I picked up some frames at IKEA yesterday to shoot/show off some of my prints in. I have no intention of selling prints in these frames. Firstly, I have no place to store a stack of frames and secondly, the amount I’d want to charge to have to run to IKEA every time someone bought one would be more than an original Picasso. That is to say, I don’t see selling framed works online. Aside from the storage issues, there’s the matter of shipping and wasted energy and divining what would match someone else’s decor. Buy your own frames, people. If I were to ever do a craft/art show/fair, I’d likely frame some (because it does really set off photographic prints to see them framed) and I’d likely stick a larger price tag on them (because frames cost money, don’t'cha know) and I’d likely hope I didn’t have to store too many of them before the next show.
But the pricing possibilities for shows is a matter for a whole other post.
“You’d better get down here to Smith’s Car Mart, because these deals are Hot, Hot, HOT!” blares the radio, issuing the sound of a police siren to finish the commercial.
Being the first time this commercial aired, I pretty much swerved all over my lane, and anxiously checked my rear-view mirror in order to see if I would be getting pulled over, or if I needed to get out of the way. As I am a new driver, tickets would have have higher repercussions for me. First, my parents wouldn’t be terribly happy about it. Second, the penalties are increased simply because you’re a new driver and should, therefore, somehow have a better idea of what you should be doing.
What a fun logic puzzle that is. But I digress.
After seeing that there was absolutely no other traffic around me, I relaxed a little, my fear converting itself into anger. True, I did have the radio up a wee bit too loudly. That’s my fault. Is it my fault, though, for using sound effects that are intended to draw attention to an emergency vehicle? I didn’t think so.
Anyway, I don’t need to be hearing these false sounds including trucks back-firing during an interview, sirens, motorcycle revving, and screeching tires. Satellite or FM, advertisement or musical score, it’s just not helpful.
I’m not sure why a siren would motivate me to buy a car anyway. Seems like I’d be getting stolen property.
A little over a week ago, my father tore his ACL. For those of you that don’t know, or are too lazy to research for yourself, an ACL is a ligament in the knee that prevents it from wobbling or giving out. Simply put, my father is in a great deal of pain and has been confined to a sitting/laying position for the past several days. Well, his doctor ordered him to remain as immobile as possible, but like Colonel Custer and the Sioux Indians, my father isn’t one for standing down. Regardless, many of his daily tasks have fallen upon me, and many of these involve driving.
I have been driving for over a year now, that is, driving with a permit. Sure, it might be a bit peculiar that one has had a permit for over a year, when most 16 year old Americans have the 6th month marked down on their Facebook calendars, but that in itself is hardly interesting. Nor is the rebellious side of the same story, as in the empty passenger side. Illegal? Yes. Uncommon? Doubtful. However, despite my self-confidence, I always feared the day when I would become the victim of racial profiling. I mean, according to the ironic principles of karma, it’s bound to happen sooner or later.
Back to my unlawful joyrides, they have become quite frequent in the past several days, and fearing that inevitable karma, my father decided that it was time to stop holding out and take me to get a license. I expressed little excitement one way or the other, seeing as how I would be driving regardless. If anything, I knew I was just setting myself up for defeat, failing the road test and walking out empty handed, down $7 and several hours in waiting. The failing in itself isn’t what troubles me, it’s the walk of shame out those doors past the jail-bait blond with a fresh license in one hand and a cellphone in the other. I can only imagine the text reading: Liek omg!!! i can driv now : )))) I shudder at the thought.
In my driving career I have encountered many a hazard on the road, ranging from heavy rain to women. I use both hands when dealing with the latter. From experience, I can say that the “fresh n’ blond” blend are at the top of the danger scale. If it’s not a cellphone, it’s a Starbucks cappuccino in their hand, or their boyfriend’s stick shift. No, I’m not talking about an actual stick shift, though for the record, they shouldn’t have their hands on one of those while driving, either. It’s when I encounter these wonders of the road that I take a moment to avert my attention to the question: how did they ever pass the written exam? Let’s just say that the actual academic side to high school isn’t their strong suit.
The DMV in itself is a very uninspiring place once you reach the waiting room. Crummy plastic chairs, gray walls, and the current number being served, A113. You are E337. Silent faces stare blankly forward, combating the temptations of rest; brightening after hearing their letter, only to be restored to their former saturnine appearance when they don’t hear the corresponding number. Though few verbally express it, all await the moment a student driver crashes through the northern wall after forgetting to put their car in reverse.
When I’m finally called up, I hand over my paperwork and current permit. After looking it all over, the lady across the desk frowns. “You know that this permit is expired, right?” Yes, yes I did. However, I was hoping to just charm my way past the experience, but seeing as how this lady was approaching her 60’s, I realized that such a plan bore little hope. “You’ll have to retake the written test.”
November 22, 2008. “Sorry, but it looks like you have failed. Why don’t you study next time, cock sucker.”
Who cares about the weight of an infant in a car seat anyway? At this point, I knew that I wasn’t going to get my license that day, but swallowing some anxiety I approached the test taking area, hoping by some stroke of grace I would pass. I think that now is a good point to say that at the DMV, logic is about as abundant as the excitement. Part of the reason I failed the my first written exam was that I’d answer the questions I didn’t know through the due process of reason. After all, it had served me well in school, and I’m at the top of my class, so why wouldn’t it serve me well here? Because this isn’t school, this isn’t the test sheet of life. This is the DMV.
