Adventures in license renewal and other signs the DMV should be avoided

I had to get my license renewed.  Sure, I haven’t really driven a car in months, but there’s not a chance I’m letting my license expire.  Something tells me parallel parking won’t be the only problem I have if I have to retest.  I knew I wanted to renew at home–I’m just not ready to get rid of my PA license.  I also wasn’t ready to get rid of my picture.  I had a really awesome license picture.  I know, that’s pretty shallow, but it was a really good picture!  Plus, my passport picture…well…let’s just say that it’s a good thing I don’t leave the country very often.  So Boo and I headed to the DMV to renew my license:

10:45–We wanted to leave the house 45 minutes ago.  This is not starting out well.  My hair is flipping weirdly and it’s starting to snow.

11:10–I forget where we are going and miss the turn.  I was too focused on the mall trip afterward that I almost forgot about the DMV.

11:15–No one in the parking lot seems to have any idea what they are doing.  I managed to navigate the Duncan Manor intersection and these fools can’t get their vehicles inside the lines.

11:16–Enter the DMV.  Boo and I are both confused by the signage.  Feel stupid.

11:17–Pull a number after figuring out that we needed to pull a number.  Pull A50.  Worry when we realize that we are only on A33.

11:19–#34 is absolutely ready to pop out a baby at any second.

11:21–Check paperwork.  Ask DMV lady if I need to sign my paperwork on the signature line.  She says “Uh, not really.”  I’m barely even sure what that means–why put the line if I don’t actually have to sign anything?

11:24–There is a lot of beeping coming from somewhere in the room.  Boo is confused.

11:25–Call a “Lauren.”  I am hopeful even though I know there is no possible way they could mean me.

11:25:33–Am disappointed that I am not the “Lauren.”  Am happier that we are on #42.

11:27–Boo just now realizes that I am trying to look identical to my old, awesome photo–even after my hair meltdown.  He says I am ridiculous.  I agree, but that didn’t stop me from totally trying to copy my picture.

11:31–McLovin* walks in.  It’s awkward.

11:32–Someone calls DMV.  No one answers.  Someone else yells “DEAD NUMBER!!”  Boo decides someone killed #47

11:34–#50.  I scribble my signature on the electronic pad.  DMV lady asks if it’s okay.  I tell her it’s as good as it’s going to get.

11:34:47–I sit to take my picture.  The lady asks if I like it and I ask to take it again.  She tells me I can take a third.  I decide not to be that kid and go with my first picture.

11:36–Boo and I talk about all the photos I should have taken.  Decide I will do a photo montage of that for another blog post.

la

*In all fairness, it wasn’t the real McLovin–but he was a pretty close replica.

Adventures in paper clip orthodontia and still more signs it’s hard being a grownup

I was walking down the hall at work today and I looked down at the floor and saw this:

IMMEDIATELY I was taken back to 3rd grade, when Alan Laszczynski and I made paper clip retainers and our teacher, Mrs. Donnelly, busted us for it. We had to spit them out and it’s likely we probably received some other form of punishment.

But does anybody else remember doing things like this? Back when geeks ruled and the cool kids were the ones with glasses and braces. Hell, that shit was novel man. No one had seen that before. You had metal, you were cool. Whoa–hold on, I did not say you were COVERED in metal, man. Mouth gear was a whole separate (and unfortunate) thing.

I met a young girl on the subway yesterday afternoon who talked to me for the entirety of my trip. She told me all about the science experiments she was conducting, including one where she tried to filter sugar through colored soap to see if it would change colors (which, she informed me, half of it did).

Sometimes, I miss being that young. When you spent all day making retainers out of paper clips and fortune tellers out of napkins. When anything in your house could be turned into an experiment given the chance (and no, this does not apply to the teen years when “I’m doing an experiment” was the only excuse you gave as to why you hadn’t cleaned your room yet).

We were mini-MacGyvers in training if you ask me. And now–nothing. No chance to be all creative like that. Nothing. Granted, the Nabisco ad people nailed the idea with their “Miss Mary Mack” commercial. And, I’ve gotta say I applaud them for it.

But for the most part, being an adult is very boring. Although we can go to the bars and that always makes things more interesting.

Adventures in homecomings and other signs that I (still) know everyone in the world

This past weekend was Easter and I, like many, ventured home for the weekend. That’s right, back to the Wild Wild Wex. Which is always reassuring in the fact that I know it will be a relaxing weekend with nothing much happening. I rarely see people when I’m home, both by choice and due to the fact that a number of people bolted and just never came home. But that tricky little Wexford is always full of surprises.

