Wain and I came within half a car length of getting in a terrible accident tonight.
I was on I-35 going about 60 or 70 when the driver in front of me slammed on the brakes to avoid another car with a blowout. Of course the person ahead of me had a slight head start on the stopping thing, so I shoved the brake pedal in all at once. The tires screeched and smoked and I skidded to a stop with about six feet to spare.
Another stroke of luck: the bitch in the Mustang who was tailgating me very closely (Like I can go any faster than the car ahead of me? Like it's reasonable to expect to go faster than 70 during rush hour? Bitch.) had whipped into the other lane about 30 seconds before.
Ooh. That was sort of traumatic.
On a lighter note, Eric gets the Superwinner award for this evening. First, he made me a Couch Flambeau CD this afternoon. I can't really recommend them; they're marginally better musically than the Dead Milkmen and almost as funny, but they cheer me up immensely.
He also just walked in with beer, Peeps, and spring rolls. So I have to go eat my snacks and give him his Superwinner prize now.