All I wanna do is ride around…

Forget spring fever. I’m experiencing fall fever — as in fevuh — and I’ve got it bad. The sky is blue. The clouds are white and fluffy. The leaves are turning and dancing in the breeze. Bees are buzzing. Cars are rolling.

I want to be cruising in a machine that at least has a sun roof, or a convertible with leather seats. Better yet, a muscle car.  I want some tight, low-riding jeans and a white tee. I want my hair up in a ponytail and sticking out the back of a baseball cap. I want some radical shades popped on the end of my nose and some little gold hoops dangling from my ears. I want the tunes turned up — loud. I want a cherry coke (the real one) and some salty fries. I want a best friend forever riding shotgun. Hell, I might even want to snap some gum. I want to spot Mr. G, honey on the street…

See. I’ve got it bad. Fall fevuh. Oh, yeah. Nobody sang Mustang Sally like Wilson Pickett.

Procrastination fantasy at its best. What do you want to be doing?


5 thoughts on “All I wanna do is ride around…

  1. That’s funny. I just, twenty minutes ago, told someone I had fall fever. Which is like spring fever. Only stronger.

    Yeah, I’m always up for a ride. But don’t forget the wooden- soled Candy sandals that make me six feet tall. (I actually have, and I am NOT making this up, a pair of those in my closet.) And I don’t do cherry cokes, which to me taste like cough syrup, so I’m ordering a vanilla one instead.

    My guy did, btw, have a Mustang. It would stop every time we went through a deep puddle. Fortunately we lived in the desert where we only got 6″ of rain a year.

    My agent is off to Ireland. If I didn’t like her so much, I’d have to hate her. They may not have Mustangs there. People may drive insanely on the wrong side of narrow, twisting roads boarded by scratchy, paint-scraping hedgerows and stone walls. But it’s a gorgeous time of year on the auld sod and it’d sure beat sitting behind a computer madly trying to write toward deadline while workmen are loudly destroying my house downstairs.

    Then, of course, there are all those strapping Irish lads. . .


    How much muscle do you think we’d need in our muscle car to drive across the Atlantic?


  2. “How much muscle do you think we’d need in our muscle car to drive across the Atlantic?”

    Now I’m thinking maybe a magic carpet ride. Cue Steppenwolf. Born to be wild. Stop. Me. Now. lol

    Too funny, JoAnn.


  3. You two are bad. Bad to the bone.

    Did you know google maps gives directions to London from New York City that include the instructions “swim”

    Count me in for the drive to Ireland. Have you seen Bonneville yet? I’ll be the Kathy Bates character.


  4. *that include the instructions “swim”*

    Bwahahaa. First, I must go on Dancing With The Stars and get fit…or die. 😉 Actually. Swimming to London. Nope. Never gonna happen.

    Have not seen Bonneville. Does Kathy Bates get Tom Skerritt? Because if she does, I’ll have to fight you for that character. There’s just something about Skerritt that puts him in my “hottie” file.


Comments are closed.