The first person I ran into was a high school and college peer and we encountered one another at church. Pleasantries exchanged, my mom and I went to pick up dinner. That’s when I bumped into my second blast from the past. At this point I’d seen more people in the course of 2 hours then I’d seen in my last 2 trips home, but I’m a big fan of both the guys I ran into and so they were both pleasant surprises.

Sunday rolled around and I headed off to the airport, but this time I was prepared. Oh yes, I was fully anticipating running into someone I went to school with (as most of the graduates of both of my alma maters now reside in NYC), it was just a matter of who it would be. Sure enough, as I walked to the gate there was one of my old TV cronies from senior year. It’d been 4 years since we’d seen each other last so it was nice to catch up while we waited for the plane (and we flew USAIR so waiting was a certainty).

As I unlocked the door to my apartment I smiled to think about my weekend home. It’s always nice to run into people–especially when it’s been awhile since you’ve seen them. It’s fun to see how everyone has grown up and what they’re all up to. I was still thinking about this when I realized that I had absolutely nothing to eat for dinner. Damn. So I headed out the door to Gristedes. As I walked out of my apartment I was stopped cold on the sidewalk. A girl I’ve known since my freshman seminar class (and have seen sporadically for the rest of my time at PSU, including a month ago at THON) was walking out of Gristedes. Turns out we live in the same complex.

When I went to Penn State, I was told that for however big the school was, you could make it as small as you want. Turns out the same is true for New York (says the girl who ran into a preschool bud on the 6 train earlier this winter). It will never cease to amaze me. But, like I said, I know everyone in the world.

Adventures in air travel (part trois) and other signs that airport P.D.A. is a growing epidemic of grossness

It’s been awhile since I’ve flown. It’s been even longer since I’ve flown the CT-Pitt flight of summer. I’ve just recently returned from a stint at the homestead and suburbia is cheaper to get to via CT than NYC so I found myself in a familiar flight pattern.

The flights out were mostly uneventful. Less-than-full planes = aisles and windows only = me not having to sit next to people. Nice. Always a plus. The only weird sighting was a couple of indiscriminate relation (who happened to be traveling with a luggage abandoner which was a bit unnerving, to say the least). This creeper couple first caught my attention when Creepy Guy handed a bottle of water to Creepy Girl. Then he whispered something in her ear and she got very giddy and blushed a red to rival her hair. I wouldn’t have had a problem with this if I thought they were dating or married. But since they looked nearly identical, I was a bit befuddled. Did you two choose to marry people who looked like they were related to you? Worse, did you marry people who actually were related to you? Or worse still–are you NOT dating but ARE related and STILL flirting with each other? Are you a mother/son pair. Are you charming nephew with older aunt? Are you brother and sister? I can’t tell and I’m a little grossed out.

But that was it. And I guess these are the benefits of flying on a Tuesday. Fairly uneventful. Flying late-night on a Sunday, however, is a much different story. Everyone is scrambling to get the most out of their weekends and therefore all taking the last possible flight to get home.

God bless Southwest for restructuring their boarding procedures. I got to the gate for the Pittsburgh-Baltimore leg of my flight. The gate was so crowded (a full hour before flight time) that I had no choice but to sit on the floor. Ew. It was finally time to board and I took my position in line. The next thing I know, I hear yelling and a fist swings by my face. EXCUSE ME?! What could possibly be happening that this stupid old man near me felt compelled to nearly sock my jaw? Oh, that’s right. A basketball game. Upset about a missed shot, the old man nearly took his rage out on my face. Okay dude, really not cool, but if you behave yourself for the rest of your time in line, I won’t have to tell TSA on you.

Well of course I’m not lucky enough to stand near people who have an idea of how to behave in public. Sir Slugs-A-Lot started talking to his wife. No issue yet–you guys are married, I won’t insist on your being silent while traveling. Then I hear this:

Sir Slugs: You know why I wear my hat like this?

Madame Slugs: To hide your gray hair (chuckles at her own “humor”).

Sir: No, so I can kiss you better.

*insert sloppy kissing noises*

Oh no, Captain Punchy–this I cannot allow. This was not a young couple. This was a gross, old couple. And these were not proper public kisses. These were those long loud *MUAH* kisses. I tried my hardest but couldn’t stop myself from literally gagging. I tried to stifle the noise but it was to no avail. Seriously people, I just heard you say you’d be home in an hour. Can’t you control yourselves until then? Nasty.

