The title of this entry, ladies and gents, describes the bouquet of a freshly-corked bottle of the Southern California DMV on a Hot, Late Summer Day. That’s right, after spending most of the effin’ afternoon taking tests, rifling through forms, mooing to myself in line after line, and having to start the process all over again because I forgot about the dreaded Smog Check, I am officially a resident of California. They want me to mail my Kentucky plate back to the DMV in Frankfort; fat fucking chance, losers! That puppy is getting nailed up in our Beach Shanty. Maybe on the ten square feet of stair landing I so lovingly call The Veranda. I opted against the KNTUCKY vanity plate my heart so desired; the extra time in line was not worth letting everyone behind me know that I actually KNOW how to drive in bad weather.
So when I wasn’t breathing in the stank of 30 different ethnicities while repeatedly peeling my thighs from the plastic DMV chairs, my day was spent interviewing at Job #2, heretofore known as Sweatshop Goodies on the Cheap. Maybe I’ll think of a better name, but maybe my employment there won’t be long enough to justify pestering my brain with witty fodder. I think it will work out fine; I’m now head of the furniture department and backup head of the wine department. Fitting enough, yeah? And hopefully it will give me the financial boost I need to keep from being shat on by the Great Pigeon of Credit Card Hell. Means I’ll see less of my Mocha Man, and I’m definitely sad about that. But hey, if we wanna keep the Beach Shanty long enough for you bastards to come visit, you do what must be done.
And now, it’s naptime before I trudge on in to Job #1. I’ve been promising to break out the oven mitts, but sleep calls.