Welcome, friends

It would appear I have jumped on the blog bandwagon, or is a blogwagon, a little late.
Sitting on my couch on a Saturday afternoon watching a rerun of Gene Simmon's Family Jewels on A&E (yes, in order to know it for the rerun that it was, I had to have watched it before, sadly), and it dawned on me.
I must blog.
But I continued on, watching the show, laughing, Ha, Ha, he can't put down his cellphone, Ha, Ha!
Eventually, when I assumed bedsores were to be had if I sat much longer, and knowing I didn't want to go the way of Christopher Reeves, I got up and drove to the mall.
On the way home, stuck in traffic as is always the case in the Lower Mainland, I began peering around at my fellow motorists.
My eyes were darting, darting, and finally alighted on the rearview mirror, and to my horror, there was a woman there in a red car behind me. I know you're wondering what kind of car she was driving, but that, my friend, is immaterial. And no, I don't have a problem with red cars, that's not what caused my horror.
It's what she was doing that was cause for commotion.
This woman was staring up into her own rearview mirror, but she wasn't using it to look backwards, rather, she was using this spare moment in traffic to aggressively pop a pimple.
Her 14-year-old son, we'll call him Jaxson (as I hear folks these days think that's a cool name, and it's made even cooler by spelling with an 'x') sits, plugged into his iPod, every once in a while looking over at his pimple-popping mother and not saying a word.
Now I've spent a lot of time in traffic, and I've seen a lot of things, my friend. I have seen the classic makeup application, the tooth brushing, the shaving.
I had yet to see the pimple popping, and though it grossed me out somewhat, it also excited me. This was something new, something I needed to share with the world.
Because who knows how long it will be until this woman drives into your neighbourhood.
I'll be your window to the world if you let me.