I managed, thankfully, to avoid the smoochy couple on the flight. Despite the filled-to-capacity plane, there were still plenty of seats available for those in the A 1-30 line. I arrived in Baltimore with a sore throat and an hour to kill. When I finally got into my spot in the boarding line I unfortunately managed to attract the attention of the drunk guy behind me. Knowing that I didn’t want to risk sitting near him on the plane I grabbed the first aisle seat with window and middle filled that I could find.

I wound up sitting next to an older guy and a girl of indiscriminate age. They had some relation because she was showing off some photos on her computer. I kept hearing things from the guy like “Ooh, better hide that one before interviews” and things like that. That’s a little awkward, but okay, I’ll let it slide. Time to turn the electronics off and the girl has lost her entertainment. No worries, her male companion can fill the void. All of a sudden I see that the girl has thrown her legs onto this guy’s lap. Okay, ew. I don’t particularly want to be a part of what seems like a connection that will result in new members of the mile-high club.

But wait–they’re still talking. And the guy just said something about getting to UConn early enough to check the campus out on their own before taking the real tour…and then it clicks. And I realize–these two are not dating. They are FATHER AND DAUGHTER! Okay, I’m not sure what family setup finds throwing your legs suggestively over Daddy’s lap acceptable but if that is (grossly I might say) the case, then that is something that should be kept at home.

This is now the third fairly incestuous (or at least disgusting) couple I’ve encountered either going to or coming from Baltimore. What the hell is in the water over there that has trained these people to think that airport P.D.A. is not only acceptable but encouraged–no matter the nauseated feeling it leaves everyone else at the airport with? I’m not entirely sure but all I know is that I plan to be extremely careful from now on when purchasing snacks during my Baltimore layover.

Adventures in moving and other signs IKEA just might suck your soul.

Well, it finally happened. I moved into my own apartment. And you know what that means: IKEA trip! Yes, that’s right. The parents, the roommate and I piled into the (rented) mini-van and hit the road for Long Island and the joys of furniture shopping that awaited us.

Joys. Right. Well, truth be told, I had spent the past few weeks poring over the IKEA catalog (yeah, I actually brought it to work with me the night that it came in the mail). And I may have perused IKEA.com a few times to get some decorating ideas. Little did I know that the in-store experience would actually suck my soul.

If you’ve never been to IKEA allow me to explain the layout to you, as it’s crucial(ish) to this post. IKEA does this pseudo-helpful thing where they set the store up like a maze. They post arrows on the floor and instrut their visitors to follow them, much like the yellow brick road leading to Oz. Oz, of course, being the self-service section of the warehouse where you locate the aisle and bin number of your selected piece of furniture and then attempt to lift the 134lb. dresser boxes off of the shelf and place them onto (yes onto, not into) your cart without breaking them (which seems unlikely but is, I assure you, not).

So your furnitureney (yeah, I just combined “furniture” and “journey,” what are you going to do about it?) begins in the living room section, where inevitably someone is sitting on the exact couch that you came there to buy. Even though there are 17 other couches near that area they are just so tired after walking up the stairs that they have to take a load off in the living room that you are trying to recreate for your own. So you shoo them away from your Ektorp sofa (colors: beige, white, multicolor, white/black, black, red, dark blue and light beige (??) ) and you sit and wiggle until you are sure this is the sofa for you. You write down your bin number and move on.

But you don’t really move on. You move on through 13 more living room sets, a third of which feature the couch you just selected. Are there really only 3 couch options? What about the sofa beds? And the futons? Where is the rest of the catalog selection? Oh yes, it’s stored in the middle of the living room section, just placed randomly and you can sit on whatever you can access. Hm, well that’s interesting. The next stop on your trip to Oz is the kitchen area. Which, if you’ve ever seen a kitchen in a New York apartment, you know is a useless section. There is no room for a kitchen table, silly IKEA. So what do you do?

Well, the logical step would be to skip that section. But the store wraps and twists and there’s no way of telling where you’re actually going. As my mother pointed out, if there were ever a fire, everyone would be screwed. By the time you followed the rat race arrows out of there, the LACK side tables would have proven to be such excellent kindling that you’d be (all puns intended) toast.

So you follow the arrows. And you keep following them through in-home offices (aka desks, filing cabinets) to bedrooms (aka none of the quilts you saw online and closets that you could only ever have in your dreams) until you finally reach the stairs. Mecca. You’ve entered the plateware/lighting/decor section! Next stop: self-service baby!

