Meet Chloe

I would like to introduce you to Chloe.

Yes, it’s a car.  Yes, she has a name.

My last car was Frank. Actually “Banker Frank” to be exact, because he looks like a Frank and he also looks like he should be driven by a banker.  I don’t know why I feel the need to name my cars except to use those names when I’m showing my absolute disgust (“Seriously Frank?  You’re making me climb through the driver’s side door? Rrrrgh!”) but I have not yet had to do that with my new car because she is fabulous.  She doesn’t burn 3 containers of oil every 2 weeks, she doesn’t require $800 of maintenance every 6 months, and she doesn’t quit working on you while you’re driving down the middle of the interstate.

Perhaps you’re wondering, whatever happened to Frank?  Well, I’m sorry to have to tell you this over the internet, but he died.  He actually took his own life.

Going 60 miles an hour in the middle of traffic on the highway.  He wasn’t the brightest.

He was a good car.  He took me to college, New York, Miami, West Virginia, Grad School, and so many fun adventures in between.  But he was also getting old.  The stages of life were passing him by and although he really lived a full life even up to the end, God was calling him home to the junkyard and by the time he finally gave up, he wasn’t worth a dime.  The junkyard guy offered me $200 to take him away, but I had just put on a new $100 door handle, replaced the windshield for $160, plus $250 in new tires, and filled him up with $60 in gas.  Add that to the $80 I now owed the mechanic and his death actually cost me $450.  That’s how it goes though, right?

Here is Frank, during his last trip. Let’s take a moment of silence to remember him.

And at his final resting place before he’s taken off to the junkyard:

I had to go to the mechanic’s shop during work hours so I could clean out all the stuff he had been carrying in his trunk. (He is SUCH a pack rat.  I had the hardest time convincing him to clean out that trunk. Who needs a huge thick piece of glass, two soccer chairs, a set of toy dishes and cups, and 4 outdated wedding magazines in their trunk? Ugh, Frank.)  And I realized that although I had so many great memories with him, I really am NOT going to miss him that much.  I hope he understands.

So we went car shopping.  Mom, Dad, Me, and Cameron’s girlfriend Whitney who was in town for the weekend.  We looked at cute sporty little cars like this one:

…to which my friend Katie replied “You have to get it!”  She has the same car in white and while it would be super cute to have matching cars (in a weird we-chose-to-wear-the-same-prom-dress kind of way), I don’t think I can fit even 2 friends in it, much less all the crap I tend to carry around in the trunk.  I mean, all that crap that Frank used to insist I carry in the trunk.  Not my fault.

We also looked at Super Duty trucks.  Really we just took a picture in front of it, but my friend Emily immediately responded that I have to get THAT one.  You girls are not very helpful.

After weeks of research and deliberation, I finally decided on my new car:

 2010 Toyota Highlander, blizzard pearl exterior color, grey leather interior, with all the bells and whistles. She’s clean and beautiful and totally a “Chloe”.

Why Chloe?  Well, it’s actually Chloe O’Brien. And only because I couldn’t name an obviously feminine car “Jack”.

Go watch 24.