Tales From the DMV

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I was driving into Greensboro yesterday to meet a friend for lunch when I decided to pop by the DMV and take care of that little license renewal thing I'd had on my "to do" list since January when I received the notice. The parking lot was only half-full, which I took for a good sign. I had two hours until I had to meet my friend so I figured even if I had to wait for an hour, I'd still have plenty of time. 

Uh, reality check. 

Judging from the waiting room, people ride in clown cars to the DMV. There must have been an average of 8 people for every car in the lot. 

"How long's the wait?" I asked.

The clerk gave me the sad smile that seems to be a permanent feature of folks who work at the DMV. "About 2 hours," he said.

I bolted. I'd rather drive illegally than hang out for 2 hours at the DMV. 

Realizing this wasn't practical, I went back today armed with three books and a writing tablet. No need. I was called back in less than 30 minutes. That's when the panic set in.

I don't know what it is, but taking any sort of DMV test freaks me out. I'm always afriad my eyesight isn't going to pass muster and that I'll fail the road sign test. I did actually choke on one sign. It was a plain yellow circle and I just went blank. 

"Uh... um..." I said stalling. "Oh geez, I know this..."

"Goes choo-choo," suggested the examiner. 

"Oh! Right! Railroad crossing." I smiled sheepishly. 

"Don't sweat it," said the examiner. "I can't tell you how many teachers come in here and can't name the school crossing sign."

Okay, good to know. 

I had my picture taken which, although she wouldn't show it to me, the examiner said was better than my last one. (I thanked her and than had that, "Hey, wait a minute..." moment.)

Bottom line, I survived the DMV. Day. of. Accomplishment. 

The Spring Cleaning Bug - Better Late Than Never?

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I was cleaning house this morning and I think I had some sort of religious experience in between dusting and using the last of the toilet bowl cleaner. I was going along, minding my own business, when I was struck full force by the realization that I couldn't remember the last time I had dusted the blinds. Then it occurred to me that the windows also need cleaned. And when was the last time I really scrubbed down the fridge? 

I found myself in the grips of a full-fledged cleaning frenzy. Not that I actually did any of the work, mind you. Instead, I did what I do best. I made a list. 

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Rules for Shopping

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Oh yes, I now own these puppies...Ransacking my closet the other day for a suitable outfit to wear to a meeting with a client that wouldn't leave me melting in 85 degree heat, I noticed that for the past 10 years of my life I have apparently bought nothing but sleeveless blouses. I also pulled out swimsuits I'd purchased around approximately the same time Madonna burst onto the music scene. In light of an upcoming beach trip in July with my best friend, it became apparent I needed to do a bit of shopping.

I'm not a shopper. Shopping makes my little linear brain hurt. Too many choices, too many chances to make a bad decision, plus I believe everything the store clerks tell me. (It never occurs to me to ask if they work on commission when they assure me the purple rhinestone pants are all the rage and when paired with a blazer, entirely appropriate as office wear.)

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