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I've always been a car freak. No, I have never worked on them. I just really respect the lines of a well-designed sports car. Hearing the purr of an exotic or the rumble of a modified always makes me smile. I am not a "make" snob. I like many makes and years.

We just got a new auto showroom here in good ole' "SlOcala" not to long ago. Mopar on display. Drive by droolings.

Over the years I have loved a few odd choices - primo restored El Camino's - Opal's - fastback Mustangs (smile).

Never had the opportunity to HAVE what I would consider a dream car. Not that all of them are expensive, my taste is varied, but all impractical to the situation (and you know how level headed I am,, wink. hush now, eat a pickle!).

You read about my first "baby" a few days back. I loved that Thunderbird but it was my second car that started the fetish.

The Thunderbird had the power- the 1990 Ford Probe had the looks.

She was charcoal grey with flecks of silver. I paid to have a nice streamlined spoiler added and a thin line of red pin striping laid down the side. The stereo was upgraded and screamed the best of AC/DC and thumped a little DJ Jazzy Jeff and Salt -n- Peppa, "pushin' it" for performance sake. She was a lot like me:

She looked A LOT faster than she was.

We got stopped and let go many a time. Sitting still we still were in motion.

Then I got married. Her status changed a bit and we rolled into "good" vehicle choices.

We then found and fell under the spell of an Audi A8. To this day the memory of THAT car still moves me.

I have NOT been able to find a pearl colored paint job that was as divine as the one on my Audi (Cadillac's version of pearl comes close). This car shined with elegance and lent me to a false regal air. Black leather interior and chrome meant that it got the looks of many. It wasn't new, didn't need to be, it was gorgeously designed. We kept her as long as we could until the thought of repair and no available parts took over.

Off to mini-van world...cough...choke.... I just threw up a little in my mouth.....

Months ago I followed a slate blue Ford Mustang Cobra with charcoal racing stripes and chrome underpants. Drooling, I wondered when mine would be delivered and grunted like a fool. As always I wondered who was driving it. A bony hand stuck out of a crack in the window to flick a cigarette at my windshield. Toxins that would never leave this beautiful creation were defiling the interior.

I have a fascination with Chargers and Mustangs and a cheesy Firebird. I also sport a reverent love for the Corvette.

It was sitting on top of a platform, an orgasm on wheels. Its tapered lines were perfectly shadowed and dripping with strength. It sat low and lean, hugging the ground like a Cheetah on the prowl:

A rust colored new model Corvette SE.

"Again with the grunting,” my eldest pointed out "that's just weird!”

But I knew it was grunt-worthy.

On another stand:

A 2010 Chevy Camaro.




It's grille dark and sexy, it's stance thick with an upturned back end. Chromed out wheels turn toward me beckoning me to drive it--fast. But I sit in my PT Cruiser Reindeer in financial defiance.

Of course there are the exotic cars that make me sit and cross leg upon viewing.

Ferrari F-50-Quattro's-Lambo's-Lotus-Tesla-Pantera-Aston's-Maserati's and the like.

A car is a sexual experience if designed right.

A mini-van voids all sexuality if you let it.

I was forced to buy a mini-van (before the PT) after my SUV was wrecked. It was practical for me but I cringed at the thought. The sales men relished at the opportunity to rag on me about my rampant dislike for the term "Soccer mom". My kids allowed me to test drive a yellow Cobra Convertible and helped me by saying:

"You'd get a date if you had THIS car mom!!!"

This was of course spoken in front of about 6 of the young sales hyenas.

Truth is, I don't need a damn car to get a nice date. I need a miracle-don't get it twisted!!

As I drove out of the parking lot with my white no frills mini-van, windows down hair blowing a bit, a sales man screamed "Soccer mom" at the top of his lungs. If security was female they would have understood that a groin paint balling stint was the next chronological step for me,, but whateva'.

ALAS my friends--It comes down to this:

I think "Soccer mom's" are UBER-HOT!!

In fact,,, I'll have you know I sleep with one every night!

Er----Um----CORRECTION:

I sleep AS one every night!