You better watch out what you wish for. It better be worth it.
So much to die for!
-Hole, "Celebrity Skin"
So I began on my long quest to get a passport today. Among other things, I had to straighten out my name on my social security number (guess that idea to go with Wonder Woman wasn't such a hot idea after all!). Now, I have to ask you: have you been to an inner-city social security office lately? Bring a stake and canteen of holy water with you: it was like Dawn of the Dead. For one of the first times in my life, I actually said goodbye to my car after I parked her, expecting she would be molested and kidnapped by the time I returned. Then, upon entering the building, the situation escalated.
The waiting room was PACKED, and I mean, the DMV would be envious. People half-dressed, half-awake, half-dead... wandering aimlessly, slumped in chairs, or plastered against the walls... babies screaming, people moaning... I had to check myself and make sure I wasn't bleeding from any orifice so as to not attract the zombies.
Apparently there is some sort of deli-line number machine that everyone has to register with; I slapped the button, and out popped my receipt: Your number is 54, it cheerfully stated. I looked up at the digital "Now Serving" banner... number 19. NINETEEN!?!?
Luckily, I spotted a lonely line in front of a window, separate from the rest of the room. It was labeled "Social Security Cards," so I took a chance and got in line. As the numbers on the digital read-out clicked away, an hour passed, and finally I was the second person in line. Then, the ultimate line-waiter's nightmare occurred: a woman, about 50 or so, slid slickly in front of me, looking around as if she was confused. I gave her the benefit of the doubt and told myself that she was part of the group of young women at the window ahead of me. But she was foiled: she turned to a friend who was sitting in one of the chairs and said, "I'm not waiting anymore. I'm just going ahead of people" in Spanish. Then she looked at me and smiled. I gave her the look. You know, the look. We all have one, and mine is particularly scary; at least, I assume it must be, because she stopped smiling, turned to her friend, and said, "We're leaving" in Spanish, and the two of them walked out. Score! Me- 1, Pushy Line-cutting women- 0.
After my business was through, the digital read-out showed that they were NOW SERVING 49. Since I didn't end up having to use my deli-number, on the way out of the office, I gave my slip to a tall guy who seemed to be suffering from the DTs. He smiled, shook violently, and told me I was beautiful.
Regarding my shady lease... well, I spoke with someone who went through a similar situation, and she assured me that if anything in the lease is in violation of the state rental laws, those clauses are null and void anyway. I did sign my lease, creepiness and all, because while I don't consider myself to be high-maintanance, I can't live in a cardboard box (nor do I have the money to rent a moving van to transport my stuff TO that box). I WILL be investing in a chain lock for my doors, however, so I can nap in safety and comfort
Cheers to all,
and a hooray for naked women photographed in black and white!
So much to die for!
-Hole, "Celebrity Skin"
So I began on my long quest to get a passport today. Among other things, I had to straighten out my name on my social security number (guess that idea to go with Wonder Woman wasn't such a hot idea after all!). Now, I have to ask you: have you been to an inner-city social security office lately? Bring a stake and canteen of holy water with you: it was like Dawn of the Dead. For one of the first times in my life, I actually said goodbye to my car after I parked her, expecting she would be molested and kidnapped by the time I returned. Then, upon entering the building, the situation escalated.
The waiting room was PACKED, and I mean, the DMV would be envious. People half-dressed, half-awake, half-dead... wandering aimlessly, slumped in chairs, or plastered against the walls... babies screaming, people moaning... I had to check myself and make sure I wasn't bleeding from any orifice so as to not attract the zombies.
Apparently there is some sort of deli-line number machine that everyone has to register with; I slapped the button, and out popped my receipt: Your number is 54, it cheerfully stated. I looked up at the digital "Now Serving" banner... number 19. NINETEEN!?!?
Luckily, I spotted a lonely line in front of a window, separate from the rest of the room. It was labeled "Social Security Cards," so I took a chance and got in line. As the numbers on the digital read-out clicked away, an hour passed, and finally I was the second person in line. Then, the ultimate line-waiter's nightmare occurred: a woman, about 50 or so, slid slickly in front of me, looking around as if she was confused. I gave her the benefit of the doubt and told myself that she was part of the group of young women at the window ahead of me. But she was foiled: she turned to a friend who was sitting in one of the chairs and said, "I'm not waiting anymore. I'm just going ahead of people" in Spanish. Then she looked at me and smiled. I gave her the look. You know, the look. We all have one, and mine is particularly scary; at least, I assume it must be, because she stopped smiling, turned to her friend, and said, "We're leaving" in Spanish, and the two of them walked out. Score! Me- 1, Pushy Line-cutting women- 0.
After my business was through, the digital read-out showed that they were NOW SERVING 49. Since I didn't end up having to use my deli-number, on the way out of the office, I gave my slip to a tall guy who seemed to be suffering from the DTs. He smiled, shook violently, and told me I was beautiful.
Regarding my shady lease... well, I spoke with someone who went through a similar situation, and she assured me that if anything in the lease is in violation of the state rental laws, those clauses are null and void anyway. I did sign my lease, creepiness and all, because while I don't consider myself to be high-maintanance, I can't live in a cardboard box (nor do I have the money to rent a moving van to transport my stuff TO that box). I WILL be investing in a chain lock for my doors, however, so I can nap in safety and comfort
Cheers to all,
and a hooray for naked women photographed in black and white!
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BTW, holy water doesn't work on zombies. As Tom Savini says, "Shoot 'em in the head. That's the only way to stop 'em. You gotta shoot 'em in the head. . . .HEY TOMMY, GET THAT LADY OVER THERE, SHE'S A TWITCHER!!" . . . . huh-huh-huh, that guy was cool.