May
4
May 4, 2006
After some serious googling involving quotes and boolean strings and every damn search term I could think of, I finally unearthed the one photo I know of from my fabulously charming goth-girl phase. And so, behold:
Yes. Ahem.
Well.
My hair certainly was mushroomy and…crimped, wasn’t it? Crimped. Hmmm. Because the undead carry the burdensome clanking vestiges of their corporeal life in the form of crimping irons, I guess.
The eyeshadow, I’m sure, was provided by the good people of Wet ‘n Wild cosmetics, which had the advantage of 1) coming in hideous colors such as “Charcoal Ash” and 2) costing $.99. Also, I believe this was during my phase of drawing a pointy black eyeliner outline on my lips and filling them in with red lipstick. For that subtle come-hither-yon-young-Lestat-look. I imagine it was very attractive, especially when it rubbed off on my teeth.
That there on the left was my boyfriend at the time. He was very into Robert Smith. Perhaps you can tell?
Anyway, there you go. And with that, I believe I have officially discarded my last wisp of dignity as far as this website is concerned.
May
3
May 3, 2006
On Monday I had a question for the Department of Licensing. I called their main Olympia number and spent several long minutes navigating their phone tree, which kept reminding me that I could visit their website at Dee-Oh-Ell Dot Wah Dot Gee-You-Vee. A recorded voice told me they had a website, there was information on the website, and gosh, was I sure I didn’t want to go to the website? Since there wasn’t an option for “I’ve already visited the website and it told me to call, you douchebag,” I kept grimly pushing the keypad in the hopes of securing a real live human being.
Finally, finally, I got the option to hit zero for an operator, and after doing so I listened to the following message: “There is no one to respond. There is no one to respond. Thank you for calling. Goodbye,” and then I was disconnected. Presumably so I could log onto their website.
I played this fun little game several more times before I finally decided to just go to the DMV and suffer through the lines in order to take care of business in person. I figured this would be a task marginally easier without an eight-month-old, so I put a fresh outfit on Riley, changed his diaper, fed him, bundled him into his carseat, wrinkled my nose, unbundled him and changed the diaper which had been merrily pumped full of turdage, put him back in, assembled a couple bottles, got in my car, drove to daycare, unloaded Riley and installed him into a swing bristling with toys, left and drove to the DMV, where I discovered – OH CAN YOU GUESS?
Yes, they’re closed on Mondays.
Awesome.
I parked outside the office and practiced my prison-slang lexicon for a while, then drove back to daycare and got the boy and went home.
On the chance that the reason I kept being hung up on was because they were closed, I tried the DOL again yesterday morning, but after the same urgings to go to their website (what the fuck, DOL, are you hosting pay per view porn or something?) I failed to reach any carbon-based lifeform. So I once again drove to the DMV, where I took a butcher-shop numbered ticket and waited for approximately eight hundred and fifty thousand hours, while regarding the following:
• No less than 4 different employees disappearing to take a break, leaving one solitary man to wait on a room full of people
• One employee actually shouting in the face of a non-native-English-speaking man at top volume: “INSURANCE! YOU NEED TO BRING IN INSURANCE! IN…..SUR……ANCE!”
• A frail, deaf, confused elderly man renewing his driving license (!)
• An employee letting the phone ring for about twenty-three times before rolling her eyes and picking it up, probably to tell the caller to check the website
Sadly, I did not notice the small lettered sign attached to the front counter: CASH AND CHECKS ONLY. Oh, I was a regular Starey Von Observerton, except for that little detail.
“I don’t suppose the website that has been presented as an option to me with the fervor of a doorbell-ringing Jehovah’s Witness bearing forth a glowing copy of the Watchtower personally signed by God him-fucking-self takes debit payments, does it?” I asked.
(Apparently, it does not.)
:::
Even a day of DMV stupidity just floats away on a little shit-colored cloud when the boy is doing something like this:
Or this.
(Peekaboo! I see you, Riley Bear.)
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