Springtime in Ontario. Time to Bust Out the Camaro!

Signs that winter is truly over in the subdivision:

-Heidi wore shorts yesterday. They barely fit and my flesh is fishbelly white but this can only improve.

-bright green things poking up out of my flowerbeds which will soon be bright coloured things. Yay!


-Neighbours, the ones I love, appearing in front of my house carrying beer. Yay!















-the grass turned green last weekend












-For Sale signs are popping up all over the neighbourhood














-those nasty trucks are coming around and spreading foul smelling fertilizer all over the neighbour's lawn. Y'know, so that it can grow to a lush vibrant green shag rug, so that he can ruthlessly mow it down.
-yep, yesterday we heard the drone of three different lawn mowers.













-and last but not least, the fancy cars are emerging from their winter storage. That's when you know.
On the way home from the Girl's ballet class this week, we followed the car of her dreams down the street. She has high expectations, my girl. Her dream car is a red convertible Viper. She's not foolin around here. So we pulled up beside it at a stoplight to get a real good look. And what was the bleach blonde fancy lady listening to with her male companion? True Colors as covered by Phil Collins. In a red convertible VIPER. That's so lame! It's just not right. In fact, in a car that sweet, she should not be listening to anything but the gorgeous sexy rumble of that V10 engine. What a crime. The three of us sat in our truck, which rumbles due to a little harmless exhaust leak, and shook our heads in embarrassment for the bleach blonde lady, who clearly had more money than brains, to be driving a car like that and not know what to listen to. We felt kinda sorry for her.

When I was in high school in the late eighties, if you were cool, and could hold down a job while being so cool, you had to become a member of Club Zed. This being Canada, you had to pronounce it ZED-TWENNY-EIGHT.

Ours was a central district school, meaning that it took students from all the surrounding small towns and farms. It was great. There was not much walking to the store during breaks, because it was a good 20 minute walk into town...so most of us--them-- just got into trouble on school property. Dumpster fires, wacky tobacky, groping and fooling around, you name it. Unless, of course, you had wheels.

Right around now you got the Camaro out of the barn it'd been spending the winter in. Oh I forgot one thing: you had to be a guy to be in Club Zed. Then all the girls with their feathery hair would be like, Oh, like I totally like your car, like.

Then there was me. I loved the boys, for sure, but I never just stood there blinking. I had to circle the whole car, examining the body work and paint. I got on the pavement and looked underneath. I wanted to see under the hood.

I particularly love this photo because many of my rides came with a nifty wooden holding device. Every single photo today comes off of Google so I'm pleased that other people have discovered the wooden holding device.

Some day I'll scan some photos of my sweet rides in high school. By now you may have figured out that mine was not the most normal family. We drove some fun stuff. Driving was never boring where I came from. Jethro was just as bad, the big difference being that his dad didn't give a rat's ass about cars but my dad was all about cars.

Never had a Camaro though. Not cool enough, I guess? Too cool maybe??

I drove my dad's 55 F100 a couple of times, and did I feel like the heaviest coolest chick at school. Until I locked up the gears on the way into a parking spot. I wrangled everything free again. I don't think anybody noticed.

Lunch hours always involved a bit of showing off. Brake torques, burn outs, tire squawking, that sort of thing. I don't know what the hell kids do with their cars now. How impressive can you be with a Honda Civic? Fast, sure, like a mosquito. I think the most impressive stunts done with cars nowadays are all about how loud the bottom end in the stereo can go.

(don't I sound like about 87 years old right now!)

Camaros started getting ugly by the time I escaped the clutches of school.

Every time I see one I think of Guns N Roses. Oh, sweet child of mine. Oh oh whoa oh oh sweet love of mine.

In other realities, this is that wonderful time of year out in the country when the fields get their dose. It's SHITSPREADER time! Yay!



No hanging the wash out on the line this week. I got your Springtime Fresh RIGHT HERE, baby!