Not that you asked, but today was my birthday. I spent it living on the edge. First I had some Wendy's for lunch, and then I went to renew my driver's license. Hell yeah. It wasn't that bad. I initially went to renew it yesterday, but I was informed that I lacked the camera card. (What's that, you might ask? I have no idea. I was never actually given one. I suspect it was a ruse to determine how serious I was about retaining my legal driving status.)
So I must know... what is it about the DMV that makes old men refer to me by anything BUT my actual name? When I first took the driver's test, I failed it. This was due in large part to me cussing out the tester guy (that and not using my turn signal while parallel parking between two cement barricades in a parking lot). It was his fault. He called me "kiddo" and "honey" and "kitten." Guess which one it was that sent me over the edge? Before I digress further...
The guy I was talking to to get my invisible camera card called me "kiddo." So what if I'm 23? It didn't offend me, but I did think it was odd that I've only been called "kiddo" twice in my life and both times were at the DMV. I was just happy not to have to wait in line for six hours. I was in and out in less than fifteen minutes. That has to be some kind of a record, or at least karma making up for the EIGHT HOURS (yes, really) I had to stand in line with my father when I was getting my license. (That, incidentally, was the day after I failed it. Apparently I have to go twice on consecutive days and get called "kiddo" in order to receive anything from the DMV.)
So after my DMV adventure--during which it started to snow!--I went to Sam's Club in Monroeville. Sam's Club annoys me. It's not that I have to play Dodge The Sample People or that they're associated with Wal-Mart or that they sell everything in ridiculously huge sizes. It's not even that every time I go there, the store has been completely rearranged, apparently by a toddler with a forklift. It's that the labels on the aisles make absolutely no sense. An aisle the length of a football field and it's labeled "sunflower seeds." Is that all there is? Ten thousand crates of sunflower seeds? Another aisle labeled "hot sauce." Perhaps "condiments" would be more fitting? We don't have "paper products" here at Sam's, but we do have several hundred tons of napkins. I was wandering the warehouse looking for the medicine--which used to be in the middle of the store, which is now occupied by some horrible holiday crap-- and going in circles until I had to ask a Sample Guy (who was apparently giving samples of some soap scum cleanser... how the fuck do you give out samples of cleanser?) where the hell it was. I don't know why I didn't check next to the meat--clearly, I have some mental deficiency.
They of course had turkeys for sale. Actually, they might have been pterodactyls, but I can't be sure. And remarkably, they were being sold on an individual basis. I was sure they'd be roped together into six-packs, or perhaps in giant Pez dispensers that gobbled each time you popped out a birdosaur. Disappointment at every turn.
This evening I went to the Southside with Mom and JK for dinner at The Cheesecake Factory. Delicious. Words failed me when trying to describe how wonderful the "Bang Bang Chicken and Shrimp" truly was (which was prepared for my convenience without peanuts or bell peppers in order to let me live to see 24). JK loved his dinner, Mom loved hers, and our waiter was great. I like to kid around with... uh, everyone... and when we were ordering drinks, I spotted something called a "Flying Gorilla." It was banana everything. And while I like bananas, that didn't really appeal to me. But the name did, so I told the waiter that "I don't actually want a Flying Gorilla, I just want you to refer to whatever I get as such." Not only did he get it, but he did it. He fucking took that joke and ran with it, and I totally love him for it. We of course ordered dessert, (interestingly enough, they have more for dessert than cheesecake. Who goes to The Cheesecake Factory and doesn't get cheesecake for dessert? If you are lactose intolerant, then you can leave) and they decorated my plate with candy sprinkly things (PINK ONES) and wrote "Happy Birthday Amanda!" on the plate with chocolate sauce. They even gave me a candle and sang to me. And they sang the real Happy Birthday song, not some stupid one incorporating clapping and whistles. I hate those songs.
But really, as long as I'm not being called "kiddo," I'm good.