But not all the cars have noticed this. Just when I am almost up to the cheese truck, the driver of a white car directly behind the cheese truck suddenly notices the truck’s warning lights — as well as the open delivery door and two men removing boxes of cheese. So, the driver of the the white car immediately starts to turn into the left lane.

Realizing that the white car might do this, I’ve stopped. It’s not a huge amount of room for the white car to change lanes, but as the light has already turned red, it’s enough.

This is when the driver of the white car notices me and proceeds to lose his shit.

(Quick note about the driver: about 60 years-old, but a hard 60. Gray hair, beard, scowl lines creasing his face so much that I can see them through his rear-view mirror. His wife sits next to him, staring straight ahead, smoking an 18-foot-long cigarette.)

So, he sees me and loses it. In his mind I have cut him off. I have cut him off and done so maliciously and gleefully. He’s screaming in his rear-view mirror, waving his arms around, and pointing at me (periodically using very specific fingers).

I see this and I distinctly mouth, “I. LET. YOU. IN.”

He freaks out even more, screaming even harder, bouncing up and down in his seat, and pointing successively at himself, then me, then at the road, then back at himself.

I roll down my window and I yell, “DUDE! I! LET! YOU! IN!”

And that’s when he grabs a SHEATHED HUNTING KNIFE, holds it up to the rear-view mirror and points at it.

So I do what any sane person would do.

I start laughing uncontrollably.

Yes, I realize he did just threaten my life.

BUT COME ON.

A HUNTING KNIFE?

“OH NO! I MAY HAVE TO ROLL UP MY WINDOW!”

He watches me lose it for a moment. Then he puts the hunting knife down, looks straight ahead, and changes lanes.

Light turns green and we drive on.

And I can’t help it. I keep laughing at him. When I catch him looking at me in his rear-view mirror, I laugh even harder. The whole way.

Two blocks from my work, he pulls off and disappears down a side street.

His wife never turned her head.

I got as far as “IHAF2P” when I realized it could be mistaken for “I have toupee”.

And now men with wigs make me have to pee.

Thanks, brain.

Long-form text and me aren’t besties right now.

Thusly, mah Twitter and Tumblr are getting the love from me right now.

I still love you, but I have the attention span of a marmoset right now.

And its shiny pelt.

Kisses!

[Off-stage whispering.]

What?

[Further off-stage whispering.]

I’ve had this for years?

[And again with the off-stage whispering.]

I neglect it horribly?

[This joke is getting old.]

Looking at it gives me acid reflux?

[Screw you. Write your own stage direction.]

Acid reflux OF SHAME?!

Well… poop on you, blog. POOP ON YOU. IT’S MY BLOG SO I WILL NEGLECT YOU WHENEVER I DAMN WELL oh that’s what acid reflux feels like. I had forgotten.

…

Anywho…

…

In honour of the new year — and because I have been commanded by my Twitter Overlass to do so — please allow me to celebrate all of our new kitten calendars by partaking in the SEVEN THINGS MEME.

Ahem. Let us begin.

seven things about me you didn’t ever need to know!

1. I didn’t have a name for my imaginary friend until one day my Dad said, “What’s your imaginary friend’s name?”

Stumped, I said, “Ummm… ‘Bleedy Blee’?”

From that point on, I imagined him as a smiling kid with blood streaming down his face. True story.

(Happy guy, Bleedy Blee. I miss him. Shame about the hemophilia.)

2. When I was 10, the local convenience store was selling jelly donuts for ten cents a piece.

I did not question their rationale. I had a dollar. You do the math.

I don’t eat jelly donuts now.

3. I once co-choreographed the climactic scene from Oedipus Rex to a piece from Stravinsky’s The Firebird.

Yeah… I was a bit of a douche in theatre school.

5. For about a year in junior high, I was obsessed with the comic Elfquest. You can imagine that did WONDERS for my social calendar. But if you wanted the skinny on the comings and goings of a tribe of Wolfriders descended from the pairing of an elf and a wolf, I WAS YOUR GUY!

6. The best article of clothing I have ever owned — HANDS DOWN — was a pair of swimming trunks with a leopard on the front. A MOTHERFUCKING LEOPARD.

Admit it. You respect me more as a man now.

7. My comedic taste can be traced directly to the following sources: Bloom County, Ambush Bug, the works of Christopher Durang, and every freaking thing Chuck Jones ever did.

Also, poop jokes.

—

Update: Holy Hell. Is anyone actually READING this thing? I JUST get word that I’m totally missing number 4 on my seven things about me you didn’t ever need to know! list?!

Slack, people. Real slack.

Ah. I kid, because I love.

Here goes:

4. I have this thing about trying to guess angles. I imagine that I have a magic Superball that — once set in motion — will fly perfectly straight and continue bouncing forever. And when I’m in rooms or hallways or vehicles I try and imagine at what angle I would have to throw the Superball that would have it bouncing the same route for eternity. Or how would I have to throw it at that wall to have it bounce out of that window in the shortest route? Or in the most convoluted route?

I have done this for DECADES. It’s just part of the background noise of my brain. Superball angles.

There. And now you know… the REST of the story.

Me: Grrrr…

Wife: Don’t be mad — just listen to The Go-Go’s!

Me: Fine. They better have the beat.

Wife: They DO have the beat!

The Go-Go’s: ♫ We got the beat! ♫

And all was right with the world.

Except for, like — you know — famine and war and shit.

But… well, you get the idea.

And the fact that she has not thrown me bodily from a moving vehicle is a testament to her preternatural patience.

However, I am quite certain that when she finally does snap and fill my ear canal with millipedes, it will have been motivated by a variant of the following statement:

“That’s awesome — can I [blog/twitter] that?”

My Lovely Wife: suppressing a killing rage for your amusement.

Enough with this shit.

I’ve spent most of the last six months building quite an impressive fortress out of mental stumbling blocks, insecurities, and guilt. It was hugely impressive and made for some nice pictures and did fuck all to my self-worth and productivity.

This is me pouring oil over the whole shebang and lighting a match.

The wait is over.

Space Monkey Pants is back.

Boo-yah, motherfuckers.

Me: You know what’s on her CD player, don’t you?

My Lovely Wife: What?

Me: TERRIBLE music. Maroon 5, Mariah Carey…

My Lovely Wife: I disagree.

Me: Really?

My Lovely Wife: Yes. She’s “New Country”.

Me: Wait! I know what she has on her CD player!

My Lovely Wife: What?

Me: Well, anyone that really knows her knows that she tells everyone that she likes “all kinds of music”.

My Lovely Wife: And?…

Me: So… she has Maroon 5, Mariah Carey, AND New Country.

My Lovely Wife: Ah. That sounds right.

…

My Lovely Wife and I — stereotyping Chevy Cavalier drivers so you don’t have to.