Surviving in the City

Don’t be fooled by this blog title; my survival instincts are terrible.

This might surprise you, as I am a notorious over-sharer and therefore you might expect I keep people updated on my whereabouts and goings-on at all times. You would be correct in this assumption. And yet.

Ninety minutes into a hike on a 99 degree day in the blazing sun and my blood sugar plummets quickly enough that I have to do that thing where you put your head between your knees. No cell service, no one else around, and no trail markers (a charming hallmark of West Coast hiking). Something that’s always been a bit of a joke, a loving insult about the likelihood of my independence (read: impetuousness) getting me into trouble became kind of a stark reality. People die like this.

Obviously, I didn’t, but that’s not really the point.

The fact of the matter is that there are literally so many things in this life that can kill you. I tend to give my phone number to strangers pretty freely. I regret this immediately about 90% of the time. A few weeks ago I was being idly pursued by this dude, let’s call him Shane (because that’s his name). If you think being idly pursued is a contradiction in terms, you obviously have never dated in the year of our lord 2015.

Anyway, I was being pursued by Shane who is a man of few words and also a fitness model. I live in LA and this is the kind of thing that people actually do for a living. Shane asked for my number before asking my name and because I am an actual terror this was intriguing to me and I gave it to him. Here is a brief snippet of the text message interaction that followed:

Shane: haha so like who do you live with?
Me: haha why? … are you planning to murder me?
Shane: [does not respond]
Me: lololol sorry was that too aggressive?
Shane: haha no not at all you’re way too cute to murder.

LIKE, THANKS FOR THE COMPLIMENT SHANE BUT HONESTLY. A friend of mine has pointed out to me that I am the one who brought murder up in this instance so I can’t really blame Shane too much. I agree that this is true. As this is a post about my terrible survival instincts, I think this just emphasizes my point. After this part of the conversation, my small interest in Shane waned considerably, so at least I have that going for me.

Another example, something my mom once wrote on a selfie I posted to Facebook after impulsively buying a plane ticket to Iceland. At this point, I consider my rampant selfie-positing an adaptive mechanism. If ever I go missing, you’ll have the most up-to-date views of my face to show the police.

Somehow, though, my success rate for survival is still 100%, so I don’t really see any reason to change.

Lost in Translation

It will likely come as no surprise to many of you that looking for a job is a truly terrible, demoralizing experience. Most likely because at one point or another I got it into my dumb baby head that having a job that is Meaningful and makes you feel Generally Good About Yourself is important? Which I am not 100% convinced is the case, but whatever, brain, you do you. Anyway, no matter what you’re looking for in a job, we can all agree that job hunting is the objective worst. I would wager that many of you are currently working jobs that are either beneath or largely outside your skill set, or both.

Job hunting, much like dating, requires you to put a great deal of effort into packaging yourself as The Perfect Candidate for something that will almost inevitably disappoint you. But, unlike with dating, you can’t just say “fuck this, I’m out” and buy a bunch of cats. Because in order to pay for those cats you need a job.

Now, let me first say that my basic form cover letter is pretty stellar. From what I can tell (anecdotally), it seems to perform at an above-average rate in terms of getting an actual human response. It hits the major notes of my professional autobiography, shows a dash of personality, and is sufficiently braggy (as in, much less braggy than this paragraph is shaping up to be). But let’s not lie to ourselves; cover letters are the most bland and boring of all job-related nonsense.

I have a vast arsenal of Adult Human Skills, and I’m honestly mad I can’t fit more of them into my job applications.

So, in an attempt to not go absolutely insane about how I am never going to get a job, and also to avoid writing more cover letters, here are some more of my most important life skills translated:

“I have never, NOT ONCE, given a cat-caller the finger” = “Remains gracious under pressure”

“Can make an outfit just weird enough that people comment on it, but let me get away with it anyway” = “Creative decision-maker” (alternatively, something that contains the words “thinks outside the box”)

“Has been running avidly for nearly 10 years without any discernible change in overall health or fitness” = “Tenacious”

“Aggressively well-versed in popular culture references” = “Interested pursuing lifelong learning”

Basically, cover letters are the most bland, earnest, robotic versions of ourselves and I hate them. And furthermore, am I really accurately representing myself to prospective employers if I don’t let them know from the get-go that I had stiletto acrylics on for 2 months and I did not cry when they got removed, despite the lady literally cracking my thumbnail in half?

But in cover letter speak, this truly impressive feat sounds more like “Able to see even the most challenging projects through to completion.”

