Love in the Fast Lane

Hey there, fellow petrolheads and storyseekers! It’s your car-loving blogger, Patrick James. Feels strange calling myself a blogger since this is just post number 2. Number 2, so if this one is shit, well — It was kind of expected to be.

Getting used to writing all this stuff. Thanks for stick shifting with me.

Let’s get into it.

“MORE HEADLINES” says Lindsay.

Do you agree with her that this helps you read? Again — this is post 2 so probably not a lot to go on. How am I doing? Leave me a note.

Here we go.



Today I’m going to tell you about Sally, my 2015 Ford Mustang, officially the longest relationship I’ve ever been in.

When I first laid eyes on Sally, it was more than lust — there was admiration. I knew there would be recognition. Here was a car that didn’t just promise a ride — it promised adventure.

Lindsay mocks me when I say the first time I turned the ignition, I swear I heard the angels of Detroit singing. There’s something about that initial growl of the V8, a primal call that ignites something deep within.

Driving Sally is like holding a piece of the American dream right in your palms – it’s raw, it’s real, it’s liberating. She’s freedom manifested in steel and rubber, a beacon of what it means to drive not just to get somewhere, but to become part of the journey.

Let’s talk about her style. Mustangs aren’t just cars; they’re icons, a testament to a design philosophy that says, “If it ain’t broke, make it breathtaking.” Every angle, every curve on Sally is a tribute to a legacy that has evolved yet remained timeless.

And this is why 85% of all Fords made are still on the road today… the other 15% made it home.

Oh yeah — there’s gonna be some good ol’ make fun of myself dad jokes on here.

Crap… need a headline again.



It’s not all smooth driving. No love story is complete without its conflicts, the little (and not-so-little) things that keep you grounded.

Sally is a thirsty girl. And while this isn’t usually a problem for any man… when that thirst is for fuel…. Well it’s just not the same.

Her insatiable appetite for fuel is a beast. Here is Miami fuel costs are rivaling a small mortgage. You’ve got to really love the growl to stomach the pain at the pump.

The rear seat… don’t get my started on the dreams I had about getting lucky in that car but when my ex said she’d have to be a circus freak to do anything back there besides store her purse my fantasies were quickly dashed.

Now that I’m a little older and have a place without roommates, having a place to spread out (wink wink) it doesn’t matter for that.

BUT it is a pain when I want to bring home one of Lindsay’s latest furniture rehab projects that “has to be saved” on trash day while driving some random Saturday.

In all seriousness, whoever designed the backseat must’ve been exceptionally optimistic about human flexibility and or had personal boundary issues.



Despite my gripes I love my girl. The one with a chassis. (Oh yea… and my editor sitting proofreading this post before it goes live…)

Every mile is a memory, every scratch a story, and every start-up a new chapter in a saga that’s far from over.

Stay tuned up,

Patrick James

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