Long story short, it's looking like I'll be doing more commuting to the South Bay and Peninsula (San Jose and Palo Alto, for those of you who aren't
au fait with the messed-up way we do geography here in the City and its environs) -- which means much more dependence on the 101 and its all-day parking lot traffic pattern. However, the thought of navigating my poor little stick-shift
Geo Tracker through the morass of stop, go, grind, slam, and swear was just more than either it or I could bear.
So I used the Donald Trump method: get a younger one with more buttons.
Ten inches longer, seven hundred pounds heavier, forty-seven horsepower stronger, a real Ahmurrrican name (no more of that Geo world car multiculturalistic crap) and a (eech) automatic.
In the immortal words of my husbear, "Wow, you finally bought a real car."
And don't worry; my older one found a new home with a loving family literally within
fifteen minutes of having it advertised.
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