I own a car

First of all, let me just apologize to all of those who have already had to listen to my effusive love for this car. You can skip this whole post. Or, you can just listen to the gloriousness that is this story. Again.

I bought a car. I really did. It's really been mine since last Tuesday, but I've held off on writing this post until, I held the title in my hand. And that happened today. I held the title to my car in my hand.
My car that I completely paid for myself.
My car that I can now drive anytime I want to.
My car that I have now taken responsibility for.
My car that I have now named.
My car.
I am just slightly excited.

Acquiring the car:

It was offered to me a while ago, but another person had first dibs. I was waiting to hear if they wanted it or not. The owner told me on Wednesday evening that he would call me by Friday if they didn't want it. Right before I walked out of the building on Wednesday evening, I heard the owner walk up to the prospective buyer, and the prospective buyer said, "Yes, I'm almost sure we're going to take it. I'll call you with more details tomorrow." I resigned myself to the fact that I was going to be again looking for another car. Having heard nothing on Friday, Saturday, or Sunday morning, I completely gave up all thoughts about being a car owner in the near future. Sunday night the man came up to me, shook my hand and said, "If you want to drive it around for a couple of days, go ahead. Come out and get it." I just stared at him, I wasn't sure I had words, so I nodded my head and said I would do that. Well, I picked it up that night. I drove it immediately to the gas station, as it was perilously close to running out of gas. After filling the car up, I decided I might as well buy it, since I had already invested so much money into it.
I called the man Tuesday night, and told him I definitely wanted it.

All the important details:

It's white. It's a 1999 Bonneville. It has 186,000 plus miles on it, and those are steadily climbing. It has a literal hole in the door behind the drivers door. It was totaled (see hole, which is really more gash-like, but hole sounds better), and rebuilt. Nathan says it has a good pickup, which no judging please, I clearly already knew. And it has pretty decent mileage.

The origins of the name:

I was thinking about what to call my car. Now please understand, I don't name everything I own. But it's my very first car. A momentous occasion. Here are the characteristics that I came up with my car, and then I found the name that matched these characteristics. Perfectly.

My car is bruised, battered, it probably won't be with us for very long, but at the same time this car is the most intensely beautiful thing I've ever seen. My car's name is James Dean.

How I celebrated:

1. When I called the man to tell him I would take the car, I hung up the phone, I looked around and then let out a loud yell. I jumped up and down, and yelled some more. I had so much energy that I couldn't expend. I was so excited. I jumped up and down again until my feet hurt. I then stopped, smiled to myself, and walked where people were again.

2. When I had the title in my hand, I walked where no one could see me and celebrated in Laura-Linney fashion. (Although, she may have had more reason to celebrate than even I did)

3. Paid car insurance.

4. And how did I celebrate my first car ride alone with James Dean?
I think that should stay between James Dean and I.

How I feel:

Excited. Happy. Scared. Elated. Nervous. Surprised. Disbelief. Joy. Wonder.
I can't believe it's mine. I can't believe I paid for it. I walk by the door, see it out the window, and smile.

Life is awesome.