The DMV.

I went to the DMV today. Technically, Thursday morning...since I'm still up at 1:30 AM, so that makes it Friday. My head hurts now.

Like 95% of the population I have a genetic aversion to the DMV. It cranks up my sarcasm and cynicism way higher than it needs to go-- like the 11 on Spinal Tap's amp. The place opened at 10, and we got there at 9:55. Already there was a 30-person line. Oh joy. The guy in front of me decided to make small talk, and I'm not so big on random conversations like that-- I blame my year of taking public transportation. I kind of always expected someone on my bus to just start screaming in tongues and flinging piss all over. First step in the local DMV is to get in the line of epic foot-shuffling and irritation to get the relevant paperwork and a number-- and Then, you can wait for your turn. I listened to the surrounding cell phone conversations and wondered if anyone on earth is capable of speaking without a cell phone hanging off their ear like an odd piercing.

While waiting I looked at all the signs, spread over to attract attention away from the fact that you'll be in line until roughly eternity ends-- or it'll at least feel like it. The first one I saw was a drawing of a frowny-faced man in a little blue car. The caption was "Does driving a car with mechanical problems make you a Sam Sad driver?" Wow. Are they aiming for 4 year-olds getting their first tricycle license? I have a tendency to not filter my thoughts when I'm with my mom, because she gets me. I tapped her on the shoulder and then pointed at all 400 signs and told her, "I'm expecting to see a sign that says 'For records purposes and your convenience, we now require all forms to be filled out in aramaic, in triplicate. Please have ID ready.' " But even though being there makes my eye tic, I refuse to be rude to the people that work there. Chances are they don't like it much either.

Across the street there is a little corner store and there's a giant yellow sign in the front window that said "SALE-- Housewares, Human Hair." *Wha?*

We were number 805. No, thankfully it did not start at number 1. By the time we left, it had in reality been under an hour...but I was so happy to see the sun outside that I almost dropped to kiss the cigarette-butt and undecipherable trash-strewn ground. Oh by the way-- the DMV is immediately next door to the Department of Mental Health. Nice.

Peeve of the day-- fashion magazines that imply that I should worry more about the latest issue of Cosmo, and all the articles on what men "really think." Oh bullshit. I'd rather watch baseball or stand-up on DVD than discuss the lists of 940 reasons to buy clothes that are ugly and overexpensive. It seems silly to me. I am made of roughly Mischa Barton and Nicole Ritchie together (plus some pizza) ...so why would I want to try and look like them? I'll buy Cosmo more than once a year once they have models that look more like me, and clothes that look less like the demented result of a coke and jack-fueled bender. I admit this is because I bought the recent issue, out of curiosity and boredom. It's just as bad as I remembered, and I'm embarrassed to have spent 4 bucks on it. They had an photo-filled article on how tight fitting tapered leg jeans are coming back. For my generation-- those went the way of acid wash, right? I know what's flattering on me... and the day I wear tapered leg jeans I'll ask my best friend to get me drunk and burn them off of me.