A Little Bit Country

I grew up in the woods and I went to college in the woods and then for awhile I lived in the tiny quasimetropolis of Boston before returning to the woods. As some of you already know, this Country Mouse is once again moving out of the woods and into the actual booming metropolis of Los Angeles in a few weeks.

---

If you are wondering what those closest to me think of my move, allow me to encapsulate the reaction in this pair of incriminating and inflammatory text excerpts (texcerpts).

Please observe the blatant attempts at character assassination and general disregard for my #brand.

---

In order to maintain said brand in spite of the obvious haterz, and in an attempt to remember my sojourn here on my way to bigger things (literally), I’ve created a list of things that are Unique to Living In the Country.

1. Phone numbers have only 7 digits. It’s super confusing when you expect the typical 3-3-4 digit pattern and get 3-4 instead. You will have to repeat your number to me at least twice.
2. Everyone is married. As a general rule, adult single people don’t flock to the country (at least, not relatively social non-Unibomber type people). With one exception, literally every person I have befriended since moving to California is married. This makes single people in the country kind of strange. For example, the last person to give me his phone number was an exterminator working in my neighborhood. I had just set something in my kitchen on fire, and thus when we met I was wearing pajamas and frantically waving a dish towel.
3. Everything is covered in spiders.
4. Mail takes longer. It *may* have something to do with being 2000 miles from the majority of the people in my life, but I swear to god it takes an extra day for packages and letters to arrive. This is especially frustrating when you are addicted to shopping and have ample free time time to track packages online.
5. You get to meet different dogs all the time. People in the country tend to have friendly dogs and they take those friendly dogs on walks. There is an abundance of wildlife in general in the country (including the turkey/deer social club in my neighborhood), but especially dogs.

Anyway. I was once myself a swinger of birches and I one day dream of going back to be (Robert Frost was a Country Girl, too, y’all). Probably stay tuned for my list of things that are Unique to Living in the City, the kind of quality content you expect from grayseagirl dot wordpress dot com.

Tumblr-speak and the Vernacular of the Teenage Girl

Recently, a friend live-texted me through the entirety of a concert. Before it began, she noted “The girls sitting behind me are Tumblr girls.” “How can you tell?” I asked. “They’re saying things like ‘I’m crying blood’ and ‘I’m literally dying.'” (Yes, it was obviously a One Direction concert why would you even ask?)

Dramatic hyperbole like this is the hallmark of female-dominated social media spaces like Tumblr. If you spend any time on this blog, or with the Actual, In Person version of me, you’ll know that I regularly use hyperbole when I’m excited about something. The drama queen inside me much prefers to play up emotions.

Where does it come from? Sometimes it seems like a defense mechanism; like, you can’t accuse me of caring too much about something if I’m so OTT about how much I care that it seems like a joke. This would make sense based on the amount of flack “fangirls” get for simply liking things. God forbid. It’s also just a really enjoyable way of talking; encapsulating meaning, emphasis, and emotion in a purely irreverent way. It translates well to text, which is likely why it’s been incubated on the internet. You don’t need vocal cues to hear the emotion. I mean, which intro are you more likely to investigate: “There is literally nothing in the world that makes me happier than this!” or “I like this.” ?

The popular linguistic patterns of young women have long been a source of concern for morning news programs, popular scientific studies, and parenting blogs. You know the ones I’m talking about: things like the Valley Girl voice (like, oh my god. Totally.), and upspeak (that’s when you inflect? so that everything sounds like a question?). In 2012, everyone was crying about vocal fry and how it represented the Kardashification of American youth or something.

Each and every one of these trends came with the requisite pearl-clutching and hand-wringing that anything becoming popular among a subset of people who aren’t old white men does. Supposedly, engaging in this kind of behavior (which can be loosely defined as ‘talking while also being a young woman,’ in many cases) can cost you a job. It is widely believed that young women sound passive, uncertain, vapid when they engage in these speech patterns. Even the usually-irreproachable Emma Thompson thought so. (& further, the racism and classism implied by policing slang is just..)

Enter The New York Times, which published a piece in February 2012 that turned the conversation on its head a bit. Young women are actually linguistic innovators, they posited. They’re criticized for being ahead of the curve, using language in a much more nuanced and purposeful way than the Olds and the Male among us could understand (for an estimated Half A Generation! Good god! Catch up!). The reason this linguistic innovation is read by others as vapid is because the innovators themselves are perceived as vapid. Here we get to the proverbial snake-eating-its-own-tail crux of the problem. From the article:

“A lot of these really flamboyant things you hear are cute, and girls are supposed to be cute,” said Penny Eckert, a professor of linguistics at Stanford University. “But they’re not just using them because they’re girls. They’re using them to achieve some kind of interactional and stylistic end.”

