Drivin' and Drinkin', Especially In That Order.

Mmm. Wow. That beverage right there? That's got a lot of gin in it.

So, yes. Today, yours truly was actually driving, as in, continuing the driving lessons that he dropped a solid grand for about a year and a half ago before succumbing to the flu and cancelling a session and then it was Hazel's first birthday and then a couple weeks later was that whole wedding thing and then there were the Beano renovations and then that quick trip out to visit the folks and then another birthday and then a Christmas vacation and then OHMYGOD HAS IT ACTUALLY BEEN OVER A YEAR SINCE MY LAST LESSON? WHAT. THE FUCK. IS WRONG WITH ME?

To be fair: when one attaches one's self in a matrimonial way to the human equivalent of a whirlwind, one should probably expect one's life to take on various whirlwind-esque qualities, and just learn to shut up and keep up and quit one's bitchin'. Just sayin'.

Also in fairness: the only instructor in Calgary who teaches how to drive manual, according to the CAA/AMA/WTF, is an older man named Werner who is possessed of the thickest accent that lies somewhere between Austria and Germany, not sure exactly where, but every lesson sounds like one is driving with Arnold Schwartzenegger pretending to be a motivational speaker at a concentration camp. You might understand my hesitation at getting back in the car with this man.

But, I did. And it seemed to go well, tonight. Except for that moment on Shagganappi when he decided to test me out by pretending that there were objects on the road that I was about to hit that I couldn't see and then started barking directions in that thick accent - "CLUTCH, IN! SHIFT TO SECOND! FRICTION POINT! ACCELERATE! BLIND SPOT! LOOK BEHIND YOU! SIGNAL! BLIND SPOT! COVER BRAKE!" - at which point, after checking my mirrors like a good student driver, I may not have slammed on the brakes but I DID stop suddenly, and turned to this man to say: "Dude. You have REALLY got to stop yelling at me."

To which he replied, after tsking a few times, "Oh, Chris. Is too much, yes? Too much."

And that's when I drove us to a gas station and bought us some coffee and doughnuts, and then he proceeded to tell me about his wife's constant depression and recent committal to a hospital. I swear to god. The fucking people you meet, and the places you fucking meet them. It makes my head spin and my heart hurt, but I guess that's how it's supposed to be.

So, my next lesson's tomorrow night. Apparently he's got something special planned for me. I shudder to think.

Here are some things that seem designed to freak me right out:

1. OHMIGOD FLYING SQUID WHAT THE FUCK.

2. OHMIGOD MONSTER PHONES WHAT THE HELL.

3. OHMIGOD REPUBLICANS SHOOT ME NOW.

Okay that was just silly. Sorry. I will go drink more gin now, and think about what I've done. In the meantime: Josh thinks this is the best song on the new Arcade Fire album. I think the album's got quite a few forgettable moments and is trying really hard to be the soundtrack to some new John Hughes movie, but this song ain't bad.