DMV

I know, I know. It's cliche to make fun of the DMV. All the jokes have already been made, and they weren't that funny the first time. We all know the deal: it takes forever, people there are stupid and/or foreign, etc, etc. I have no jokes about the DMV. In fact, most of my DMV experiences haven't been too bad. Matter of fact, the DC DMV was the best I've been to. I've also dealt with DMVs in Pennsylvania and Virginia, and Virginia by far was the worst.

So it is with much dread that I am facing my return to Virginia license and registration. To work there you need proof that not only were you born in a third-world country, but that English is your eighth language. Of course, that can only help when 92% of the stinky hooligans in line are also garbage-can-born Anglophobes.

Last time I was at a Virginia DMV I saw a woman who learned how to apply makeup from a circus clown. Despite her best efforts, she managed to get not a drop of color on her actual lips. She did, however, cover the rest of her face. I remember a commercial or movie from years ago, not sure which, where a woman was trying to put on lipstick in an airplane bathroom during massive turbulence. The result was lipstick all over her face. I was reminded of this, although I had a sneaking suspicion this woman applied hers in a house that experienced zero turbulence. The best part was her daughter (?) was there. She HAD to know that was not the proper way to apply makeup. But she said nothing. She said nothing.

Which brings me to my favorite game to play while at the DMV: Why Is He/She Retarded. The above example is obvious. And easy. But everyone is retarded in some way. A lot of times it's visual. A Member's Only jacket. Shirt tucked in with no belt. Velcro shoes. But other times you don't know they're retarded until they open their mouth and prove it.

And I don't mean retarded as in Down Syndrome. I mean retarded as in these people suck at life.

Anyways, I have some good times ahead of me. Can't wait.

Abbreves: When It's Gone Too Far

Look, I'll be the first one to admit that I love abbreviations. So much that I abbreviate "abbreviations" to "abbreves." Most people look at me like I have a dick growing out of my forehead when I say it. But that's their fault.

Certain abbreves are completely acceptable, and frankly awesome. Take Tecmo Super Bowl, the greatest video game ever (that's the one with a New York Giants player on the cover, for NES). That name is way too much to say. Instead, it's Super Tec. Simple. Obvious. Sexy.


Others are questionable, but not entirely annoying. When I was in junior high we'd play basketball and a friend of mine would make a shot then say, "Hey get my reeb." As in rebound. See that? Not great, kind of gay, but not completely annoying.

But there are rules to creating abbreves. You can only shorten the word by removing syllables from the end of the word. I thought that was obvious. There are two false abbreves that make me want to kick a cat (which I really wanted to do anyway).

The first is the abbreve of "parents" as "rents." Use "rents" in a sentence. 'I saw my rents today.' Wait, what got rinsed? Did you clean it first? What the hell are you talking about?

Then there is "za" for pizza. Look, I know two syllables is a lot to ask for these days. But does a five letter word really need to be shortened to two? Are you a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle?

At the bottom of the pile of useless human beings are the ones who legitimately use instant messaging syntax in normal conversations. "OMG" is gay enough; don't bring it from text to speech. Any time I hear "BFF" I assume it was spoken by a fourteen-year-old girl who has covered her bedroom walls with "Twilight" posters because "OMG, vampires are just so hot." When I turn around to see that it was spoken by a 30-year-old woman, I know God has forsaken us. LOL, LMAO, BTW, OISMLGSXIIUZNRIGKFLSDDFIJOVPVPV.

GFY.

(Go fuck yourself). That one's for me.

Damn You

Alright, dammit.

I had thought for the last few (seven?) months that I was locked out of this site, thus corking my outlet for hating everything and everyone. Turns out that my Gmail password is the same as 90% of my other passwords, and it worked. I've since changed it. Thanks, Google.

I've a lot of crazy going on in my head lately, and I've been lamenting at the lack of a "public" (by definition, only if more than two people see it...so, not really) forum with which to display said crazy. I went through the involved password recovery process, finally made it back to the site, and realized I have nothing to write.

Damn.

But given time, enough shit will rise to the surface of the settling pond of my brain that I can write again. And then everything will really start to stink.