Well, anyway. If dramatic hyperbole is the new wave of speech for young women, at least it can’t be classified as uncertain or passive. I’m sure the Pearl Clutchers will come up with some reason to demonize it–liiiiike, it makes young women sound sarcastic? quelle horreur–but that’s nothing new or surprising. You can pry the regular use of dramatic hyperbole out of my cold, dead hands.

Since I’ve Been Gone

Hello kittens. I know I said I wouldn’t disappear on you again, and yet here we are. Not for lack of trying–my drafts folder is an absolute mess–but obviously we strive for excellence here at grayseagirl dot wordpress dot com and I don’t want to disappoint.

In lieu of a pithy commentary on something inane, I thought you may be interested in something FAR MORE inane: a brief overview of the things I’ve been doing with myself instead of writing blog posts for your consumption.

• Adding essential pieces to my wardrobe such as: a twilight blue velvet crop top, high waisted ecru lace shorts.
• Coaxing my hair into a deeper side part and googling pictures of Lorde for hairspiration. Wondering if I can pull off Zoey Deschanel-style bangs. (Knowing I cannot.) Sort of fearing my next scheduled trip to the hair salon, because last time I asked for something new and the stylist was like “LOL NO” and cut my hair exactly the same way it’s been for the past forever. Womp.
• Making a pile of important tax-related documents in my kitchen which I refer to as The Adult Pile and which I look at guiltily from time to time but never act upon. If this year is anything like last year, and I imagine it will be even worse because I made the dumb decision to have jobs in multiple states, I will conveniently forget to file my taxes until April 14.
• Standing vaguely cluelessly in the wine/beer aisle of my local grocery store until some kindly septuagenarian approaches me with a joke about how long I have been standing there. Accepting input on what I should buy with a self deprecating laugh. Wondering if people understand that I am in fact an Adult Woman who was born in the eighties and am legally allowed to be in the spirits aisle. (This has happened TWICE now because apparently I am Too Approachable and SO FAR their choices have been spot on).
• Listening to the oft-spoken of podcast Serial, because apparently unlike a “hipster,” who only likes things before they become popular, I only like things AFTER they have entered, pervaded, and nearly left the zeitgeist.
• Going for hikes and spending the majority of my time Snapchatting my poor, snowbound friends on the East coast because I am literally The Worst. I’m sorry I keep doing this, y’all. It’s just that the place I live is SO unbelievably beautiful and I know you are suffering and I want to smooch your faces but the distance has made me callous.
• Arguing with myself about my Known Status as a Hufflepuff, after my sister said I was a Ravenclaw and I’ve always suspected maybe I’m a Slytherin. Crying when a customer tells me a sad story about his wife and realizing I will never escape the Hufflepuff of it all.
• Taking selfies.

But never fear, my little peach dumplings, because much like Tinkerbell I die if I don’t get enough attention and so I’ll never leave you for long.

Trashionista: The Art of Garbage Witchery

Well kittens, I’m back after a lengthy, unintentional hiatus. Please trust that in this time I have been living my life with the grace and subtlety of three raccoons standing on each other’s shoulders and pretending to be an Adult Woman. I have also been cultivating my relatively serious lifelong shopping addiction.

I went in to Forever 21 last weekend, which many of you know is a fraught experience for me. (Why do they need to have so much merchandise? It’s overwhelming. Get off my lawn.) But anyway, I had it in my head that I needed some cheap trash tank top of vague description and lordt knows Forever 21 is the place for things like that, so in I went. I walked out about an hour later with a cropped muscle tank with a colorful beach scene on it for $8, so mission overall accomplished (sidenote: I am here for chubby ladies in crop tops, dudes in crop tops, etc. Crop tops for everyone 2k15). But while I was there I noticed that this season Forever 21 has officially latched on to my preferred aesthetic, Garbage Witch.

Let me tell you a little bit about being a Garbage Witch in 2015.

First of all, we now live in a post-AHS Coven world where it’s become a lot easier to go out in public in true Garbage Witch form. This is mostly due to the pop culture resurgence of Stevie Nicks, caftans, and felt hats. Layer on as many lacey things and dark colored sweaters as your frame can handle. Load your fingers with rings so your hands clink ominously when you reach for things. Manicure your nails into an almond shape so that when you mindlessly scratch your arm, you risk drawing blood (okay that’s clearly hyperbole don’t hurt yourselves).

