Once upon a time I was cool. My first car was a 1960 Ford Falcon. Two imperfect souls, we rambled through town, banging in to stuff, and nearly knocking down a garage. The brakes went out on the freeway. I got off at the nearest exit, ran a red light, hit a pole, and my cross necklace detached from my rear view mirror & fell to the dirt floor. I believed in God again. I complained to Pete constantly about all the quirks of this dang vehicle; he wasn't my boyfriend then, but built hot rods, and he told me "that's the price you pay for being cool." now, blasted, I want an old car again or I want Pete to attach that side car to his motorcycle somehow so I can don my bedazzled cape, emblazoned in rhinestone letters "Crystal Lee." He has a side car just waiting for me in his shop, but we're missing parts, he says. I love a gal in an old car or riding a motorcycle. I reckon I'd get a motorcycle myself if I wasn't so dang reckless. There's been some talk that Pete might be getting a motorcycle soon with a seat for me. Believe me folks, you'll know if this dream comes into fruition. Unfortunately, though, he won't let me ride around in short shorts or dresses. Boo! recklessness suppressed.
when you're bad, it looks like this:
Source: Alex Prager, Scott Trindle, fashion gone rogue
Outfits: my motorcycle parts bathing suit, 80s polka dot 2-piece (photo by Hot Carl). omg, this photo was taken in 2007! yikes!