If you park on an uphill slope, you better turn your damn wheels toward the curb. If you forget to use the emergency brake, and your car becomes possessed by gravity, the worst of your issues is a dented hub cap and a new parking spot on the sidewalk. I mean, that’s better than turning it away from the curb, where you’re relying solely on the off chance that friction saves the day; or keeping your wheels straight where the car behind you is your emergency brake. But no, you put the passing traffic at risk by turning your wheels away from the damn curb. Forget that guaranteed stop, let’s not risk running people over in the nearby sidewalk. Well, that is, as long as there is a curb present . If there is no curb, by all means, turn your wheels toward the side of the street and risk running down little Timmy on his way to school! See if we care!
Not only did I not get my license, I lost my permit in the process. I guess it was already expired, so it didn’t change anything, but it was still a low blow to the balls of pride. So I walked out the doors of shame, past the jail-bait blond with a new license in one hand a cell phone in another. Liek OMG!!!! I cn driv now n their is this loser who faled XDDDD
Taking the keys from my dad, I proceeded to drive us home regardless. I really stuck it to them.
Yesterday morning I got a taste of what it would be like to be a working single mother with an 8 month old baby, let me just take a moment to say, wow- my hat goes off to those ladies who do this every day!
7:20am… B walks into the bedroom to tell me that Everly is still sleeping and that he is leaving for work. I pop out of bed like a piece of toast, amazed that it is 7:15 and she is still sleeping… what happened to her waking me up between 6:45 and 7:00? Knowing that we need to be out of the house by 7:50 I walk down the hall and open the door to her bedroom, hoping that the morning ambiance will wake her.
7:25am… I am in the bathroom having a hooker shower with a face cloth and wetting my hair, just as I start brushing my teeth I hear B walk into her room and pick her up (wasn’t he leaving)? He plunks her down on the floor in the bathroom and says see ya later- thanks babe, (secretly I was hoping that she would stay sleeping until I was dressed).
7:27am… she is hungry and not being shy about telling me (of course), I realize that I am going to have to feed her as I do what I need to do to get ready. In the high chair she goes as I mix up her breakfast, am thinking this might be better because now she is contained. I drag the high chair to my room where I take turns giving her spoonfuls of cereal mixed with fruit and getting myself dressed. One spoonful, 2 socks, one spoonful, underwear, one spoonful, bra… until I am done and she nearly is too- aha! We have a system.
7:37am… I sit to feed her the last bits of her breakfast and suddenly I am aware of the towel still on my head. I drag her high chair to the bathroom door and take turns putting product into my hair while feeding her the last spoonfuls of her cereal- thank goodness she choose to cooperate and eat this morning is all I can think of… thank you patron saint of feeding babies. I pause and wonder what would the patron saint of feeding babies be called? Emeril, Rachel, Top Chef? Maybe that guy who swears all the time… okay focus, focus.
7:45am… time to nurse Everly. I thought we might be able to wait to do this until I got her to my cousin’s (who was looking after her), but no, she would have none of it. I am tapping my foot on the floor as she guzzles; said guzzling is partially because I am squashing my boob with my free hand to make the milk come out as fast as possible… I have seen how this kid can throw back a bottle, I know she can handle it.
7:50… we were supposed to be leaving the house at this point but nope, it’s only time to get Everly dressed. Getting Everly dressed is kind of like trying to get a lobster into one leg on a pair of pantyhose without the pantyhose being snagged; it isn’t easy. So we wrestle and sing songs and eventually she is ready to go. I put on her coat and strap her into her car seat.
7:56… I am a pack mule waking out to the car with Everly’s diaper bag, my work bag, Everly’s daycare supplies bag and my donations for work bag… oh and Everly in her car seat- which now officially combined weighs over 25 pounds. I hobble and hop and get half way to the car and realize that I am still wearing my slippers. I trek on despite the slippers, I have come too far with my load to turn back, I am closer to the car than my door. I play put stuff into the car tetris and then quickly run back into the house for some shoes- awesome, we are ready to go and only 10 minutes behind schedule.
8:03am… I am in the car at an intersection and hear my tummy growl, I feel my throat- heechk (a bit dry and pasty), is it possible that through all of this I have not eaten or drank anything, YES. Food I knew I didn’t have, but water hmmm, I took a quick look around the inside of my car and miracle of miracles, there in the cup holder was one of Everly’s sippy cups. I grabbed the cup and tried to get the lid off so that I could down the water inside, yeah, no, they don’t make these lids easy to get off do they. So I started sipping. I learned yesterday morning that it takes a lot of effort to get water out of a sippy cup, so I was sipping hard. I started to feel like I was being watched and sure enough I was. The lady in the car on my left was staring blank faced right at me. I found myself embarrased for a nanosecond and then I took the cup out of my mouth, raised it in a cheers like fashion and drove away as the light turned green… at least I gave her something to tell her friends at work.
8:13am… we arrive at my cousin’s house, 13 minutes late but everyone present and sound. I drop her off without any trouble and head to work. I take a deep breath and blow it out slowly… ahhhh work the vacation day in my week.
Well, my car has turned traitor. Ok, maybe that’s a little harsh. After all, all it did was get registered in VA and get VA license plates. It’s a little sad to take off the FL license plate, but actually, the car looks a little better. Yeah, I said it. The plates are blue and white and what else on my car is blue and white? Correct! My Detroit Lions license plate holder on the back.
The only thing is that in VA they have a plate on the front of the car also. So, my cute little car had to have a plate drilled into the front bumper. I don’t think it hurt…much.
Anyway, I don’t need to be hearing these false sounds including trucks back-firing during an interview, sirens, motorcycle revving, and screeching tires. Satellite or FM, advertisement or musical score, it’s just not helpful.
