A love story of a girl and her car

Me and some of my most frequent and favorite passengers in May 2014. 

My first car was like anyone else's first car. It gets you from point A to point B and it's definitely not fresh off the assembly line. My first car was a red Nissan from the early 2000s that sounded like a boat when you turned it on and the interior always smelled weird when it was extremely hot outside. The doors stuck sometimes and for some reason grass always found its way in the backseat. But it was my car.

The drive from my house to my high school was only three miles and when I told my dad the heat didn't work he told me it was because the short drive didn't give the heat enough time to warm up. We soon found out the heat actually didn't work. But it was my car.

I put a lot into that little shitmobile. I hung a mardi gras bead and an air freshener from the review mirror. I'm on my second car now and I have the same mardi gras bead and stale air freshener hanging from the review mirror. I didn't do it out of dedication to the old car but I did it because the car is me. My car became a part of me.

Someone's car can say a lot about them. My car is literally just an extension of my bedroom. Of me. I have bumper stickers that are so tacky that only I somehow get away with it. I have a bumper sticker that says "Caution: Driver is Singing" and another from a music store in Rochester that says "Support Your Local Musician" and countless others.

Everyday I get in the car and tell myself "today I will drive better." It's not that I am a bad driver but it's that I like to pretend I'm in a movie. I drive fast and switch lanes and stare at people when I pass them. I like to joke that I can cut a car ride by 20 percent because I drive so fast. My road rage is everything one would expect and a little more. I blast obnoxious rap music and turn the bass up all the way. I'm that person.

Anything I don't want in my bedroom finds itself in my car. I work two jobs so that means I occasionally come home with a lot of unnecessary paperwork that I feel like I should keep just in case. So naturally it goes on the floor of my backseat and now has footprints from my just-as-crazy passengers. There are gum wrappers cluttering every inch of the car and receipts from gas stations and drive-thrus of Dunkin' Donuts.

My car has brought my to job interviews that I haven't received. My car has brought me to concerts across state and I've even hosted my own concerts in my car blasting music louder than it ever should be. It has seen me look my best and definitely look my worst. We've been through parking tickets and broken hubcaps. Through broken hearts and happy smiles. I have made more mix CDs for my car than when actually making mix CDs was cool. A car has a lot of secrets. It has a lot of memories associated.

My car has heard the same songs over and over again and heard me tell the same stories over and over again. My car has been places it should not have been bringing me to places my parents should never know about with friends doing things we should not have done. It is an extension of my home. Of me.