Vroom, vroom. Screech!

I am not a "car girl." But, considering my new-ish truck had just been totaled by some coddled bitch from Brooklyn (who is, officially, fighting me on fault for the wreck -'nother story), I've gotta turn into one, quick.

This involves some decisive decision making.
I am not known for my decisiveness.
Ever.

So, I had band practice with Matt and Eric yesterday at the Kiss of Death/Fueled by Ramen/Vertical Merch warehouse in Tampa. After oohing and ahhing at the industrial though obviously punk fucking rock equipment (screen presses, sticker ovens, et cetera), laughing at the 3 miles of LTJ merch, and generally feeling really depressed that I didn't get to work in such an awesome atmosphere (blasting rad music from my iPod, free records, and puppies), Eric mentioned to me that he was trying to get rid of his truck. A 1993 Dodge Dakota. With a V8. His bandmate Bryon, being the original owner, was telling me how it was an honest workhorse, and how impressive the engine was ("I could kick a Mustangs ass all over the Howard Frankland Bridge"). With 160,000 miles on it, and some minor problems... Eric told me he'd let it go for $500 bucks.

Holy crap. $500 bucks. For a truck to get me to and from work on rainy days, to and from Tampa for band practice/social events. Nothing fancy, nothing pretty, but powerful and steady, just like I like my men. So, I told him to let me know what was up with it, and since the boyfriend is an amateur mechanic (he's fixing up a '62 Ford truck at the moment), I'd see if any of it was out of his comfort zone. Called Owen, and he said "That's a fucking deal, take it. Even if it dies in a couple months, so what?"

That was, until, I got on the Craigslist to see what I could get for $2500. And I stumbled upon a '66 Chevy Corvair. Fully restored. 66,000 miles on it. Baby blue. White interior. The type of car my 16 year-old self would have died for. http://tampa.craigslist.org/hil/ctd/947954107.html

So, what am I to do? Put the three grand (that I don't have yet) away for a snowy day, or throw it all into the hands of some slimy used car salesman just for an extension of my non-existent (though, obviously HUGE) penis?

Ah well. I've had worse things to be distraught about.