This started with me wanting to tell you about how my daily drives across long bridges has caused me to create Jason Bourne like ultimate escape plans if things every go bat shit crazy and me and Silvie go overboard, but ended with a chronological recap of all my cars names… and how I killed them… awkward.

Silvie is my car, her name is Silvie because she’s silver. That’s why I don’t spell it Sylvie, so all you English majors, spell checking Nazis, can just take a step back… I’m talking to you dad.

Now that I think about it, she comes from a long line of cars that got their names from their color.  It started with my mom’s little Mazda, whom I called Ruby.

She was burgundy and sparkly. She was the sweetest little car.

I feel really bad about all the crap I put her through. I mean number one crapper is me learning how to drive stick with her, that’s a lot of bunny hopping down streets that did nothing for her suspension. Also the fact that I constantly dropped her into reverse when trying to shift into 4th.  That transmission never really stood a chance.

The craptastic thing of all was the time I took a corner too tight and popped her up on two wheels. You have to understand the situation, I was deep in to a radio sing along of Kissed by a Rose and I was so invested in my solo that I flew pass our turn causing my friend to scream “THAT’S OUR TURN” and me to hit the break and crank the wheel. When she finally, and violently, came back down to 4 wheels, I thanked god and Meatloaf, my friend threw up… luckily outside Ruby.

For weeks after our 2 wheel adventure I kept waiting for something to go wrong with Ruby and when my mom took her to the shop the mechanic would be like… “whelp, the only thing I can think that would cause this to happen is if the car was on two wheels!”…

Oliver was my very first car of my very own, he was light green, like an olive.  I loved Oliver, he was sweet and fun and kind and to this day I feel really bad about never putting oil in him, in the 4 years I owned him… but now I know what a seized engine sounds like when you’re speeding down the highway… death… it sounds like death…

Oliver was followed by my hubby’s truck, Blackie, no real explanation there on the color. And I’ve already told you the story of when me and Blackie tried to kill each other all while Hubby suffered a minor heart attack while watching us from the Uhaul truck rear mirror. Also Hubby never called Blackie by his name, which I found rude.

Then there was our first joint car, Emmy, short for Emerald, she was SO green and sparkly. I believe I also told you about her sudden end when she met that garbage truck… literally.

And that brings us to Silvie. My little silver convertible.  She was an impulse buy after losing 10% of my nose to skin cancer. Nothing says “FUCK YOU SUN, YOU DON’T SCARE ME!” like buying a convertible… in Arizona.

Wow this car name rambling went long, so I’ll save my brilliant Jason Bourne escape plan for another blog post… although now that I think about it… the escape plan is really just for me… sorry Silvie. But you’ll go down with a long line of great cars! Whose only really fault was having me as an owner…

About But That's For Another Blog

Wifey, Blogger, Cat Slave, New Puppy Mommy, Huge Nerd, and One Hellofafriend! (Seriously, I have references). SHINY!!
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