97 hours later, you make your way to the checkout line where your cashier will make angry noises under her breath when she realizes that you have exactly 7 carts filled to varying degrees. What did you expect? You are in the suburbs, we come from the city. This is what we do. We invade. And then we use our city attitudes on you when you try to act as though you are a disgruntled suburbanite employee. And then we roll our 7 carts over to the home delivery line. Because let’s just face facts: no mini-van on earth can hold 2 Billy bookshelves, 2 desks (1 Mikael and 1 Jonas) plus 2 Malm 6-drawer dressers and a Hemnes bedside table. It’s just not possible. So you’re left with delivery. And an epic battle to coordinate your delivery time with the alloted move-in time that your rental company forces you to schedule knowing that you have no idea when your items will actually arrive. God bless move-in day.

Adventures in air travel (part deux) and other signs that I know everyone in the world

I just finished a stint in New York for yet another round of interviews. This was my first solo trip to the city so I was a little nervous (I’m from the suburbs…we don’t exactly do subways here), but all in all I handled myself pretty well. I got a cab from the airport with no problem. I got myself to the subway, got my metro card and not only got off at the right stop, but even managed to exit the subway at the right corner to get me where I needed to go. And I managed to (admittedly with slight assistance on this part) call a cab to get back to the airport.

Now I know what you’re thinking at this point in the story. You’re thinking, “gee, this all went really well for her…oh man, something really bad happened when she got to the airport. After all, these are ‘adventures in air travel,’ that flight must have suuuucked.” Nope! Ha!

Okay, I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to mock your guessing skills. I mean, the story was kind of heading in that direction.

So, to get to the actual airport part of the story. I’m sitting in LaGuardia, hanging out, reading my book and they finally call our flight to board. I’m toward the end of the line so I’m standing around waiting. Then I hear a familiar voice. Strange, considering that I’m not at home. Well, apparently nothing is strange for me anymore. And apparently, I will never escape college…or high school for that matter. Because that familiar voice I heard actually did belong to a friend of mine from high school, who went to the same college as me and is now working in the city where I’m trying to get a job. And I think it shocked the hell out of her too because when I walked over, she blurted out “I have to go–Lauren’s in the airport.”

All I can really say about my high school at this point is that we’re kind of like Visa…we’re everywhere you want to be.

Adventures in timing and other signs Pittsburgh fans have no self control

Ah…the long awaited post! Get excited, it’s a fun one. It involves food! Ahem…anyway…so I mentioned that I’ve been sick. For anyone who’s ever had a stomach thing, you know that the best part of the stomach thing is the day you finally feel like you can eat something.

For me, my weapon of choice was a sandwich. I’d been dreaming about this sandwich for days (due in part to that new Bailey’s commercial where the guy makes that killer sub while his friend talks him into making the frozen drink). I knew what bread I wanted it on, I knew what cheese I wanted on it, I even knew what condiments I wanted–suffice it to say, I was ready for this sandwich. Unfortunately, my kitchen was not as equipped to satisfy my craving as I could have hoped. No worries though, because all could be solved with a quick trip to a local store. Easy right?

So, so wrong. My first trip back into the land of the eating was on Sunday. No real problem there. My craving hit around 12:45.Problem there. Sunday in the Wild Wild Wex equals Steelers mania and this store was no exception. 15 minutes before kickoff…well, after 18 years in this city we really should have known better.

As soon as we pulled up to the store we knew we were in trouble. The parking lot was chaos. The cold cut line was a mob scene (literally). The deli workers were dishing out pierogies like there was no tomorrow. People were grabbing chicken in every form they could find it; rotisserie, fried, wings. And every single person was decked out in Steelers garb. Except for those still in church clothes…running late from the late service and still hoping to get home for kickoff.

If I hadn’t wanted that sandwich so badly we wouldn’t have risked our lives going in there. But we sucked it up, braved the crowds (and by braved I mean let 2 or 3 women who could have actually played for the Steelers go ahead of us in the deli line. Women….WOMEN!!) and thus, I was fed.

All’s well that ends well I suppose, and in Steelers country, sometimes you’re lucky to just get out alive.

Adventures in ‘breaking the seal’ and other signs Pittsburgh fans have no self control

The security guard in our building has just informed us that Steelers fans have been relieving themselves in our elevators.**

Why I had to sign 2 separate sheets and have a photo ID to park my car in the lot that I am registered to park in and then sign another sheet to enter the building and these schmucks can saunter in and piss in my elevator is beyond me.

Just another sign that when tailgating gets to be too much, Pittsburgh fans belong to the “why use the parking lot when there is a perfectly private elevator to break the seal in?” school of thought.

