Monday, September 29, 2008

My day


What a fucked up day.

I got to sleep about 1 AM last night, didn't sleep worth a damn and finally crawled out of bed at 4 feeling like I had no sleep at all.

I knew I had a bunch of stuff to do, so after my coffee I jumped in the shower, shaved and put on some decent clothes (you know, no holes) and for some reason I decided to wear my best cowboy boots instead of my usual shit-kickin Ropers.

My first stop was the Department of Motor Vehicles so I could register my truck. Okay, technically it isn't mine - I bought it off my stepson a few years ago and just never got around to having the title transferred over to me. Just lazy, I guess. I thought about doing it today but money's real tight this week, so I decided just to go with the registration today and deal with the title in a couple more weeks. ANYWAYS, I live 4 blocks from the DMV here in Modesto but it's always so crowded that it turns into an all day thing so I drove 20 miles south to Turlock. I'm usually in and out of there in 30 minutes or less, even without an appointment. So I climb in the truck and take off.
Turns out that every other DMV-doomed person in Modesto had the same idea. The parking lot was so packed I had to park on the curb, but what the hell, I was already there so I went ahead and went in.
The lady behind the counter handed me my number and said it would be about a half hour. No problem. I had forgotten my proof of insurance in the truck anyways so I went out to get it. You have to see my glovebox to understand that this was going to take a few minutes. I started emptying it out and kept on emptying and emptying some more. You wouldn't believe the shit that was in there - a pair of binoculars, a tube of Loktite, about 5 million invoices for repairs, 5 years of past registrations, a 7/16" wrench, one leather glove, a piece of fuzzy candy, some halazone tabs for purifying drinking water, a 12 inch length of chain, a tampon (???) and a can of Copenhagen that was dated a year and a half ago and looked like it. No proof of insurance. Then I remembered it was in my wallet. So I shoved everything back in the glove box except for the tampon which I stuck in my shirt pocket. Hey, you never know when you might run into a lady in need.....
I went back in and sat down and read my paper, then re-read it, and read it again. An hour and a half after I memorized the paper I was starting to get a little impatient and it was just about that time some tweeker clomped right on the toe of my highly polished boot.
I couldn't believe it! This guy stomps on my toes, ruins the polish job and keeps on going! So I politely ask him (remember, 3 hours of sleep) what the hell that was all about and he's got the audacity to say "Bite me, Cowboy."
Wrong thing to say, Motherfuck. I got up and started out the door after him, ready to knock his remaining tooth out when I heard the lady announce my number.
Okay, I go up to window 6 and this nice lady smiles at me and wishes me a good morning. Now here it is, Monday morning at the DMV and she's smiling at me and being VERY polite. This can only mean one thing: I'm fixin' to get fucked somehow, some way.
But no, she takes my registration, says "$89 please" and hands me my tag while I'm writing the check.
"Ma'am, don't you even want to see my proof of insurance, smog paperwork, social security card, Honorable Discharge, GED, Punkin's dog license, or anything like that?"
"No sir, we have all we need in the database. Have a great day. And did you know you have a tampon in your shirt pocket?"
Smartass. I thanked her, flipped her the tampon and headed out the door, keeping an eye out for a clumsy tweeker.
I stopped by my divorce lawyer's office to (finally) pay her off and found out that I owed her $250 more than I thought and I ain't got. Good thing she likes me and knows I'm good for the money.
Wait, there's more.
My neighbor tells me I've been having somebody creeping around my house lately so I stopped off at Orchard Supply Hardware on the way to pick up a security door. Hey, they can still heave a rock through a window and get in if they wanted to, but at least I'll feel better if I have a decent door.
When I get there, I have a horrible thought. I know the door is 36" wide, but how tall is it? You have to know that my house was built in 1921 and for all I know, they could've used different sized doors back then. Not wanting to make an extra trip returning the door, I had one of the help there measure the one that I wanted to buy which was 80" tall, then went home and measured my screen door. You got it. 80" tall. So I climb back in my truck and make that extra trip anyways.
This is where my day got fun. It should've been a half hour job, 1 hour at the very most - drill 8 holes, install the locks and mount that sucker, right? Uh uh. Remember, 3 hours sleep.
I had never noticed that my doorjam was crooked. When I lined up the mounts I found that out. And if I lined one up, the other side was so close to the edge of the wood that I was afraid I was going to split it with those huge one-way lag bolts they supplied. That threw me for a loop. I poured a glass of tea, opened a fresh can of Copenhagen, sat back and stared at that door for a half hour trying to figure it out. Finally I got my head out of my ass and set the mounts, which went in with no problem. Then I rassled that heavy door around and got it up. Just when I thought I was done I noticed that the top brace was bent. SHIT!!! I calmed down, got a big hammer (love them big hammers), put the brace in a vise and straightened it out.

So now my truck is registered, my door is up, Leslie will be paid off in a week or two, I have a huge ham in the oven and it only took me all damned day to do it. Oh yeah, and I still have a piece of fuzzy candy out in my glovebox in case I get a sweet tooth tonight.