I thought the Jeep was doing well. After its latest bottle of stop leak, I had finally stopped smelling burning oil whenever I took it for a spin. Turns out that was because it had run out of oil to burn. Oops. In hindsight, that does explain the stain on the garage floor.

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After 30 years, the spring in the Jeep's driver-side seat belt buckle finally gave out, and I replaced it this weekend with an OEM part from Quadratec. After a trip to Home Depot to buy a selection of TORX bit heads (the largest I had was 40, and it wasn't big enough), the only thing difficult about the swap was cleaning under the carpet to find the connection for the dashboard seatbelt warning light. (That light has been out so long, I had honestly forgotten it was even a thing until its wire kept me from pulling up the old buckle holder.) In the process, I found a bunch of dirt, two pennies, one dime, three very rusted screwdriver bit heads I lost circa 2005, and the above paper inspection certificate for the original seat belt. Pretty sweet, right? I'm just giddy thinking what I might find under the rest of the carpet!

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Remember the plastic bag in American Beauty?

Too much doomscrolling had put me in bad spirits before the boys and I took the Jeep for a drive out to their daily play date with CeCe when we came across a black vulture trying to cross the lane to reach a roadkill armadillo carcass lying on the double-yellow line. The hungry vulture would get almost close enough to touch its meal before a car would approach, sending the wary scavenger skittering back to the relative safety of the grassy shoulder. Something about watching this Sisyphean task vastly improved my mood. That's pretty much the story of everyone's life.

Sometimes there's so much beauty in the world, I feel like I can't take it.

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Breaking news! My 2002 Oldsmobile Intrigue, which cost me $1,728.86 in mechanic bills to keep running in 2024, has already cost me an additional $1,254.43 in the first six weeks of 2025 alone (for valve gasket covers, power window assembly switch, and wheel bearings). And it *still* needs that new set of tires. This is becoming a problem.

My first car, by which I mean the first car to which I held the title, was a 1985 Crown Victoria Country Squire station wagon. Mom gave it to me when I went to college. (She bought herself a Mazda Miata. Mid-life crisis much?) I drove it until the transmission broke. It wasn't the only thing on the car not working, and I made the decision to sell it rather than spend thousands I did not have to repair it. We all loved it, and in hindsight, I might have done things differently, but maybe not. I'm sure I really thought I was making the best decision I could at the time.

My second car was a used 1990 Honda Acura. It soon developed a leaky sun roof that was more expensive to repair than the Country Squire's transmission. I didn't fix it, either. Eventually the cabin smelled of mildew which I tried to hide with vanilla air fresheners. You can begin to understand why my fourth car was an open-top 1995 Jeep Wrangler.

(Honorable mention to my third car, a very '90s burgundy and beige pregnant egg, a 1992 Chevrolet Caprice Classic, which I inherited from my late grandmother. I didn't keep it long before selling it to my father after he wrecked whatever his latest car was. I borrowed it back from him for a 24-hour road-trip down to Jacksonville for a Jaguars/Dolphins Monday Night Football game on October 12, 1998. That trip is most memorable for B) the terrible headache I had on the entire 8-hour drive home because my poverty and anxiety kept me from stopping to get anything to eat, and A) my yelling "I'm going to kill him" at the highway patrolman who pulled us over for a broken taillight. The "him" in this case was Dad, who had assured me the car was in perfect condition for driving, but the cop certainly didn't know that. Thankfully, my companion on that trip, Matt, has always been a fast talker, and we're both white.)

The point here is that I really need to start thinking about throwing in the towel on the Oldsmobile. Is it time I draw a line in the sand? How much is too much? If I have to be spending so much money on a car, I'd rather be spending it on the Jeep.

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"Atlanta, N. Georgia brace for snow, ice" reads the AJC headline.

Did I get in the car today and go to the grocery story to buy a gallon of milk despite the fact that I have two half gallons in my refrigerator? Yes, yes I did. The store had only three gallons in the case. When I walked away, there were two. Yes, I am part of the problem.

But at least I don't hoard little ducks made from petroleum based products for the dashboard of my Jeep. Nor do I release helium-filled balloons into the wilds or set all of the leaves in my yard on fire on windy days. I'm so much better than those people.

Is this a rationalization to make myself feel better about my irrational life choices? Yes, yes it is. If something is horrible because it does selfish things, and all humans do selfish things, all humans are horrible. If I'm a human being (spoiler alert: I am), I'm just going to have to learn to accept that.

On the bright side, self-loathing tastes better with milk.

