I am so in love with this video I’ve watched it probably 20 times.

Two Weeks – Grizzly Bear from Gabe Askew on Vimeo.

On Friday I spent 1.5 hours at the DMV, waiting to register my car (since we moved to a new state). I waited as long as I could, but had to leave when I realized only 10 people had been helped in the 1.5 hours I was there and I had 12 more ahead of me. Sigh.

So I decided to get there as early as I could this morning, hoping that would mean everyone would be working (9 counters, 3 people… see a problem here?). They were all working today (amazing), but when I got there at 930, there were 22 people ahead of me in line. Mind you, this is ONLY the line for registration, not renewal, new drivers, etc. So, after two hours (TWO FREAKING OMG HOURS), my number was called. (Important note: due to budget cuts, EIGHT DMV offices were closed in our state last Thursday.)

I placed the paperwork, my old registration, three forms of ID and proof that I had moved on the counter. The woman took one look around and said, “OK, where’s your proof of sales tax paid?”

I looked at her and said, “I’m sorry, what now?”

—-Now imagine how the rage and frustration is building… building… building—-

“We need proof you paid the sales tax. It’s a pink or yellow slip of paper and it says if you paid the sales tax in your state or this one.”

Point of fact: I purchased my car from the current state I live in, but at the time, I lived in the other one. So apparently, the dealership could’ve paid the registration in either state. Mind you, they didn’t fucking note this ANYWHERE.

I ran and checked in my car—no dice. I showed her the bill of sale, which shows I paid sales tax (but not where or to whom)—no dice. She gave me their fax number and I called the dealership.

They put me through to Carlos, which went straight to voicemail. I called the main line back, and asked if there was ANYONE else I could talk too—I’m stuck at the DMV, please oh please help me—no dice. Left a message for Carlos.

Waited for 30 more minutes at the DMV, hoping that Carlos would call and fax the information—no dice.

Carlos, the serious jackass dickwad, has not come back from “stepping out.” He stepped out, mind you, at 11 this morning. It is now almost 2PM. WHAT THE FUCK?!

—-Rage has overpowered me and there is yelling in my car, at my house, lots and lots of yelling.—-

I hate the whole world today.

Did I mention it’s 91 degrees and I have no air conditioning?

I have four months until the wedding and we haven’t: done invitations, found a dress, picked out colors or flowers or found a proper cupcake baker. I think my mom might be stressed. Frankly though, I think she should be glad I’m not doing this for my wedding.

Last night I went out with some current and former coworkers—they’ve now decided we shall have a very alcoholic bachelorette party for me come November. I’m slightly terrified, as this morning I woke up with quite the headache. Those women, my god, can they drink. It was insane.