Monday, November 06, 2006

Remember, Remember the Fifth of November

Okay, so it's actually the sixth today. We forgot to build a bonfire last night in honor of Guy Fawkes Day, but what the hell. We're American.

I've had a crazy afternoon today. For those who don't know, I am well on my way to becoming The Cliche Mom. My parents, out of supreme kindness, gave me their 2006 Honda CRV. Correction: Sold it to me for the low, low price of $1. Apparently my dad has been worried about the safety of my Beetle, even though I've been driving SpaceMobile for almost 8 years with nary a comment. Poof. My kid comes a long and suddenly I'm piloting a DeathMobile. However, do not discern any lack of gratitude in that statement; I love my new wheels. At the least, I can get Little A in and out of the vehicle without performing slow yoga-like moves.

Adrian came home early today to watch the baby so I could go over to DMV and do the whole tax, title, and tags thing. We figured it would take me an hour maybe an hour and a half. I left the house at around 1:30. Got over to the DMV (about 10 minutes from my house) and actually got to a window in about five minutes. Once at the window, the clerk discovered that my mom's signature was missing from the title (both my parents were listed). He apologized profusely but explained he needed both signatures. He tells me if I can come back before closing I wouldn't have to re-queue just return to his window and he'd finish the transaction. No sweat, I say, and dash off to my mom's school which is only about 15 minutes up the road. It's after 2 p.m. by the time I get to her school. Kids are everywhere getting into cars and onto the bus. I dash into the office, get my mom's signature, she apologizes for the oversight, and I dash off.

Back at DMV. It's now about 2:30. After my clerk waits on a particularly chatty redneck senior citizen, he sees me. We resume the process. Everything's going fine. Then the "Uh-oh." Apparently, because the CRV is less than five years old, I need a signed, notarized statement referring to the selling price. That's right, a notarized statement. Plus, because both my and Adrian's names will be on the title I have to get him to sign the statement too. Of course, we both need to be present before the notary. Dammit. I remain calm. This is not the clerk's fault, but rather the demonic machinations of an over-beauracratic government out to stifle the little man. In my car, I call Adrian and using a rather excited tone of voice and lots of profanities, relate the situation to him.

Fortunately, my father-in-law happened to be at our house to get some car work done, so he stays to keep an eye on sleeping Little A. I spirit Adrian over to our credit union (luckily again, it is close by). The neighbors were mighty impressed when I put SpaceMobile into hyperdrive right out of the driveway.

Get to the credit union. Paperwork signed and notarized. Adrian deposited back in front of the house. Back to DMV. It's 3:20 p.m. It's not a long wait to see my new best friend at DMV (His nameplate reads M. Maxey. If you're at the Brook Road DMV, ask for him and tell him Amanda sent you.). He goes through the hoops, produces my new plates and registration. There's a gaffe on the first title he prints, so he has to print that twice. I pay my $75. It's about 3:40 when I leave DMV and close to 4 when I finally roll home.

An hour, my ass.

Needless to say, I required an order of chicken tikka masaala after all that craziness.

Random Tangent:
I painted my fingernails a bluish black for Halloween. Now they are stained yellow. Any suggestions on how to get rid of that?

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