, and then I had two oil changes, and now the catalytic converter exploded ($693, but covered by warranty), and I’m told that I need a new clutch (around $800).  This is what I get for being a stupid, pathetic GIRL who picked a used car (2003) over a new one (’04 or ’05; they had ’04 in stock, and I would have been on a waitlist for the ’05, but I didn’t want to wait for the ’05, and the ’04 was in a lighter colour and didn’t have the little cargo net thingy on the ceiling) ‘cos she liked the colour.  Fucking pathetic.  

Oh, and plus the nitrogen in the tires, but that was somewhere in the neighbourhood of $25, and that doesn’t count.  

Okay, okay—I lied.  I had nine whole months of No Despair.  Whatever.  

So I am pissed off now.  I mean, I am truly steaming.  I have been sold a raging lemon.  I love the car—really I do—and, like all the cars I have ever had, I have beaten it into submission (in record time, too!).  To those that would scoff, I hold up as proof the fact that my car waited (after having been driven for over an hour) until I was *right* in front of the dealership to break down.  If that isn’t obeisance, I am at a loss to come up with what is.  Good piece of shit car.  Pat, pat.

I am so very calling Ford—the company, not the stupid Motor Credit Division, it’s not their fault— tomorrow and giving them as large a piece of my mind as I can spare without drooling on myself.  Bastards.  And I will cry if I have to.  Grr.