I could throw you a party every single day

It always looks like trouble when a trip to the library is the most exciting part of your weekend, narrowly edging the trips to the produce market and Target, plus a dvd viewing of The Life Aquatic and the subsequent early-70s David Bowie marathon. On Friday M and I each chose numerically-titled movies to rent (Ocean's 12 vs. The Third Man, the former failed to live up to already low expectations, the latter is being saved for tonight.) Last week I finally got my state of IL driver's license, meaning no more fantastic tales of authority figures questioning my age (which last occurred at the Miller Brewery tour). I went Friday during lunch, and was lucky enough to get to stand in five separate lines. A year and change ago I took the State exam to be an employee of the DMV, I believed I did quite well on the test (which basically makes sure you're not dyslexic, and, using carefully worded multiple-choice questions, makes sure that when dealing with customers, you don't go batshit freaking insane), but, unfortunately there were no opening in my particular county of residence. Though at present it's hard to tell whether or not I'd like that particular career field more than my current one, I will have to agree that I'm less numb with my current position. The guy who administered the vision test (which I barely passed, stupid new contacts) was too lazy to push the little buttons on the control panel, so he simply held them down permanently with thumb-tacks, leaving his hands free to idly fondle himself while he stared off into space with his glazed eyes and mumble in a monotone. You have to admire someone with a job like that who says, "now, this job isn't too bad, but why do I have to move my fingers? I'm not your goddamned slave!" Granted, the fact that all the people in front of me were reading the exact same letters, and noticing the flashing lights on both sides, kind of helped me get through some of the tricky ones at the beginning. Like G and O, those bastards.