To say my luck with cars is bad is a slight understatement.

All right, I'll admit - those speeding tickets? Okay, those were sort of my fault. And the suspended license that occurred as a direct result of the aforementioned tickets? Okay, sort of my fault, too. I admit my mistakes, I do, and I pay for them dearly with an obscenely high insurance rate. I hate it, it's true, but I deserve it.

But, seriously, people need to stop bashing into my car.

I used to have this amazing blue 1982 Volvo sedan. Loved it, absolutely loved it. It was a tank on wheels, could barely make it to 80 mph and all the speakers were blown out. It was a busted-ass beast, and I wouldn't have had her any other way.

Until some putz in a Lexus turned right on his red light while trying to make his way to a drive-thru Starbucks, my little blue Volvo and I passing through the intersection. Alas. Au revoir, Volvo. We hardly knew ye.

The insurance settlement allowed me to purchase a 1992 Honda Accord in fantastic condition, considering its 190,000 miles.

A liquor truck bashed into her back side, too, pushing her a full car length while I was at work one evening. The most unpleasant feeling of all time is wanting to get home as quickly as possible after a hard day's work, only to find the back light of your car bashed into your trunk - causing the trunk to have popped open. No, the trunk would not close. My coworker pulled some Girl Scout MacGuyver move, whipping off her sock to tie it down.

I got a settlement from the liquor truck's insurance carrier, which went to buying my father a new car (why not do something nice for the people who made sure you had clothes on your back and food in your stomach when you were too young to recognize what clothes and food were?). My little Honda was fine to drive; it just looked like jank ghetto trash once I got the duct tape involved.

The duct tape!

I duct-taped the trunk shut. My father, in an effort to color coordinate the duct tape to the Honda's maroon exterior, got red duct tape -bright red duct tape. Within a few months, it faded to yellow duct tape.

Yeah, my Honda was awesome.

I recently had a birthday, however, and the car my father bought with the settlement from the liquor truck incident was given to me. It's nice to have a trunk again - I forgot what it was like to not have to put your groceries in your back seat. But something tells me the car gods have me pegged for driving a duct-taped car.

After closing shop one Saturday night at four in the morning, I came upon my newly untainted car with a bashed in back window, half a cinder block resting on her trunk. If I could cuss here, now would be the time to do it.

Glass everywhere. The whole window busted out. Not something anyone feels like dealing with at four in the morning, especially after having to deal with the intoxicated Saturday night Broad Ripple crowd.

Yes, I filed a police report. No, they probably won't find whoever did it. But I believe in karma; what goes around comes around. Hopefully whoever f**ked up my car will contract some really messy, smelly, itchy STD or something, so they can feel slightly inconvenienced too. It's karma.

Luckily, I know some amazing people who've helped me. I was given some tarp to tape my car up with (yes! Duct tape to the rescue!) and found a really great deal at Armanna Auto Glass, whom I highly recommend. One of the workers there, Rob, kept me company for a while, and told me some fantastic boob jokes. Go check out his stand up at the Ugly Monkey.

So, yes, that sucked, and I had to spend the money I would've otherwise spent on something like another tattoo or a plane ticket to visit friends in Ireland, but noooo. People just like trashing my cars.

The awful part isn't the money, though. The awful part is knowing some jerk will probably tell the story about bashing in someone's back windshield one crazy Saturday night in Broad Ripple, and, oh gosh! Wasn't it just the most awesome thing you've, like, ever seen in your, like, life, man? Whoa!

Suckah, put down your popped collar, and quiet down about the story. Because, quite frankly, I have people looking for you.

Karma, man. It's karma.