Navigating toward insanity in complicated new car

I bought a new car and it hates me. Worse, it’s smarter than me. This is not a good thing.
Look, the truth is I recently updated from my very old, very simple car that had a CD player as its main technological marvel. There was no Bluetooth. There was no navigation system. Heck, I was lucky it made a “bing, bing” noise to remind me to buckle up. Sadly, I moved to a car with more than a “bing, bing.”
And it’s driving me crazy.
First of all, the new car is apparently equipped with many things I do not understand. I mean, I get the steering wheel. And the pedals. I did have one or two issues with the gearshift thingy, but I worked those out. But it’s the navigation/Bluetooth/coffee maker/flight control thingy that’s really got me stumped.
The problem is I have never had to work with a navigation/Bluetooth/coffee maker/flight control thingy. Yes, it’s true. I’m apparently a technological cavewoman who still has buttons on the TV remote that I don’t understand. I navigate via use of something I like to call “driving directions.” They are written on this stuff called “paper.” Also? I use landmarks, as in “turn left at the 7-Eleven and then go past the church and then turn right.”
But I took one look at the navigation/Bluetooth/coffee maker/flight control thingy and I thought, “How wonderful would it be not get lost?” So I eagerly set it up. And by “I,” clearly I mean Harry.
Of course, just because I couldn’t enter my own home address didn’t mean I couldn’t enter a destination and have the navigation/Bluetooth/coffee maker/flight control thingy take me right there. Right? Right? Oh, yeah, that would be wrong. Again. Here is our first conversation:
Me (reading from instruction manual, because I’m lame like that): Navigation. Destination. 234 Maroon St.
Car: Please say a command.
Me. Navigation. Destination. 234 Maroon St.
Car: Please say a command. Try “navigation.” Or “phone.”
Me (increasingly louder, because as we all know, when something doesn’t understand what you are saying, screaming makes it instantly understandable): NAVIGATION! DESTINATION! 234 MAROON ST.!
Car: Please say a command. Try “navigation.” Or “phone.”
Me: @#$%^@#!!!!! Just take me to 234 Maroon St.! #$%^^^&!!!!!
Car: I don’t understand @#$%^@#!!!!! Please say a command.
And it just got worse from there. Because, you know, I tried to use the phone. And of course, the dashboard from hell had something to say about that.
Me: Phone. Call Bridezilla (um, that may or may not be my sister’s clever little nickname in my phone – which we will keep to ourselves, right?)
Car: I find 12 “bridezillas” in your contact list. Please select a Bridezilla to call.
Yeah. So I might have smartphone issues as well. Also? I tend to give out duplicate nicknames. But the good news is, I was able to make a call. I just didn’t know whom I was calling.
And I won’t even get into the supposed “safety” devices Harry insisted I have on the car to prevent me from crashing into everything and everyone. Suffice to say, I am getting older and I don’t know how long my heart will withstand the terror of backing out of a parking space only to be alerted with BING BING BING BING to let me know a butterfly landed on the fender or something.
But I’m determined to learn this new car system. And hopefully I will do it before the car learns to fly. And before it learns to say @#$%^@#!!!!! back to me.