Way back a long time ago, I wrote of going to the DMV to get my new Oregon driver’s license.
You can read that post here, but you’re so not going to click to read an old post about me getting my driver’s license photo taken so don’t even lie.
The gist of that old post you aren’t reading?
Is that I have the worst driver’s license photo ever. I described it at the time as making me look like an insane asylum escapee. The photo has not changed since then.
At first? I didn’t want to hand my license over to anyone, because duh . . . way unattractive and demented looking. I was worried that people would look at my photo and be all, “Damn! What the fuck, girl? This photo makes you look like a serial killer or some shit.”
Ack!
OK, but here’s what happened instead . . . nobody said a goddamned thing.
When you think about it? That’s fucked up.
I do not look like that woman in the photo! Shouldn’t someone be questioning this fact? Shouldn’t someone be saying, “Why are you trying to pass yourself off as this ugly-ass bitch?”
Seriously . . . that’s fucked up.
In not entirely unrelated news? What the fuck is up with gas prices lately?
Remember that here in Oregon, I am not allowed to pump my own gas, so I have had recent occasion to make pointless small-talk with a variety of not overly sensitive men of assorted ages and girths. News from the gas-pumping front is that the American people are being screwed.
Not to put too fine a point on it.
Although if you try to screw something without a point? You’ll just be grinding and turning and grinding and turning and you will never actually fuck the woman.
Ahem.
My favorite local gas station has suspended a huge image of a screw beneath the sign that tells the gas prices.
An apology of sorts for the fact that I am about to be screwed.
And while I am not a big fan of pre-fucking apologies?
I do appreciate a good screwing joke.
So I am chatting with the guy who is pumping my gas and thinking about screwing. I have gotten used to the fact that I am not allowed to do it for myself anymore. I just sit back and wait for him to finish.
The pumping, people.
The gas pumping, people.
I am not fucking the gas station attendant.
Not at these prices.
Focus.
Happily, no one ever asks for my photo ID when I use my credit card to buy gas because it’s not like anyone ever steals a credit card and a car and then hauls ass out of town but first maybe needs some gas.
That never happens.
OK, so now I have gotten gas and I have been screwed and I am on the lam!
Where to go?
Oooooh . . . is that party store going out of business? Nothing I like better than to pick at the carcass of yet another failed American dream! Awesomeness!
It’s one of those going out of business sales where the owner of the store is nowhere in sight. Instead, there is a team of liquidating specialists whose job it is to mark all the shit down and then move it all out. The liquidating specialists at this particular store are of the “maybe hired for the day from the rehab center down the street” sort.
I pick my way through the messy aisles and use my hand sanitizer perhaps a dozen times or so as I wander.
Hand sanitizer kills drug cooties, right?
I am standing in line to buy my small pile of discounted party crap.
The woman behind the cash register is perhaps 50.
Perhaps.
As I look at her more closely, I see that she could be closer to 40, except for that long bout with drug cooties.
Drug cooties are aging, people.
Aging and inhibition-lowering, apparently.
This woman is chatting up a storm about a dog she once had that got run over by a car and how her husband is good for nothing and her daughter’s about to have a baby and she’s going to be a grandma can you believe that shit?
Ummmm . . . actually? Yeah. I can believe that shit.
But I just shake my head, as if to say, “No, I cannot believe that shit because you are obviously too young and beautiful to be anyone’s grandmother.”
I am all gifted at silent communication.
“Your total is $16.32.”
I hand over my credit card.
“Can I see your license?”
I hand over my license.
She looks at the license and she looks at me and she looks at the license again and then back up at me, “This you?”
I reach for my license, but she spins away and holds my photo in the air, “Damn! What the fuck, girl? This photo makes you look like a serial killer or some shit.”
OK, and then I fall in love with this woman just a little bit.
And then she says, as she hands my license back, “Must be you, though. Why would you be going around trying to pass yourself off as this ugly-ass bitch?”
Swear . . . to . . . god.
Swoon!
What do you say to that?
Um, Thank you?
You’ll get used to the gas thing. Now? I love it. No more standing outside when it’s cold, or raining, or the 2 days of the year that it’s 100 degrees.
I have gotten used to the gas-pumping thing. It was very strange at first, but now it’s pretty awesome.
As for what I said to the woman at the party store?
I said, “Thank you!”
I so did.
You guys can’t pump your own gas? How freaking odd.
It is very odd.
A driving lifetime of pumping my own gas, and now I am no longer allowed.
Very odd.
I had to make Jenna promise me that she’d teach her daughter to pump gas, even if she has to leave the state on vacation to do it. ha.
