I finally figured out what’s wrong with my life.

My truck doesn’t have a name.

The bluishorange one’s car is named betty. Granola’s car is lovingly dubbed The Rocket Ship, even though it lacks a spoiler, or any other rocket-ship-like qualities that I know of. There has recently been a great deal of vehicular moniker discussion in the comment section of Allison’s blog-within-a-blog (which will prompt the first use of profanity in the ‘wrangler to date, cause THE SMALL is fuckin’ cool, baby). I have a friend who’s car is named Jezebel. He used to say, “I love the bitch!” which prompted an immediate, “So does everyone else”. Not a very funny running joke, but it ran nonetheless. Dallas’ car was also named Betty (that girl gets around). Shaun claims that “no one can name your car for you” but I think that is not entirely true.

Your car names itself.

This makes sense if you think of it in a somewhat Native American sort of way. Cars are named for their behavior, their personality, their looks, something about them. That is why all cars don’t have names. Cars EARN names. We use whatever vernacular we see fit, thankfully, because who would want a car called Pulls to the Left, or Big Chief Leaking Oil. This is why my current truck Has No Name ( the capital letters shall be explained, Gentle Reader). It is the bane of my existance. It runs great, flawless, never breaks down. It looks ok, not too ugly, all black, stepside bed. Gas mileage is great, helps me move things when I need to. For some reason, however, people can’t resist vandalizing it and stealing things from it. I have great taste in music, but you’d never know it to look at my CD collection. This is because all my good music gets stolen out of my truck, and I am left with the same 20 crappy CD’s I bought in high school. I have replaced the passenger side window twice and the driver side window 3 times! I have lost 2 stereos! My insurance company has set my deductible at just under the amount needed to get this all fixed. Last time it was vandalized, some lovely person ripped both my side mirrors off, and threw one of them through the passenger side window. They didn’t even steal anything! My car has been violated more times than Alfred E. Newman would be in Ryker’s Island. If I even think about my truck being damaged, it happens. The last time, I knew as I was leaving work that it had been vandalized, I could just FEEL it. Thus, I drive That Which Shall Not Be Named. Seriously.

It’s very disappointing, because my previous truck had a great name. The Hell Bitch, named after a horse from one of my favorite books. That truck had personality, and as far as I know, has never died. My stepfather gave it away to someone I truly distaste, who took it rudely without so much as a thank you. (My stepfather also gave me That Which Shall Not Be Named as a college graduation present, and I am extremely thankful.)

Still, I miss the Hell Bitch.

please don’t break into my truck. please.

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