Do you smell something?

You should thank the stars you can't smell this

Love this car. Hate that smell. The wave of stench that wafts forth when I open the door could knock the buzzard off a shitwagon. Like I mentioned before, I found mice nests in the trunk, and the car smells like piss++ (auto-increment piss smell with unknown pungent stank). Stacy is pretty grossed out, which, if she doesn't just split and spend the rest of summer vacation at the pool, can be motivating.

Goal 1: Remove the seats and carpet.

Stacy decided laying on cardboard underneath the car was too cheap-ass for her liking. She prevailed upon my sensibilities by reminding me that cardboard was NOT the correct tool for the job - so I took her to Harbor Freight. Stacy looked at me, "Harbor what?" And I'm like, "cheap shit off a boat from China." "Oh. Do they have overalls? Cause we need some cool mechanic's overalls." "Who knows. They have creepers though." "Creepers? Like creepy people?" "No, the board on wheels you want. But if it makes you happy, some of the guys at the cash register can be borderline psycho." "Oh cool."

The cycle of life is cool with me, but dont bogart the car.

Back in the shop, with creepers but without overalls, we put the Mustang on jack stands and rolled underneath. We spent some time identifying stuff and had an impromptu lesson on suspension components and exhaust. We found a number stamped in the bottom of the rocker (7 9 3A L65? Look up later) Stacy pulled the cover plugs and loosened half of the seat bolts. I did the other half.

Needs some attention, but not horrible.

The seats came out, revealing the final resting place of some totally expired mice. Apparently they bunked in the trunk, dined under the back seat, and interred their honored dead under the fronts. Stacy, repelled but still on her toes, suggested respirators and gloves for the carpet removal. Yes. Double plus super yes. Donning our awesome biohazard gear and best Darth Vader voices, we muscled the carpet outta there. Stacy pointed out a patch job on the rear floorpan which consisted of a couple pieces of thin metal riveted in with some filler in the gap, or as Stacy commented, "like a s'more." Yep. if the metal patch was a graham cracker and the bondo a toasted marshmallow, exactly so.

It smells a little better

Goal one complete. Stacy declares that since it's still stinky, we may need a few of those little trees.
Goal: Before next session discover piss++ neutralization strategies, so we need not dispense plague masks filled with herbs to our future passengers.
Goal 2: Find some coveralls, so we can make the proper fashion statement on, around, and under the car.

ZOMGPONIEZ!!!!!1111eleven1!!

I don't recall if Stacy ever asked me for a pony when she was little, but let's pretend she did. Let's also pretend that I was an ogre, yelled NO BEAT IT, and made her cry and cry. It's never too late to atone for old fictional trepasses, so when my buddy Jason offered to sell me his 1965 Mustang coupe, I got out the checkbook. Stacy has a pony! I'm the hero! Yay!. I'm awesome.

The good: It had a earlier extensive restoration. It comes with tons of documentation. It's a V8 car. It's straight.  It was stored inside.

The bad: It had an earlier extensive restoration. Mice and wasps made themselves at home inside. It doesn't start. It doesn't stop. It smells funny.

So after I got the car, I started off by doing what I always do: Go into a super-anal information gathering fit. After all what the fuck do I know about Mustangs? I'm an Oldsmobile guy for chrissakes. I see the guy who did the resto in '88 used the trim codes and the VIN from the driver's door tag to outfit the car. I even find what appears to be a matching original factory option sheet. Problem? The door tag says 1964-1/2 D-code (early 289 4V) GT car. Tag also says it's a white automatic. Ah crap, nothing jives here, which means the driver's door, including the trim code tag, is probably a junkyard replacement. I feel all smug and superior now because I have the interwebs and can lay the smack down on some dude from the 80's with my superior door tag-decoding skillz! I'm all about the unfair advantage and the taunting. Hah! Past Mustang restoring dude, you mistook Poppy Red for Rangoon Red, and who cares, cause the car was supposed to be Wimbeldon White! My grandmother even knows that "M" means white! She also knows the difference between a C-4 auto and a 3-speed! D-code car with a 2-barrel carb? Nuh-uuuuh! Who's you daddy, huh? Who?  Tha's RIGHT! Pwn3d!

(decorum restored)

So, the driver's side inner fender shows me what I already suspected: it's a 1965 C-code (289 2V) totally-not-a-GT car. No problem. I'm still wondering what color this car really was, but not having a trim code to go by is actually kind of liberating. We can pick any color from the 1965 list. Stacy likes Twighlight Turquoise. And a racing stripe. Time to get started.