Excellent plan.
Seriously . . . everyone should know how to pump gas.
Silly Oregon.
hysterical! you were waiting for it, and you found it!! i think those people without a filter are here on earth just to amuse the rest of us!
Wait.
The woman without the filter . . .
You mean the woman at the party store?
Or me?
Either way is fine, I just want to be clear.
Snort!
you….may not have a filter on your blogs where you talk about ankle eating elves and sockomizing (how this is even a word in my vocabulary is beyond me, but i give all credit to you) – you thought “But I just shake my head, as if to say, “No, I cannot believe that shit because you are obviously too young and beautiful to be anyone’s grandmother.” while that other lady SAID IT OUT LOUD. so her – no filter. you – filter….sometimes ;)
Sarah -
You are perfection!
Exactly. I have a filter that I often remove here on Pretty All True, but I do carry it around with me.
Otherwise?
I would get into so much fucking trouble.
I so would.
not as much trouble as one would think actually! i think most people are more like ‘omg! did she seriously just say that?’ :) especially if you smile brightly while you’re saying whatever it is that just popped out of your mouth before you had a chance to stop it! i’m just like Happy Bunny :)
OK, how awesome would it be to get to live and behave like Happy Bunny?
Who I totally realize is pretend.
But still.
Hilarious!
I once used my mom’s ID when she sent me to the commissary with a signed check for groceries.
And? The lady thought it was me.
Hello?
Seriously?
My mom was like 44, and I was 18.
Drug cootie freak.
Later that same week? I went to my sisters’ volleyball games. They are 3 and 4 years younger than me.
And? Some woman asked if they were my daughters.
Damn drug-cootie freaks are everywhere.
Sue -
Agreed.
Damn drug cooties are everywhere, fucking with people’s minds and rendering them completely incapable of judging chronological age.
This explains that whole Justin Bieber thing.
Pretty sure.
Snort!
Why can’t you pump you own gas? O.0 Man that would be AWESOME! Do you have to pay more?
Tiffany -
It’s state law here in Oregon. No one is allowed to pump their own gas. Keeps all sorts of weird people employeed, let me tell you.
As for whether we pay more for the gas?
I’m sure we do, but as there is no choice?
We don’t notice.
Yeah I guess that makes sense. We have one of the last full service stations left in Georgia near our house but since it is more expensive we rarely go.
Yes!
If I had a choice, I would pay less and pump my own gas.
I so would.
But Oregon doesn’t trust me to do this job.
Snort!
“I’m not fucking the gas station attendant” Sad world we live in that you have to make that statement.
And “drug cooties” just made my skin crawl, as I relived a bad experience with Ecstacy. WORST DRUG NAME EVER! …well unless you get the real stuff, and then we can talk about fucking, oh yes.
Skipping off to my happy place. Thank you!
Not a sad world.
Just the world that is Pretty All True.
My readers sometimes jump to wrong conclusions where I am concerned.
Snort!
And I adore the image of you skipping off to your happy place!
Love that!
OMG. That was hilarious. My photo looks like I weigh fucking 600 pounds – it’s disgusting!
BTW, I could totally hear you ranting that story off really fast… you faster talker, you. lol.
adventuresinestrogen.blogspot.com
Hee hee!
I did not write it quickly, but I did try to impart a sense of urgency and confiding to the telling.
Look at you, all noticey!
Love that!
Love it!! I cringe when people see my license too, which is a shame, because I was actually proud of my previous one.
Whitney -
I never felt one way or another about my license photo until this one.
And this one is very very bad.
Sigh.
Plus also?
Cringe.
My license looks like I am about to pounce on the DMV employee like a rabid spider monkey. I look so angry in mine! The funny thing too is that I am the complete opposite of angry!
Sara -
If you read that older post I linked?
You’ll see that there were extenuating circumstances.
And symmetry requirements.
Hee hee!
And you as a rabid spider monkey is making me giggle hysterically.
Happy giggly sighs.
“Now line your body up, but not with your head.” LMAO! In my state they don’t do that, but you CAN’T smile in your picture. So, suppressed giggles look like suppressed homicidal rage (at least that’s how it translates in my picture). Really, when someone says, “Don’t smile”, hello? I’m gonna smile.
Sara -
Hee hee!
It was so fucking funny, and I was so busy trying to get lined up correctly?
I totally forgot about looking friendly and sane.
Sigh.
I believe bad DL photos are some kind of conspiracy. I have never had a good one. I have never seen a good one. Someone, somewhere has a plan regarding this. I just haven’t figured out the fine points yet.
