Wednesday, February 18, 2009
C would really have appreciated this day of gawking at beautiful rockabillies and the cars they rode in on.
The seat of this Harley looked like a seriously comfy ride. I contemplated napping in it after a few chardonnays.
There was good music, a punkified rockabilly, so I am told.
Played by cute boys worshipped by the women that love them.
And so many amazing vehicles to look at and drool over.
American Graffiti-esque. Love the fuzzy dice.
I was taken by the immense possibilities of this rusted out hoopty.
The detailing added to the inside shows someone has mad plans for her.
This car is screaming, "owner has tattoos"!
But I adore the TLC given to the interior. The way the dash paint job echoes the exterior...
and the spectator leather seats. It's the rockabilly equivalent of wearing a Chanel suit with color coordinated Chanel 2.55 quilted flap bag and matching pumps. Money, baby.
Spider car, spider car, does whatever a spider car does.
With matching spidey interior...
Barbie and I used to drunkenly tease young hotty hipsters about the chains attached to their wallets when hanging at Bennie's. We used to ask them if they thought someone was going to try and steal their wallet. Most of them looked at us quizzically. I wonder if the owner of this car is afraid someone is going to steal the door?
I would love a ride to the drive-in in this hot rod.
I was captivated by this car. We all were. It might have been the later-in-the-day lighting. But the colors and the shape and the exposed engine...we were mesmerized.
As is my sometime MO, I investigated the loo. The loo in question being an outhouse.
Actually, the loo in question being an outhouse for handicapped people.
This looks like it has not been updated in any way yet. When I see it, I imagine someone driving their father's car on a Friday night date.
There was a pin-up contest earlier in the day. We missed it, but we did not miss all the colorful ladies strolling about the grounds with their red lips, flowers in their hair, and come hither heels in the dirt and upon the grassy knolls.
I don't know how they all got in there, but at some point six lovely ladies started piling out of the handicap outhouse. Turns out, your outhouse might just resemble a clown car.
Posted by Food, she thought. at 9:26 PM