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*Note to self: Today was a very good day. It so rarely occurs to me in the moment that I'm having a "good time," so I think it is probably important to make note when it does. I woke up to watch UGA win, then gave haircuts to both Henry and Louis, then all three of us rode the Jeep over to Dad's to play with Cece, then I had Chinese takeout (vegetable lo mein and white rice) and played a video game (Borderlands 3) with an online friend (Brian) and watched even more football until the wee hours of the morning. I enjoyed all of those activities, many of which I partake in regularly, but football season is here now and football is just the best.

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A quick search reveals that I've never explicitly mentioned here on the blog that I have long owned the same two cars. I have the 1995 Jeep, which is the last year the YJ model was available. You've met it; I love and brag my Jeep about frequently. But I also own a 2002 Oldsmobile Intrigue. Two-thousand two also happens to be the final year of Intrigue production. (I'm a niche collector!) As my previous silence about it should indicate, I do not love the Olds.

True story: it was my father's Oldsmobile. Briefly. It was actually purchased by my father's father, who bragged that he got a great deal on it. As I mentioned above, 2002 was the final year this car was made, and the reason it was a great deal is because the electrical systems of Intrigues are famously... sorry, I was trying to think of a diplomatic way of saying "crappy," but no, it doesn't deserve diplomacy; it's just crappy.

When my grandfather was no longer able to drive (I forget when, exactly, but 2009/10-ish), my father took the car. The one condition that my grandfather tried to impose was that under no circumstances was Dad to give the car to me. So now maybe you can understand my template for how to treat a father.

Anyway, it may have taken 22 years, but at long last, my very temperamental Oldsmobile has successfully reached 100,000 miles!

And it's only cost me $1,360.93 in repairs in the past 4 months! And it needs a new set of tires, so cut me a little slack about that "low washer fluid" idiot light. Car ownership is expensive.

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My father called this evening to tell me that he received an unsolicited group text in which recipients were invited to visit a URL where they can fill out documentation to apply to be paid $600 a month for having a Purel hand sanitizer advertising decal attached to their cars. He thought it might be an opportunity worth pursuing. Hey, free money!

Hopefully, dear reader, I don't have to tell you this is a scam. The FTC has been warning about it for years. If you don't trust the government, you can get the same warnings from both the BBB and AARP. Yet, obviously, the scam still works or the scammers wouldn't still be running it.

Now, my father is, in theory, an intelligent man. (In fact, he gets really angry if anyone dares to question that intelligence. I hate to admit it, but I am certainly a chip off that block.) So how is it he could fail to recognize all the red flags? It's not like he needs the money. (Seriously. I do his taxes.) I think he just wants something for nothing.

I mention all this not to denigrate my father. (That's just a bonus.) I mention it because I think it's the key to understanding why so many people, like my father, support that orange-faced fellow who accepted his party's nomination for president today. They don't care about the red flags like, say, his previous, well-documented attempt to subvert a federal election for his own personal benefit; they just want to believe him when he tells them he's going to give them something they want for free, like lower taxes and fewer colored people. While I wish those people could see the fallacy in where they've chosen to put their trust, I have to concede there's nothing you can say to someone to make them stop wanting the things they want.

I want free money, too. I guess I'm just jealous no one is offering to pay to put decals on my Jeep.

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Eleven years ago, "friend" Keith predicted that my then-new DC Bullet tire cover would outlast the Jeep. I'm happy to report that he was wrong.

The Jeep is still going strong, and it's time to unveil this decade's tire cover!

Yeah, it's still black and white and red all over. When you find a color scheme that works, why change it?

As for that new url, try it yourself: wriphe.com/poodles

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Earlier this week, the Jeep overheated (again) and required a $600 radiator replacement. After a year of family car malfunctions, the receptionist at my mechanic's shop now recognizes me on sight and has started looking at me like she thinks I might be a little crazy whenever I try to explain why I'm bringing in another car. All I said this time when I dropped off the key was, "It's overheating and I don't know why. I mean I know it overheated because the water is all gone, but I don't know where it went." Nothing crazy about that at all.

Things did not get better when I went to reclaim my Jeep. Mother followed me inside and watched over my shoulder as I paid the bill because she wanted to be sure I asked the receptionist if they noticed anything wrong with the Jeep's oil levels while they were replacing the radiator. (The oil slick in the garage is quite noticeable when the Jeep isn't parked over it.) With Mom staring me down, I had no choice but to ask, and the receptionist kindly answered, "You're not supposed to put oil in the radiator." I might need to find a new mechanic who doesn't know me.

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