And the lady at the party store? She is awesome. In a drug cootied kind of way.
Renee -
The lady at the party store?
She was awesome. Drug cootied and awesome.
She so was.
That’s one thing about us former drug users – at least we’re honest. Luckily for me, I also still have my youthful good looks. Mostly, anyway. Okay, I don’t. BUT … I’m honest.
Kali?
Don’t make me hug you and get all sincere and tell you that you are gorgeous. No one wants that.
I am a serial killer, you know.
Best to keep me at arm’s length.
At least.
Lol. Promise I wasn’t begging the question. Just validating your point. But if you wanted to hug? I’d ask if YOU were on drugs. Since when is a hug part of the many services you offer?
In my serial killer training classes?
We were taught to hug first.
And then . . .
Well, you know.
God I love the way you transition.
Point A to Point X to Point WTF?!?!
And right back to where we belong.
Yay!
Cameron -
I am the queen of segues!
Unless I am about to roll off a cliff to my death.
And then I will hop right off that fucker.
What?
Possibly I am the only person that gets this but BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
Didn’t that guy die?
Pretty sure he did. And that makes me laugh harder.
Yes.
He so did die.
Ahem.
Giggle.
I am in a Super Shuttle trying very hard not to roll in my seat laughing.
Being screwed and pumped at the same time. Sounds like it should be fun. But when you have a serial killer ID I guess it isn’t.
And the drug cooties :) I love the titles on your blogs.
Drug cooties.
So great.
I’m glad this lady recognized you – serial killer of the blogs. Yup you killed it. Again. :)
Lizzie -
I am the serial killer of blogs?
I killed it again?
Oh, I like that!
Thank you!
Hilarious! And for the record, Americans are way less screwed that most other places when it comes to the price of gas. You would be horrified how much it costs in Australia!
Ugly-ass licences? I don’t recommend renewing one’s licence a week before moving overseas, on the day that one’s house has been emptied out and is being cleaned in 90º heat and 95% humidity, with a nine-week old baby in tow. The result? Not pretty. Not pretty at all…
MJ -
How much are Australians paying, exactly?
Oh, but then I’ll have to do conversion math . . . bleagh.
I will put my driver’s license photo up against yours any day. Assuming I was willing to show it to you. Which I so am not.
Ack!
In Sydney, I would pay around $1.30-$1.50 a litre. It’s still about that, I believe. That averages at about $5.30 a gallon (and both the US$ and AU$ are pretty much the same value these days).
Yep. Screwy…
Oh, that’s very very bad.
Wow.
OK, so I am not going to move to Australia.
Glad to have that settled.
Holy crapcicle!
I know!
I do love this. Really, I do.
Partially because what the party lady said was so awesome…and partially because I always seem to get those cashiers, too.
My DL photos? Are…interesting. Not horrible, just interesting. When we moved here, we had to register our cars here, get licenses, etc. Hub had a *terrible* time trying to get this taken care of. Spent way too many hours at the MVA (that’s what they call the DMV here).
Right before I got my license? He had yelled at the MVA worker for being stupid & then he stalked off. Guess which MVA worker I got?
And? He was the only one with a job or a credit card at the time…so guess who had to pay for MY license? That was fun.
My new license photo was taken after waiting like an hour at the window because apparently I broke the entire social security verification database. For the whole country. Good stuff.
Miss WTH -
This story is on your blog somewhere, right?
It so should be.
Your husband yelled at people and called them stupid and then had to come back to pay for your license?
That’s gold!
Hehehe…I was thinking that as I typed it. It’s not on my blog…but it may be in the near future…It was quite the fiasco. Truly it was.
Send me that link when it is up.
I want the whole story and all the gruesome hilarious details!
My husband regularly curses and storms away from cashiers and government employees. SOMEONE* has to go clean up the mess. No fun. But usually entertaining, at the least.
*ME
I cannot even imagine.
Mark is always calm and reasonable.
I am the one who gets pissed sometimes.
And then has to be escorted away.
By my calm and reasonable husband.
Yeah.
Yeah, that. I’m the one who loses her temper. My husband is all calm and cool and dragging me away under protest.
This would be why my driver’s license expired several months ago and I haven’t replaced it yet.
Adrienne?
You are not a licensed driver?
I’m telling.
Snort!
That is fucking awesome. And? I had already read that post about getting your driver’s license when you moved to Oregon so I knew what the hell you were talking about! Ha! I feel so self important.
Amber -
Yay!
I love that you knew the earlier story and had that background in your head.
I . . . love . . . you.
The end.