You know when you break up with someone and it hurts.. a lot? Then, maybe a month, a week, a year later, you are forced to relive the horrific experience by seeing that person, happily involved with another person. Ug.
It’s terrible. Whether you see them laughing, fighting, holding hands or making out, the same dreadful feelings endure– do they kiss like me, is her ass smaller than mine, does she give better head? Regardless of the neurosis (and don’t judge mine, yours are even weirder), it blows.
So imagine my terror, when driving down the 10 freeway yesterday, I see this former lover:
OMG, the pain. Sure, I’m happily married now, driving heaps more horsepower, with the beauty of bluetooth and 3,000 airbags for my 2.3 beautiful children, but it still hurt. This was my first love. She was an ’87 two-toned Saab turbo–that’s right, limited f*ing edition baby! I went through 3 clutches, a head gasket, 2 water pumps and rebuilt the turbo twice, but she drove like a dream.
My “girl” may have had some flaws–
*due to the endless clouds of black smoke puffing out of the muffler, my brother christened her ‘the crop duster.’
*with these emissions came a lot of expensive oil and the constant fear that the burning oil would again escalate into another blown head gasket on the Long Island Expressway at 5pm on a Friday (that’s a lot of irritated I-Rocs)
*those repairs didn’t come cheap– she probably spent more time in the shop than on the road, but those minutes were magical.
Her turbo gave her the distinct buzzing sound as I revved between 3,500 and 4,000 RPMs and was the best sound ever. The sky blue upholstery was smooth and silky. The sound system was insane, the handling was tight and I always felt so safe in that Swedish tank.
Now Saab is in the toilet, my “girl” has been sold for scrap and I live in LA. We’ll never regain those magical moments, but it was a hell of a lot better than seeing her driven by someone else.