You too can get a postage stamp of a sticker to put on your license plate!

I hate the BMV. I hate the people that work at the BMV. I hate the other people that are at the BMV when I’m at the BMV.

Actually, not all of that is true. The other drivers that are there are, for the most part, good, normal people just like me. Except for the woman with the blown-out hair that couldn’t understand why she couldn’t get a title if her name and social security number was different on two pieces of “identification”. Thankfully “Adam”, our beloved supervisor slicked back his unwashed hair, summoned the creatures of his goatee to the rescue, and diffused the situation. Seriously, with the glasses this guy was wearing, he probably has to be careful about looking into the sun. That’s how ants die. In fact, I bet every person who comes through his little eye test with 20/20 vision gets a special mark on their permanent record. After probably 35 minutes, an averted computer disaster, and a little harmless, stinky old lady cutting in front of me in line (seriously, I was standing back a little bit so people could get in and out of the door. She walks in and stands in front of me, not even acknowledging that I might be in line. As if she even deserves a drivers license!) but I survived. Aside from the $50.50 ding to my checking account, I made it out of there all right, once my number was called. I think I’m going to write the BMV and complain that I don’t like the color of the stickers this year, either.

So Chad Allen, the blond kid on “Dr. Quinn: Medicine Woman”, and some other show I can’t quite place, yet my dignity keeps me from checking IMDB.com, was on Larry King the other night as a “gay activist”. I called that one 15 years ago, thankyouverymuch.

I’ve come to the conclusion that SUV’s now serve two purposes. Tailgating and we need something to completely obliterate those dinky little “Mini Cooper” cars and the smarmy bastards that drive them.

Apparently the Saturday half of my birthday celebration went over well, or at least well enough that the bartender at Gibby’s shared the story with her coworkers. Funny thing is, I don’t *remember* dancing on any barstools…

Even though its a round in, they’re currently under the Red Sea, and virtually no one cares, I’m making the call right now that Mike Weir is going to win the World Match Play golf championship this weekend. Actually, I have full brackets filled out, but it would take WAY too much effort to get it on here. I could scan it in, but no one would ever read my chicken scratch. I’ll just share that my final four is Padraig Harrington, Kenny Perry, Davis Love III and Weir. Go watch some golf, be impressed.