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Poor Dixie They were arguing over my car. Yes, poor old Dixie. She's had so many problems lately. I don't think I've touched on all of them in detail. I know I've just typed about, "oh, I'm bringing my car to the shop again today" a few times. In the last year, we have had to replace her battery, her alternator, her fanbelt, her pulley (whatever the hell that is), her catalytic converter, and now her tires. My dad is, in a word, pissed. First of all, he hates saturns. He was against buying my car in the first place, but my mom and I over-ruled his opinion. Now, he's saying that if one more thing goes wrong with my car, he's going to sell it. Right. I'd like to see him pull that one off. My mom's argument was that most cars start having stuff go wrong at 60,000 miles, and they had to replace the same stuff for Karen's car; he just doesn't remember because it wasn't a Saturn. My argument is, um, hello, it's my car. Out of the $8000 it cost, I only have to pay $2000 more, so technically I own more than half of it. And I'm not selling my goddamn car! Hmph. Hopefully when we get my baby back today, she'll be all better, and we don't have to listen to my dad bitch anymore. BTW, my parents are still on good terms, my dad just let his testosterone get in the way momentarily. Poor Dixie. Ta! ~BOB 0 previous comments. (This doesn't work anymore; go sign my guestbook)
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