Secondly, Pantone has deemed Marsala the color of the year. Marsala is the color your teeth turn after too many glasses of red wine and thus I am very fond of it. Pantone might be a few years behind the world of haute couture–oxblood leather was all the rage in fall 2012–but I guess it always takes time for these things to trickle down (pun fully intended). Deep, blood reds like marsala and oxblood are ideal for adding extra drama to your Garbage Witch outfits. My favorite lipstick is a dark red and pairs perfectly with red wine teeth (obvs it’s Mac Diva). Added bonus: if the wine stains your lips, too, you don’t have to reapply as often.

As Forever 21 reminds us all, you can be a Garbage Witch in colors other than black and navy. Embrace the pastel side of your witchery, embrace a pop of neon (my sister calls this my “half-Gypsy, half-Zumba instructor” look. No offense intended to actual Gypsies or Zumba instructors). Working retail in a store that is decidedly more business-casz than boho means I have to get a little creative with my clothes pairings or risk feeling like I’m playing dress up in my mother’s closet. Mix your patterns. Mix your styles. You’re the sea and nobody owns you or whatever.

Lastly, walk around with an imperious air about you that suggests you know everyone’s secrets.

Boom, you’re a Garbage Witch.

Things I Learned in 2014

Yooooo, it’s almost the end of 2014 and I have *learned* and *grown* a lot this year or whatever. Here are my top 5 takeaways from 2014:

1. Do you love yourself? Cook your quinoa in veggie broth. Unless you’re making something sweet (like that brown sugar quinoa with sliced strawberries and candied almonds that etiragram made for me that one time), of course.

2. You can dance the Macarena to any song, so long as you try hard enough and believe in yourself. The DJ at my sister’s wedding refused to play the Macarena so we danced it to Will.I.Am’s “#thatPower” and it was a goddamn workout.

3. Life is too short to pretend you don’t like what you like. I’ve gotten to the point where I am basically incapable of denying myself of anything that makes me genuinely happy. Do your thing, honey. (The opposite of this applies, too. Just don’t be a dick about it.)

4. The only rule in my house is and always will be: don’t fucking talk over a Louis solo.

5. Always take the selfie. Damn, you’re cute.

So, throughout 2014 I had a face and I took that face places and did things. ETA: January! There is a January.

January 2014: We danced all night to the best song ever.

February 2014: I am not sleeping and haven’t yet discovered lipstick.

March 2014: I find out that the Golden State Warriors are an NBA team, not an obscure band.

April 2014: I flee to Canada for a weekend and learn about Tim Horton’s and gel manicures.

May 2014: I quit my job.

June 2014: Em, Eugene and I take a romantic trip to Iceland.

July 2014: It’s so hot my face becomes a human American Flag.

August 2014: 26 years old at a One Direction concert.

September 2014: The month I lived in St Louis.

October 2014: Big sis gets hitched!

November 2014: I start exploring my new habitat.

December 2014: I am a human Nor’Easter.

The Annual Christmas Playlist

It all started because I was a terrible brat. Home from school for Thanksgiving break, my dad asked me over dinner what music I was listening to these days. I don’t remember all the details of this exchange, but I do remember that instead of answering him like A Normal, I got mad. Sort of inexplicably. I’m sure at the time I thought I had a reason, but the truth is that I was/still am kind of an asshole sometimes for no reason at all. This moment is not a high point for me.

Well anyway, I realized after a time that I had been a jerk, and decided to make amends in the manner of 90s kids expressing themselves: a mixtape.

I can’t remember what year this all started–maybe 2008. The first annual Christmas playlist took the form of an actual, physical compact disk I burned. Crazy, right? I didn’t intend for it to become A Thing, but my mom mentioned in passing a few months later that my dad actually listened to it fairly often, so the next winter I did it again, and just never stopped. I started actually planning for it when I realized there were tracks I kept playing over and over again. Now it’s something I look forward to. (I’m leaving that preposition dangling so that I sound edgy.)

The track lists for the first few were lost when my college-era laptop crashed, which is a tragedy (but maybe my dad still has them?). I’ve still got at least one hiding out in my iTunes (it must be from 2011 because it includes a track from Gentlemen Hall, a super sweet group of dudes I met while working as a barista when I moved to Boston for grad school), and 2012, 2013, and as of today the beginnings of 2014 live in Spotify–a much safer medium than iTunes since it’s web-based.

