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 Monday, August 30

In an unpleasant trend, today's started off as a pretty crappy birthday. Here's a little tip: if it's your birthday, do not go to the DMV. In fact, don't ever go there. I spent six hours there and still couldn't walk out with a non-driver ID, because like a fool I was honest and told them that I'd had a license in NJ 20 years ago. This caused Patty's head to explode and when she consulted with Selma they decided they had to call it in to Trenton. Trenton wanted a fax of my social security card. My social security card wasn't among the sheaf of identifying documents I'd brought with me; I had more than enough points' worth of identification without it so I didn't bother digging it out. Trenton wasn't interested in the number, which I know by heart, Trenton wanted the little piece of cardboard and Trenton wasn't going to budge on it. Had I found out about this any time in the first oh, four or five hours that I was waiting in that room, I might have buzzed home and gotten the fucking thing, but of course it doesn't work that way.

Fuck 'em. I'll just carry my passport. The only thing this ID would have been good for was picking up packages from the post office without having to also bring a gas bill, since my New York ID obviously still has my New York address on it. So that's $24 the State of New Jersey won't get from me, the fuckers. I'm good enough to pay taxes and do jury duty, but they couldn't do this? On my birthday? Fuck 'em.

Got home to find a UPS sticky on the door, fuuuuuuuuck, but happily the package had been left at the neighbors' place and B was able to go get it. It was the cool-ass Devo mugs that have been in my Baggle bag for a while. B made me a nice cuppa in one of them, and I got upstairs to some nice messages from friends and family, so things are looking up. I'm taking the night off at the dojo, but B has agreed to spend some quality time this evening, holding my new focus mitts (I've named them Patty and Selma), out of which I shall punch the living daylights.

4:31 PM

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