The DMV Diaries

• Part of the moving chaos of this week is trying to cram in all of the required paperwork telling everyone who demands to know where I now live. That includes the DMV folk, for starters. As always, it was an adventure. As soon as I walked in, an . . . "older gentleman" sauntered in behind me and immediately started talking to me. He asks me questions about which line to go to. How to do this. How to do that. Then he tells me--totally unsolicited--that he had a DUI and now that he's paid the "bread" (his word) he wants to get his license back. Now, it's 11am and he's chugging a Coke like it's got the antidote, and belching every 30 seconds. He stops his rambling long enough to very obviously check out a young woman walking by. This man has got me by at least 20 years--and I've got him by at least 5 teeth--and the passerby was younger than me. So I'm thinking, "Dirty old man!" Not to mention that he's clearly giving me his best efforts in what he must think is flirting. It's not pretty. After he checks out the girl, he turns back to me and explains that I shouldn't be offended because he was still talking to me. Indeed, he was flapping his jaws to me the entire he time he was spinning his head around to ogle this woman. I told him to take all the time he likes looking at other women. Fine by me. You could even follow them and go talk to them instead.

But here's the kicker: 11am, right? DUI, right? Why does he smell like liquor?

Please, please, lady at the counter, tell this joker that the only way to get his license back is with a note from his sponsor.

• Here's the other thing: Hubby was parking the car while I was fending off the dirty old man. I step in line and the worker in the first line gives me a ticket . Hubby comes to rescue me and gets the next ticket. It's one number after mine. We wait for half our lives and they finally call my number. Right after I go up and get the address change completed, we think Hubby must be next. Right? Wrong!? Why are there about 900 hundred people called next? Does that make any numerical sense?
• Perhaps the worst part is that they made me take another picture. I had the cutest ID picture ever! At the closing for the house I had to use my lisence and my agent commented that it was a really good pic. I was always happy to whip it out. The new one turned out pretty decent, but I'm grieving the loss of that one great ID photo. Oh well.