We met in the summer of 1999 for my first professional job in Dallas, TX. Many memories, good times and bad. You've seen both the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans. We have ventured to many jobs and fun outings. You have put up with my singing of Beastie Boys and Stevie Ray Vaughn in rush hour traffic.
At times, however, you have let me down. Like that time you left me stranded on the ramp of the busiest intersection of San Jose onto the most-used highway of Northern California in 125 degree heat. You heard me cuss out an asshole who yelled at me to move my car. It wasn't the first time you heard my tirades...driving in Boston. Remember those times? Yeah. They don't call them "Massholes" for nothing, right?
We've been through a lot, haven't we? Two trips across the country. One battery. Three alternators. And many, many mechanics who took advantage of us because I look twelve. Now, we've hit a major landmark in our relationship. You turned 100,000 miles yesterday as we left Portola Redwoods after almost getting lost and running out of gas in the boonies. Your gas gauge throws me off sometimes, but you have always gotten me to where I am headed...eventually.
I ask one thing of you as we reach the rocky years of being 100,000+: promise me you will be good to me until I get out of graduate school.
Thanks, Grandma. Roll on!