It’s cool to periodically go back and listen to earlier playlists, because they are surprisingly distinct. In 2012 I was going through a major acoustic folk phase, for example. 2013 had a lot more “oomph” in comparison. 2014 is pretty mellow so far, probably because it’s raining out and my fingers and toes are cold.

Well anyway, this is a story about how sometimes you are a jerk and then it turns into something nice (or at least, I think so. Does my family actually listen to these anymore? Whatever). Character development!

Harry Styles: Queer Icon

It may not surprise you to hear that I spend a lot of time thinking about Harry Styles. (How does he get his curly hair to be so shiny?) You should probably think about him, too, because he is a Very Interesting Person. But probably not for the reason you think.

Harry Styles is without a doubt the best known member of boyband One Direction and has been branded as the “Lothario” of the group. He’s been linked to pretty much every female celebrity with whom he’s ever interacted. Which is hilarious, because that boy is queer af. Speculation abounds that Styles has been heavily closeted since he and the rest of One Direction blew up in 2010, and lately it has seemed that the tides may be turning. Which would be so COOL. Here’s why:

1. Because support is important

Harry Styles has openly supported gay celebrities like Michael Sam and gay organizations like the London Lesbian and Gay Switchboard. While some of his bandmates are out here doing the #NOHOMO thing, Harry Styles is showing his support for queer people and queer causes. Remember the Ice Bucket Challenge? Celebrities backing causes has an impact. This kid has something like 20 million Twitter followers, you do the math.

2. Because representation is important

I came of age in the manufactured-boyband nirvana of the late nineties. Basically, we were up to our eyeballs in boybands in this era, and it was amazing. Except for the many boybanders who were closeted for the sake of the groups’ “image” (to perpetuate the idea that these men were available for their young female fans). *NYSNC’s Lance Bass is probably the most culturally relevant example, but of course we also have Ricky Martin of Menudo,  Jonathan Knight of New Kids on the Block, Mark Feehily of Westlife, and probably many more. This is problematic for a lot of reasons; it pigeonholes the artist and it also pigeonholes the audience, for starters. Furthermore, what message does closeting send to young people struggling with their sexuality?

Now imagine the impact an extremely popular young celebrity could have on those struggling young people, simply by being out and proud. Simply by existing, and in doing so implying that there is a place for you here.

3. Because speculating that someone is queer is not defamation

I wish this did not require explanation. To speculate that someone is queer is not insulting, because being queer is not a bad thing. And for most young people (and even most older people), one’s sexuality is hetero until proven otherwise. This implies that heterosexuality is normal and anything other deviates from that norm. Which is, frankly, bullshit.

Conversations about Harry Styles’ sexuality are important because they challenge people to see beyond their heteronormative blinders. It does not hurt anyone to wonder if someone is gay or straight. Of course, these conversations will remain purely speculative until such time as Harry Styles himself explains how he identifies. This may never happen. That’s okay.

4. Because camp is important

Relatively speaking, my college environment was somewhat accepting of queer people. (Wow, nothing like damning with faint praise, eh?) There was a queer presence on campus, at least in the circles I ran in. And even in those circles, those safe spaces, there were ways it was okay to be gay and there were ways it was not. Bears, otters, step right up–but heaven forbid you come off as too much of a queen. I am not sure how many times I will have to say this in my lifetime, but “effeminate” is not an insult. Or rather, it shouldn’t be.

Harry Styles is often effeminate. He wears sparkly boots and braids his hair. He prances around on stage with tiaras or Minnie Mouse ears in his curls. He pirouettes. And most importantly, he looks ridiculously happy doing so. Even if Harry Styles is completely, 100% no-homo straight, his embrace of camp would still be important. Because there’s nothing wrong with being effeminate, guys.

5. Because it makes the Taylor Swift thing infinitely more interesting

Harry Styles and Taylor Swift were publicly linked in late 2012/early 2013. When they broke up, Actual Real Life Journalists explained the split in two equally amazing ways: that Harry left Taylor because she only wanted to talk about antiquing and never wanted to have sex, or that Taylor left Harry because he is uncut and kisses like a snail. Are either of these explanations more plausible than bearding (potentially just for Harry, but MY FAVORITE THEORY is mutual bearding)?

