Thursday, October 26, 2017
The key to living dangerously
So last night, I dropped my keys while walking my dog.
In the dark.
While listening to a podcast about an unsolved murder.
The keychain had my flashlight and pepper spray on it, so I was forced to retrace my route unarmed and in the pitch black.
While listening to a podcast about an unsolved murder. Did I mention that?
My hound insisted on going forward, not backward, so I ended up carrying him. I recalled the spot where I last shined the light while my pup took a cigar break. No keys.
We returned to the house and, since the lost keychain had my house key on it, we couldn't get inside. Fortunately, I keep a spare. But it's hidden in a spot that had just been painted two hours previously. This led me to do the splits, balanced on one toe, to pluck the spare out of its hidey-hole. No problem.
Inside, I fetched another flashlight and headed out again to continue the search.
Voila. The keys appeared within a yard of where I realized they went missing. Yes! Victory.
Since the mishap cheated my furry friend out of his full walk, we went for another.
This time, nothing dropped (except his cigars).
Baby, I was born this way?
A loser. Yes, that's it. I'm a born loser.
The other day, on my birthday, the very last day I could renew my driver's license before it expired, I went to the local DMV. Which was fun, don't get me wrong. I love to people-watch and wonder about their lives.
In order to get the new federal I.D. that goes into effect in 2020, at which time it will cost $14 but is free if you apply for it when you renew your driver's license, you need to bring your birth certificate, social security card, passport, old driver's license, etc. I emptied our lockbox into a fresh, new, padded manila envelope and took it with me to the DMV. (Did you know the D stands for Division?)
Quit getting Distracted, Mea.
They told me the yellowed piece of paper I thought was my birth certificate was not, in fact, my official birth certificate. I needed one with an official seal. They told me to truck downtown to the other side of the river, stand in line, and get the real deal. So obediently I went home across the river and dug through a bunch of old, old, old (like kindergarten old) folders full of report cards. Out popped the official certificate, and off I trundled back across the river to the DMV, grateful at not having to stand in line at another government building.
After that three-hour cruise, I couldn't resist the thrift shop across the street from the DMV and lugged home two garbage bags and a suitcase full of stuff.That night for giggles, my mate and I looked at all the dippy photos in those ancient school files. No birth certificate, but surely it would surface.
Two days later, I went through piles of files and garbage bags, and the manila envelope didn't show up. I uprooted the house much of the day yesterday, then as a desperate measure, called the DMV. Which doesn't have a local number. So you need to call the state DMV.
They called me back a few hours later and said yeah, they had my stuff.
Hurrah! A small victory! But hours (and dignity) lost in the search.
Today I hope to get around to schlepping across the river to pick it up.
A loser. Yes, that's it. I'm a born loser.
The other day, on my birthday, the very last day I could renew my driver's license before it expired, I went to the local DMV. Which was fun, don't get me wrong. I love to people-watch and wonder about their lives.
In order to get the new federal I.D. that goes into effect in 2020, at which time it will cost $14 but is free if you apply for it when you renew your driver's license, you need to bring your birth certificate, social security card, passport, old driver's license, etc. I emptied our lockbox into a fresh, new, padded manila envelope and took it with me to the DMV. (Did you know the D stands for Division?)
Quit getting Distracted, Mea.
They told me the yellowed piece of paper I thought was my birth certificate was not, in fact, my official birth certificate. I needed one with an official seal. They told me to truck downtown to the other side of the river, stand in line, and get the real deal. So obediently I went home across the river and dug through a bunch of old, old, old (like kindergarten old) folders full of report cards. Out popped the official certificate, and off I trundled back across the river to the DMV, grateful at not having to stand in line at another government building.
After that three-hour cruise, I couldn't resist the thrift shop across the street from the DMV and lugged home two garbage bags and a suitcase full of stuff.That night for giggles, my mate and I looked at all the dippy photos in those ancient school files. No birth certificate, but surely it would surface.
Two days later, I went through piles of files and garbage bags, and the manila envelope didn't show up. I uprooted the house much of the day yesterday, then as a desperate measure, called the DMV. Which doesn't have a local number. So you need to call the state DMV.
They called me back a few hours later and said yeah, they had my stuff.
Hurrah! A small victory! But hours (and dignity) lost in the search.
Today I hope to get around to schlepping across the river to pick it up.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)