Excuse me, but where did I place my common sense?

Up until last weekend I would have considered myself to have a pretty good measure of common sense.  Considering though that I barely escaped last weekend with all my brain cells intact and a running car, that matter is now up for consideration.  

Exhibit A--Goof Off is Not for Goofs

I was throwing a Christmas party on Saturday night, hence I had a lot of external motivation to complete some home projects I had waiting around for me to wrap up.  One project was finishing transforming these huge frames I got from yard sales this summer.

Backstory--this summer I picked up 3 huge, UGLY frames with UGLY art on the inside for about $5 total.  A few weeks ago I spray painted the frames a glossy chocolate brown, and while doing such got some paint on the glass.

Razor blades were not getting the job done, so I had a can of Goof Off that I went into the guest room with, turned on the fan, and started working.

At the first blast of the product I noticed it had a really strong odor, but I glanced at the fine print on the back of the can, didn't see anything about fumes, and kept working.  A little while later J comes in, and the second the front door opens goes "woah!!!!!"  Apparently the fumes were REALLY bad.  He comes in to make sure I'm not dead, and takes the can from me when I say there were no fume notes on the can.

And I was right.  There were no fume notes on the can.  There was only ALL CAPS warnings on the front and exhaustive directions on setting up a cross breeze if you have to work inside (but if possible work OUTSIDE).  

Ooops…

Exhibit B--Not Riding on Air

Saturday morning, after detoxing from the Goof Off incident, I hop up to go exercise.  While I am driving to the gym I notice that my car is driving funny.  It drives funny all morning and I'm pretty sad about this.  J comes over and we're talking about our plans for the day and he goes, "well we have to drive together."  I respond with no, we don't," he goes "yes we do," and I again go "no we do not," and he goes "babe.  you have a flat tire."

Whomp.

Thankfully since these two incidents I have my A-game back (notwithstanding getting my rights and lefts confused and general trip-i-ness over painted lines).