Defining Moments of My Life
1968 Mopar Charger

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1968 Mopar Charger
07.02.07 1:40 a.m.

I've been writing in a handwirtten journal sometimes so I don't know if I mentioned this at all in here but Scott owns a 68 Charger. Plum Crazy purple, it's fucking gorgeous. He's into racing, all kinds, he even used to help out little kids doin those go-cart things. I finally got a ride in the Charger over the weekend. We got up to 130 mph or so. I almost peed my pants we took off so fast, and the noise... I wouldn't even know how to spell anything that it sounded like, my god I almost died!

I got some nice pics of the car, I really like this angle I got on the front end

Here's under the hood, I almost humped it.

Here's Scott and I after having drank much MUCH hard cider and beer. The stains on my shirt are from trying to hold onto my cider in the car as we were doin a buck thirty....

Scott also has a 'Cuda being restored right now, I told him it's my Cuda now. He told me that there was no way in hell he'd ever EVER let me drive the Charger so he was nice enough to say "it's all yours baby" bout the Baracuda. It's gonna be repainted and he told me to start thinking about colors. Gotta do some research, I'm actually gonna check out pics of different cars before automatically jumping to the red n black conclusion.... We'll see, maybe I'll find another color.




Always remember to quit while you're ahead.

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About Me
I am a bipolar genius, child abuse & addiction survivor, who is now a single mother who works 70 hours a week and has had gastric-bypass weight loss surgery a year ago. Wish me luck cuz I need it!!!

Examples of My Insanity
Dead On Mental Health Quiz
Tuna Noodle Casserole Story
Explaining Myselves
Biting Off Redneck's Finger
Got So Crazy Scratched Til I Bled
How I Found Nirvana
Leaving Lon After 7 Years
Bad Luck On 3 July 4ths
Random Craziness (FBI Please Disregard)
How I Ended Up A Junky
Almost Getting Raped by a Marine
Typical Weekend in Ohio
How Cobain Saved My Life


How long could we maintain? I wondered. How long until one of us starts raving and jabbering at this boy? What will he think then? This same lonely desert was the last known home of the Manson family; will he make that grim connection when my attorney starts screaming about bats and huge manta rays coming down on the car? If so, well, we'll just have to cut his head off and bury him somewhere, 'cause it goes without saying that we can't turn him loose. He'd report us at once to some kind of outback Nazi law enforcement agency and they'll run us down like dogs. Jesus, did I say that? Or just think it? Was I talking? Did they hear me?


AFTER


WHAT'S MY NAME?!?