TayTay’s new record 1989 is chock-full of Harry Styles references, and coming at them from a mutual bearding perspective makes them DELIGHTFUL. I kid you not. Go listen to “I Know Places” with the lens of Veteran Beard Taylor Swift showing the ropes to Newly Closeted Superqueer Harry Styles. Check out  “All You Had to Do Was Stay” for Professional Beard Taylor Swift explaining why their attempt was unsuccessful in the end.  If you have the Target Deluxe version (which you should, or wtf are you doing with your life?) then listen to “Wonderland” and imagine the freedom Queer Superstars Harry and Taylor felt when they temporarily fooled the world, followed by the crushing realization that it wasn’t working anymore.

We need more people willing to step outside the binaries we impose on ourselves based on gender and sexuality. So, whether Harry is queer, gay, straight, bi, pan, ace, what-have-you, I am here for it. He’s still going to be charming and successful either way. So you just do you, kiddo.

I Wish We All Could Be California Girls

Well kittens, ya girl spent yesterday at the DMV and is now OFFICIALLY a California resident. You may think this is Not a Very Big Deal but you forget that I am not an adult but a very tall baby with excellent motor skills and an understanding of object permanence.

My new CA license photo looks like the surprised/embarrassed emoji, so that’s a thing I have going for me.

Spot the difference:

It’s an improvement over my MA license photo, in which I am smirking like I have a secret.

And in case you are wondering (based on past posts about my life) if I had a great deal of difficulty actually obtaining this new residency, the answer is absolutely yes. Keep in mind that the last time I had to change state residencies I just gave up and sold my NY car and bought one in Massachusetts instead. You can really only get away with that once every 10 years or so. (Editor’s Note: This is a drastic simplification and borderline just a lie.)

Anyway the California DMV makes you do SO MANY THINGS to just get your license switched. In Massachusetts you show them your out-of-state license and they’re like YEAH GREAT *snaps new picture* HEYAH YAH GO but in California they’re like oh you already have a license that means you only have to take TWO out of THREE exams and jump thru seven hoops instead of the usual ten. Having an out-of-state license means that you don’t have to take a driving test but you DO have to take a learner’s permit-level written exam and I’m sitting here like I WOULD RATHER TAKE THE DRIVER TEST? Like I have been driving successfully for the past decade but I have not looked at my driver’s ed course materials LITERALLY EVER. They also don’t tell you how many questions you can get wrong and so after a few you start to sweat a little and you’re thinking wouldn’t it be embarrassing if I fail this and have to come back and retake it and that distracts you so you get ANOTHER question wrong. It is v. stressful.

And prior to all of this, of course, I had to make 3 separate trips to the DMV for various and sundry reasons, like I did not remember that I would need to bring my birth certificate/passport and a blood sacrifice in order to, like, book an appointment. AND they SHAMED me for not getting the materials in SOONER. But there are signs EVERYWHERE telling you that you should book an appointment and when you DO book an appointment they’re like “we are booked until 10 days from now here’s your appointment thanks” and I’m like I can’t come then I have to work? So you have to keep trying til the computer randomly figures out your work schedule (by which I mean, input a time). I said that I tried to get in earlier but the appointment system didn’t let me and she was like YOU CAN JUST WALK IN YOU KNOW. Like, please yell at me to book an appointment and then yell at me because I booked an appointment.

ANYWAY in order to register your car in a new state you need to do any number of annoying/boring/expensive things and you have to do them in the right ORDER but no one tells you outright what that order is. You may think going to the DMV is the first step but you are WRONG you need to get various different INSPECTIONS so when you go to the DMV without them they shake their heads at you and are like WE’LL GIVE YOU A PROVISIONAL VERSION COME BACK WHEN YOU HAVE THE THING. And I looked through my pamphlets about registering an out-of-state vehicle and NOWHERE is it like first do this then do that, not the other way around because you will be shamed like the dummy that you are. (Yeah, I got pamphlets. UNHELPFUL, PAMPHLETS).

And I almost FORGOT that at this point, though my original appointment was at 12:10 PM it was after 4 PM and you are not allowed to start the written test later than 4:30 so the government doesn’t have to pay anyone overtime while you’re trying to figure out if it’s ever legal to leave a child in a car on a hot day (IT’S NOT). So I’m waiting to get my emoji face portrait done and the entire computer system for the DMV shuts down. Just, stops working. And people are grumbling and some are resigned to trying again another day but I stood in that line and at 4:15, I kid you not, the system comes back up and she finally takes my photo and lets me take the test in the NICK OF TIME.

So now I have my provisional license and my plates and I have to go back STILL because I couldn’t find the title to my car? But by the end of it all I probably looked like I was about to cry and they took pity on me and were like ok here just get out of here.

Now–who wants to come over and put these new plates on my car?