Blink

I have a fabulous new temp job I started today. I no longer have a cubicle, I now have my very own conference room. How exciting is that? They realized that when I arrived this morning they had nowhere to put me so conference roomy goodness for me. Near as I can tell, they have no work for me to actually do. So I sit here at my great big mahogany table surrounded by leather chairs, stare at the computer screen and go to my happy place in my head. I suppose I need to find a real job soon.


I finally got pulled over by the police. I mean itís been over a month with no police interaction, and really that is just unprecedented for me. I got lost after leaving Target because I have the sense of direction of, uh, somebody with a really bad sense of direction. It seems the metaphor well has run dry in Florida. After making a perfectly legal (or so I thought) left hand turn to go back to Target in a last ditch effort to orient myself, the sirens come on. That canít be for me, I think, but of course, it was. When the officer asked me if I knew what I had done wrong, I went with no. No was actually the truth which is weird in and of itself because I usually find it necessary to lie to law enforcement. When in doubt, lie, thatís my general rule. Whatever. Okay, so what did I do? I didnít use my blinker to make a left hand turn. Now before you think that Iím one of those freaks that just randomly makes left hand turns, let me say that I was at a stoplight in the left hand turn lane where I had to wait for a green arrow (none of that left hand turn yield on green craziness) and there was a strip of concrete separating me from the people to my right who were heading straight. So really, in my opinion, unless I was going to jump the concrete and make a right turn the whole blinker seemed sort of useless. Hey, Iím normally blinker girl. Changing lanes? Blinking. Left hand turn at a light without a green arrow? Blinking. Exit ramps, on ramps? Blink and blink. Yeah so. I didnít explain this theory to him as I didnít feel he would really appreciate the simplicity of it.


Then there was the problem of locating my license, registration and proof of insurance. My insurance card had expired two days prior, but he let that slide. My registration was buried in my glove box under a lifetime supply of road maps from 12 different states. And my license, well it was from another state and didnít match my license plate. I have K@ns@s plates and am carrying around a Color@do license. Itís the only one I have with a good picture. Seriously, I have licenses in 11 states, and only one has a decent picture. That day at the DMV I was having a good hairday that has heretofore been unsurpassed. My hair was red at the time, but not that bright mahogany color that it is when I first get it colored, and not that faded color of a baboonís ass that it turns into after being in the sun too long, it was just perfect. Plus, I canít find all my other driverís licenses. They are somewhere wrapped in a rubberband in a box that I havenít unpacked yet. He asked if I lived here and I said no, just visiting. Ha, I did get to lie! He let the license plate/license mismatch go too, let me off with a warning, and said as he handed me back my license, ďnow I donít have to tell you what to do from now on do I?Ē Blink this butthead.

2002-10-23 at 3:05 p.m.


2002-10-23 at 3:05 p.m.