Everyone had a first car; mine was fourth generation Ford Taurus. I hated that car passionately, but aside from running costs and maintenance I didn't have to tie up any of my precious little money it in. It relatively reliable and it got me where I needed to go, but as someone who group up loving cars, it was pretty horrible to have to get in a Taurus every day. As I left every morning to sit in traffic on I-95 to get to my high school, I was taunted by the fact that my 83 year old neighbor drove the same car. Her's was same color, had the same wheels and had the same awful 3.0L Vulcan.
The stereo sucked, the seats were uncomfortable, and the upholstery had, at some point, been soiled under some mysterious circumstance that left it permanently reeking of piss and cigarettes. Maryland is apparently far enough north that 5 year old cars have rusty rear fenders. If I were a father, it was exactly the kind of car I'd saddle my 16 year old kid with. Catholic prep school girls generally didn't want to ride in it, the stereo was horrifying, it made a whopping 150 horsepower, and was supposedly reasonably safe should I crash into an immovable barrier or something like that.
In the face of logic, responsibility, and any semblance of intelligence, I hooned the E36 M3 out of that car. In case you ever find yourself wondering, holding the release and jabbing the pedal operated parking brake in a mid-size family sedan will let you get sideways, and while I don't remember my ET, a Taurus does not a drag car make. Eventually, I hit black ice and crashed it into a tree, which crushed the front left corner of the car beyond recognition and the halfshaft and most of the suspension off the car. I walked home, literally. I would advise you not to do that, or at least don't leave the tags on the car like I did.
After stupidly destroying a free car, I stupidly bought a 1994 Jaguar XJ6. Working a minimum wage job and buy a 15 year old Jaguar was a ridiculously bad idea on the face of it. The price was right, the car was gorgeous, and something about that 4.0L AJ6 just felt right. Filling the 23 gallon tank with premium when it cost most of my hourly wage per gallon sucked, but when I got out of school or off of my E36 M3ty job and that dumb old green Jaguar was waiting there, I couldn't help be smile.
Murphy apparently found out a 17 year old kid in north eastern Maryland bought and XJ40 and he had a law to enforce. A semi drifted into my lane on I-95 at 7am, when the step below the driver's door hit the Jag, the Jag lost. Semi must not have felt it, I didn't have full coverage insurance, nor the presence of mind to get his tag number. The $1800 in cosmetic damage was going to have to be lived with, while I sunk my money into maintenance and mechanical repairs. For all the horror stories I'd heard about XJ40s that car never let me down in high school and, as long as I was walking toward it from an angle that I could see the damage on the right rear quarter-panel, it made me smile sitting still. It wasn't terribly sporty, but it could keep up with much lighter cars on back roads and was more than fast enough when there was no one else on the highway and looked damn cool in my opinion. It was everything I wanted out of a daily driver, and some time after the Jaguar I bought an MGB GT I was supposed to getting back on the road (still working on that one).
Anyway, I went to college, and promptly got suspended for the second semester of my freshman year. When I came home, my Jaguar was sitting my parent's house waiting to resume it's duty getting me where I needed to go in complete comfort. It blew a brake line in short order, and despite the best efforts of what was left of the brakes, I rear-ended a silver Honda Accord. The guy driving it didn't car about the scuff on his bumper, but since I was intending to back to college I didn't have enough money to spend on the car to make it right again. It's sat, neglected since that day, just short of two years ago. I ship to Parris Island (where they make Marines, for those that don't already know) in a few months and need to start clearing stuff out of my parents garage as much as I can. That car was the reason I bought most of the tools I own today (Mixed set of mostly Wright, SK, Proto and Craftsmen). That was the first engine I worked on that wasn't some variation of Ford Small Block or V6. It gave me my baptism by fire in troubleshooting electrical gremlins, prep school girl would actually get in that car for reasons other than having no other way home, that was the first and only car I ever developed an emotional attachment to. I charged a battery today, put fresh gas in it, and turned the key. It fired on the first try and I immediately called my insurance company to find out what the rate would be should I get it back on the road.
I'm not sure why I would waste anyone's time with writing of that, other than the fact that you're the only people that might be able to relate to something as simple as broken down old Jag starting up being the high point of my day.
For years prior to the purchase of that avocado turd I had lusted after a sports car. Originally a MGB or Spitfire but it changed to Fiat 124's after I learned of their vast superiority. Unfortunately, they cost real money. Until one day I found one forlorn wreck parked in front of a house with a "For Sale, $300" sign on it. That began a 20+ year relationship with rusty Italian cars that nobody respected. This is actually my second one, bought for only a hundred more, about 6 years after the first horrible one finally collapsed in a pile of rusy rocker panels:
I learned nothing from the first one. The brakes needed rebulding, which were a PITA. It caught fire, was totaled, and I kept it and had it fixed. The radiator fan was consistently inconsistent in it's functionality. It had no trunk lock. The passenger floor filled up with water when it rained. It had about 200 lbs of Bondo hiding beneath one of the world's worst repaints. But I drove the snot out of that thing and loved it (thus explaining the subsequent one shown, and the 20 odd Fiats of all various types that followed). The second one is where my foray into self-taught auto mechanics began, after my father threw in the towel on keeping the damn things on the road for me. I sold car #2 finally in 2004, having pretty much burned myself out on the things and wanting new challenges (replaced by the car in my avatar). How it looked when it went on the trailer to South Dakota:
23 years of ownership pretty much fulfills my desire to own one, so I don't longingly wish for another. Too many other cars I'd like to try. But I still remember that first (illegal) top down run I made with the thing and how great it made me feel. 
) already lost my virginity but the first girl I ever fell in love with lost hers in that car. (BTW, she died about two years ago and I had not seen her for something like 32 years. Something like that will make you realize your mortality.)
He says it's in pretty bad shape, though. 
The PO obviously didn't want it back, so I got to keep it. After taking the car down to metal we discovered it was swiss cheese, although the porch screening, newspaper and bondo bodywork the PO did was pretty impressive! 
(Internet photo but correct color)
