Waiting for the lights to change

Ever get in your car, drive and forget where you're going or how you got where you are. You yell at yourself because that's normal. I mean who else is there to yell at. I'm the bone head who thought, Oh well, let's just daydream a while. I obviously have nowhere to go, do I have to get to nowhere, in a friggin hurry? You know the guy? I'm thinking,  gee, how did I get here? Looks like I made good time! 

Every sit at red light and have know idea how many cycles of changing lights you missed. You wish you had an excuse like texting or mowing down a big Mac, while searching the bottom of the bag for that surprise fry. Nope, just spaced out, waiting for the caffeine to kick in.

Ever notice how this always seems to happen on a Monday. Maybe, you just don't want to go where your going, so your mind in it's supreme intelligence decides, frig it, a little holiday would be nice right about now. Gee, where would I really like to go? Fantasy front seat, reality back seat. Little cotton candy clouds, filled with the flavor of the day just floating by windshield of.... Horn. 

The driver behind wakes from his daydream and is gesturing like he is conducting the I'm angry symphony number one. The brass section is a little off, the percussion sounds like someone trapped in the back seat banging on the window trying to get out but the violin was right on cue. You conduct your own version of the I'm sorry overture number two, in buzz off major. The driver in back has two goals. One, is to flip you the bird. Two, to get to the red light or nowhere, faster than you. He pulls around you with his middle finger outro the window o. You realize the reason why he is angry. If the f the PM sticker and huge red and white flag wasn't enough. He is driving a pickup and he is mad for a good reason.  The poor guy has no hair under his turned back cap, a small penis and if that wasn't enough, in the race to the red light, there is only one thing he can't pass. The gas station. I think,  I should give this guy a break but no. Right is right and I'm sure he owes me an apology. The race is on. 

I meet the clown at the red light, he rolls down his window or he pushes the button before he pushes my buttons. Out of kindness, I lower mine for ease of conversation. I can hear him but I can't see him. A voice barks. What's your problem? To be truthful the was an f between what's and yours but I'm trying to keep this clean.  I'm trying to see the right winged, red neck, man hatter. Suddenly, a face emerges from a vape cloud. He repeats. What's your problem? Me using the verbal combat skills I learned in grade school,  shout back What's my problem? You know, just to clarify that I heard him and before he could bark back, I add a zinger, What's your problem? No f was used. The f you, always leads to making something out it. I didn't want to get my ass kicked. The light is longer than usual and the awkward lull is met with just glaring eyes, weird come at me hand gestures and head bobs. Then it happens. We both realize two things. We are Canadians and real Canadians don't behave like this. We both say sorry as the light changes, one last word.  Mondays! Bozo and Oppsy drive away to one day meet again at another red light and another daydream. 

The Three C's

We all do it. There's no reason to be ashamed. It's part of our daily natural cleaning process. There are two things people don't want other people see. Well, there could be a few others but I will address just a couple. One, wiping our asses. Nobody wants to see that. A close second, getting caught picking our nose. This is the one area of focus, I want to talk about today. Why, I don't know, maybe it will be funny.

Crusty Happens

They happen on the couch. They happen on the can. The happen in the car. Crusty happens. How you take care of crusty is up to you. Just don't get caught decrustifiying the crusty. Are you a couch, can, or car picker? 

The couch is probably the worst place to do the deed. Tissues only do so much some. You think you got your nose covered but some of that stuff is going to get lost and find a new home somewhere on the fabric or maybe stuck to an old getaway chip, you lost under your cushion in 1979.  There you are hiding your pick. The thumb behind the palm method is popular and is often used, when your wife is sitting beside you. But, you're not hiding anything.  Your wife knows your doing it. She is tired of it but can't say anything,  saving that card for the day she gets caught. Oh, she's going to get caught. Just a matter of time. The crusty will come out. 

On the can is the the best place. One, you have privacy. Two, you can get your fingers involved and you won't get caught red handed, even if you get red handed. There you are on the can massaging your brain through nostril, when your wife knocks on the door. What are you doing in there? You quickly pull your finger out and say. What do you think I'm doing in here? She has learned there are only two times you spend more than five minutes on the can. She walks away grossed out but thankful, there is another bathroom. 

The car is all about calculation. There are many things to consider. Timing the flow of traffic, front and behind. Can you use the palm hiding thumb method or do you really have to go in. Sometimes you can overthink it, get half way committed, when some bonehead speeds up behind you. You know your rear view mirror is small. Why be paranoid? Really, what ego are you protecting? I mean, what could they see? That's when you realize. That bone-head is your wife. Oh my God he does it everywhere. 

Ever see the sticker on the back of car window of some guy doing it, to it. Clearly this guy doesn't give an f, if anyone is watching. I've seen him in my rear view mirror, massaging his brains through his nostril. I'm stuck at a read light, I can't pick and this guy behind me if like F it I'm going in. Can you imagine TV night with the wife. F it, maybe they both are just sitting picking their nose and flipping through the channels.  Just a picking and flipping. Just a picking and flipping. Make you feel sorry for the remote control. 

Crusty will come. Crusty will go. You hope they'll leave when you blow but some will hang around just because that's the way it is or maybe was

 Keep your nose clean.  See next time on the road.

DennyD