**I feel I should note that our elevators are carpeted.

Adventures in air travel and other signs it’s hard being a grown up

Just got back from my weekend in CT. Boo and I had a great time celebrating our anniversary (once we both, you know, remembered that it was our anniversary). But since I had to fly to get there, you know there was no chance I was coming home sans stories.

I’m an aisle-seat kind of flyer. I’ve never really been one to look out the window (I actually drove down the entire Pacific Coast Highway without looking at the view once…my father still brings that up). I board my flight to CT and take my seat next to “Tom” or as I like to call him, Talky Tom. He introduced himself, then continued talking to me, despite the fact that I was clearly engrossed in my Cosmopolitan magazine.

Then Missi, our perky-beyond-belief flight attendent (stewardess? what’s pc these days?) gave us our safety instructions–including a warning not to place our laptops into the seatback pocket without checking the pocket first. “We’d hate to have you pull out your laptop with an icky mess on it!”

Ew! Really Missi? That seems a bit dramatic. Besides which, if you think there is a chance of there being something “icky” in that pocket, why don’t you clean it out?

So we’re in the air, Talky has finally finished his salad and packed it away when all of a sudden I hear a very loud “BANG!” No, don’t worry. Nothing exploded–except perhaps Missi’s heart as she was standing next to me, passing out drinks. Tom’s plastic container burst because of the pressure in the cabin, causing most of the people around him to search frantically for their oxygen masks.

We landed uneventfully but couldn’t leave the plane without Missi warning us to be careful on the bridge to the terminal because it was a bit “caterwompy” (your guess would be as good as mine on how to spell that).

I’ll pause for a quick break right now, because I’ve still got a return flight and this is longer than I usually ramble on for. Grab a snack if you’d like. I’ll wait.

…

Everyone set? Excellent. I promise to keep this as short as possible (and to avoid as much sap as I can…this was the return flight, I was sad, it happens). I didn’t have any problems getting onto the plane in CT. The airport is small and people were nice to me because it was very apparent that I’d been crying.

I sat down and waited for Ray, our flight attendent, to start his little speech. The captain came on to make a quick announcement and the foreign girl in front of me, who was still on her cell phone, decided that it would be a better plan to raise her voice above the captain’s, rather than hang up.

I, of course, started laughing at this because I have no self control and am very easily amused. Luckily for me, so were about 3 other passengers near me.

Ray began his speech, reminding everyone–again–to turn off their phones when he paused next to a girl in the second row. He mouthed “turn it off” and pointed at her phone. She either didn’t understand him or didn’t understand how to work her phone, because she kept it on. He worked with her for a few minutes before asking the woman on the other side of the aisle for a piece of paper. He wrote “turn it off” on the paper and showed it to the phone-impaired girl. Eventually he gave up and took the phone from her and turned it off himself.

Again, my lack of self control led to hysterical laughing, but I tried to control myself since Ray was still talking. He hit the point in his speech about the oxygen masks when he just stopped talking.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I just started thinking about her phone again. I completely forgot what I was going to say, and I do this for a living.”

Then Ray started convulsing with laughter. Lord knows I couldn’t control myself after that and burst out as well, along with most of the people near me.

So what did I learn from all of this? Air travel was great when we were little. We got to ride the tram and the moving walkways in the airport and pretend we were surfing on them (don’t pretend you didn’t do it…and even if you didn’t, don’t pretend you haven’t seen kids doing it). We got to look out the window (for those of us who liked that sort of thing). We got a free soda and we got it before noon!

But as we got older, became responsible for carrying our own suitcases and had to deal with harsher security rules, traveling seemed to become less fun. I maintain that that isn’t the case–you just have to know where to look for the humor.

Adventures in shots and other signs you’ve entered the real world

I got a shot this morning. It was awful. Terrible. Painful. And I’m not really a baby.

Done laughing? Okay good. Seriously, when it comes to shots, I’m usually a pretty good patient. But today’s shot…damn, it was like actually getting shot.

“Little pinch,” said the nurse, clearly lying through her teeth.

“Um, OW!”

“Yeah, people say it hurts when it goes in.” Such wisdom, and from the woman who swabbed my RIGHT arm after I asked for the shot in my LEFT.

This shot was more than just a “little pinch.” It actually felt as though someone was injecting solid lead into my arm, which I realize, would be like actually getting shot. Okay, so it felt as though someone was injecting nearly solid lead into my arm. Better?

As for the other signs I’ve entered adulthood? In 22 years I’ve provided maybe 2 urine samples. In the last year I’ve provided at least 9. When you become accustomed to peeing in a cup, you can consider yourself full-grown.