08.14.2002 - You Don't Know From Bad

I've come to the conclusion that people who whine about the DMV need to have their genitals branded with a hot iron while Roseanne Bar sings them Journey tunes topless so they know the difference between pain and pleasure.

When Mr. Bestfriendinthewholewideworld's parents gave me the VAnGINA, they mentioned something about the registration being due in a few months. Because I was so excited to have a working automobile at my disposal, however, nothing they said really sank in. They could have told me there were several dead human fetuses in the glove compartment and I would have replied, "sweet, dude! I love babies!"

Late last week, I got a call from Mr. Bestfriendinthewholewideworld's father who, in an understandably angry tone, notified me that the DMV sent him a letter saying the registration for the Van was way past due. Ashamed of my forgetfulness and irresponsibility, I repeatedly apologized and vowed to take care of it right away.

As soon as I got off the phone, I headed for the car to get this resolved, but because I am driving The Momsmobile for the time being, the van and all registration information were in Livermore. I had to find time to drive all the way out there, pick up the necessary paperwork and then try to fit a trip to the DMV into my schedule.

I wasn't able to take care of this until yesterday. Even though it's been about five years since I've stepped foot in the building and I don't really remember too much of my experience there, I dreaded going to the DMV. I figured I'd be in line awash in a sea of unpleasant jerkoffs long enough to go from clean shaven to full-on neck beard (which, incidentally would take me roughly seven years) before I'd have the honor of forking over my dough. This, however, turned out not to be the case.

The DMV has cute kids, cute old people and cute Spanish ladies working behind the counter who vaguely resemble Anna Waronker of That Dog.

The man sitting next to me smelled like lemonade.

The older couple to my right discussed things like morphine drips and in what kind of old folks home they'd like to finish their days. While this would normally be depressing, it was nice to not feel old for a change, especially on the verge of a birthday.

Now, this isn't necessarily the type of place I'd like to hang out on my own free time, but it wasn't terrible. They whisked me out of there within a half an hour. If I weren't forced to give them most of the money I planned on shoving into the underpants of Vegas strippers, it would have been an entirely pleasant experience.

So now, I'm poorer, but at least my registration is current and I only lost the length of an episode of Saved By The Bell. By Thursday, I'll be knee deep in hookers 'n' blow in Vegas and sitting quietly in a DMV office will be the furthest thing from my mind.

-- Jeffy