The Chop is still recovering from yesterday’s Vikings loss, we had torrential rain today and not one, but TWO windows are leaking, the Chop left the (poo) shoe out on the porch, so that’s ruined and I just finished working at midnight.

Some days are really rough.

The Chop had to go to the DMV today to get a new license… it did not go well. He took a credit card bill, his ID and his passport, but he ended up coming home (after waiting 1.5 hours) because he needed either a) a utility bill, b) a lease agreement or c) a bank account statement that was mailed to the house.

Three problems: all the bills are in my name (always have been), we bought the house (so no lease agreement) and we get our bank statements online (we’re green! mostly! somewhat! we try.).

We found the quitclaim deed I had to get to be able to pick up our recycling bins (seriously, who the fuck is going to come steal recycling bins that aren’t from their area? THEY DON’T LOOK THE SAME) and he went to the bank to have them print out a statement (we printed one here too, but you never know).

Ironically the printed statement from the bank? No good. And the deed? The person who helped him had to go ask the manager if that was OK.

Seriously. Can the DMV be any more of a complete fuck up? It’s like the ugly stepchild of government agencies, that went to prison for murder, got out on a technicality and is now torturing the rest of us because it hates life.

One of our resolutions was to drink less at home. The plan of attack was to just not have anything here, so we wouldn’t have to have a lot of willpower… just concentrate on the work that would be required to get in the car and drive to the store, and that would convince us to not bother. As it turns out, the need for a stiff drink quickly overpowers our laziness—well, the Chop’s really. It’s too damn cold for me to go outside unless I absolutely have to.

Last night I worked till around two on a new site from a client. She had hired some self-proclaimed “experts” and they blew her site to hell. It was loads of fun.

Today has been no better. Eleven emails to build and send, three separate conference calls, one server that went down and a complete lack of alcohol. There are two bottles of wine from the wedding, half a bottle of peach schnapps and an almost full bottle of Kahlua—and sadly, I have no interest in a wine-schnapps cooler and really, WTF would you do with Kahlua?

So as it turns out, I’ve figured out a really good way to not drink. Only have crappy stuff in the house and hold firm to not letting your husband go buy vodka for you and voila! Problem solved.

We went and saw Sherlock Holmes today. I really, really wanted to love it. I love Robert Downey, Jr., I adore Rachel McAdams (especially as a brunette) and Jude Law was perfectly cast. But for some reason a) I had a rough time paying attention to it—ie, my mind would wander and that’s never a good sign and b) the close ups of the punching and ribs breaking made me gag.

Chop says I just don’t like Guy Ritchie-directed movies, and that may be true, but overall I feel like the plot was missing something… and in my opinion, it’s a good beginning. Batman Begins was an awesome movie, and one of the reasons it caught my attention was it showed how it all began. Now why couldn’t they do that with Sherlock Holmes?

It was like being dropped into a room full of people who knew each other, had their little inside jokes and quirks and history, and we weren’t really privy to them. Bleh.

Does anyone else have issues doing laundry? I feel like our laundry pile NEVER goes down and I’m constantly triaging eight or more loads at a time. OK, I need this tomorrow… Chop needs these for work… where the hell are my jeans… etc.

And honestly, doing laundry drives me crazy. I’m pretty sure it’s the waiting while things are washing and drying—nine times out of ten I forget about it and remember two days later.

That drives my mom completely nuts. 🙂

I’m not the biggest fan of the dentist—mainly because when I was a kid I lived in fear of any situation where I would have to get a shot—but my mom was quite insistent her kids went to the dentist every six months like clockwork. The shot fear kept me from ever getting a cavity.

Until I got old, and apparently slacked off.

1) I blame the fact that I haven’t gone to the dentist in a year. We moved and I had to cancel my appointment and then the wedding, etc., so I might’ve slightly let it lapse.

2) I blame the Chop, who hasn’t gone to the dentist in YEARS. I think a little of his laissez faire attitude has rubbed off on me.

3) I blame my non-fear of needles. After 2006, they just aren’t that scary anymore, lol.

Today I had to have two cavities filled, one on top and one on bottom—both, fortunately, on the same side. Amazingly the novacaine shot wasn’t that bad… a prick, a little uncomfortable, but overall easy pie.

The irritating numbness, however, drove me completely batshit for five hours.

It’s cold today. It’s going to be cold tomorrow. Then it’ll be colder and colder until I’m very, very sad. And cold.

We now have a garage, which is awesome and has prevented me from falling on ice and my car windows from freezing shut.

However, I call BS on it (and garages in general) not being heated. It still takes just as long for my car to heat up and I can still see my breath as I make the (admittedly minuscule, but shut it!) trek from the door.

According to lots of cooking/baking websites, one can store pancake batter in the fridge for up to three days.

According to our personal test, one’s pancake batter grows mold in two days. A lot of mold. Such a disgusting amount of mold that it looks like poppy seed pancake batter.

We have around 10 inches of snow—it’s been falling since Friday—and sadly the Chop thinks we need to shovel. I LOATHE shoveling. If there’s one thing I miss about renting an apartment, it’s having someone else handle the outside… leaves, mulching, snow removal. They all suck.

A few years back I went and saw Wicked with my mom and sister in NYC. The music, the costumes, etc., were incredible, but I found the musical-version of the story irritating. They literally stripped the book, taking out pertinent information and completely rewriting an entire story line (Elphaba and Glinda fighting over a non-blue Fiyero? SERIOUSLY?). Now don’t get me wrong, I realize that they can’t incorporate everything, but completely changing the end to the opposite of what was in the book? Not cool.

Wicked is touring now and the Chop and I went to see it tonight… once again, I am left irritated. This time the music/sound system wasn’t as good as NYC and having just re-read the book, the inconsistencies were far more stark than I remembered. I’m slightly bummed.

Then again, we played frisbee in the snow with the dog and we’re pretty sure we found Snooki’s twin working at a bar downtown, so the night was not a total loss. 🙂

In other news.. today is a palindrome and the JFK presidential library is going to run a Twitter feed of JFK’s 1960 campaign. I love technology.

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?