Here we go again.

I am astounded by the amount of hits the blog has received to date. I can only deduce that upon reading my words you find more value in your life after comparing your existence to mine and realize your situation could be worse. A lot worse. You could be me. And for that I am your ever humble servant. I will continue writing as often as I can. Please send your therapy and anti-depressant bills elsewhere. Writing is therapeutic for me so rest assured that the hits won’t stop once school starts. Posts will surely be less frequent so stagger your anti-depressant intake accordingly.

That while I can't say thank you enough for reading, I feel I must apologize for not giving you fair warning. Encouraging me is like giving a clumsy yet curious kid that has manifested a keen interest in explosions a flame thrower, fireworks, gas, some heavy naval ordnance, gunpowder and expecting him to come back with his limbs attached. No good can become of it. I am now apologizing and hope you can retroactively accept it as though I had done so from the onset.

Now to the task at hand, a reporting of the day's events.

Today’s adventure: Getting a new driver’s license then open a checking account at a local bank because that’s a no-no without a valid DL.

Stepping outside brought a pimp slap to my whole body so resolute I felt like I was on the business end of a battering ram. Not even Muhammad Ali in his prime could have dodged the blow. Humidity you cruel wench! I felt like a rotisserie chicken sweating in the cooker. Sweating like I was Richard Simmons listening to the oldies. Sweating like a whore in church. Sweating like Shaq at the foul line. You get the idea. Mental scales immediately weighed the importance of completing the tasks I hoped to accomplish today. I concluded that no task is so important that it can’t wait until fall when outside is tolerable. The climate here sucks every gram of “can do attitude” and replaces it with “what activity can I do that requires less exertion than sleeping.” It’s amazing anything gets done outdoors here.

Needing to be about the business of becoming a legal driver again I cowboyed up and beat a path to my car by karate chopping my way through the humidity. Sexy happens to me all day long, kiddos. I opened the car door and singed my burly eyebrows on the escaping heat. Worry not ladies they are still thick as sin. I sat down and realized it was a good thing I hadn’t felt compelled to adorn my usual daisy dukes. Otherwise I would have needed a skin graft for the back of my legs. I would have donated every molecule of skin my posterior legs had grown to the solar flare that was my black leather driver’s seat. My dermal layers would have instantly fused with the dermal layer of the cow that gave its flesh to make my car’s interior aesthetically pleasing. Thanks buddy. Oh and thanks for donating your muscles for my consumption too. A medium rare you or family member with minor seasoning always hits the spot. Anyway, the reason I know the leather and I would have become one was because it soon happened when I made the mistake of turning the steering wheel. My palms are now branded with the stitching pattern around the steering wheel. My hands are now contorted and beautiful like the Penguin’s in Batman. An apt mental depiction may be acquired from imagining a deformed flipper a dolphin incurred from a run in with a spinning propeller. Good thing my profession won’t require the use of my hands…oh shiii…[weeping, sobbing].

I gathered myself and popped a piece of gum in my mouth to eclipse the smell of burnt flesh. Arriving at the DMV I quickly learned there is no variance in DMV’s from state to state. They all universally function at speeds a sloth would deem unbearably slow. So very, very slow. With atypical patience, I pleasantly awaited my turn. I was able to determine how much time had elapsed by monitoring how much fluid escaped my armpits and spilled down my sides in 5 minute intervals. I've got the sweating thing down to a science. Five minutes resulted in a trickling stream. Ten minutes yielded a slow moving river. On and on until the output soon surpassed that of Niagara Falls. Moments before dehydration reduced me to a puddle of grease the gal called my name. I explained my predicament and said I was in need of a Kentucky driver’s license please. She politely asked for my previous DL, my SSN card and proof of address. I had two of the three required items. I inquired as to how I could furnish her with proof of address when I had yet to receive a piece of mail at my new address. Perhaps a copy of my freshly signed lease I proffered?

“Yes, that would work,” she replied.

“Excellent. Would you allow my apartment complex to fax over a copy,” I asked.

“No, but if you would make a copy of it and bring it in that would work.”

Failing to understand the difference between a copy of a document and a faxed copy of a document I sought enlightenment from her. Not sure if what she supplied me with can be considered a helpful response.

“There just is.” Even in her terse response I couldn’t help appreciate her saying it with a genuine smile and appreciation for my well being. Gotta love the south.

There just is, huh? I see. I felt I had just climbed a tall mountain seeking the answers to life’s mysteries and had obtained just that. I scratched my head to indicate total understanding. Just for kicks though I thought I would regurgitate what I had just learned. My hope was that upon hearing the words repeated the inoperable reasoning receptors in her head would somehow be stimulated. Then she would see the foolishness of her mandate and in turn actuate a favorable outcome for me.

“So I need to go back to my apartment complex office, get a copy of my lease and come back here rather than have modern electronics do it in infinitely less time?”

“Yes, if you want a valid DL.”

Some reasoning is so incontestably stupid you would be stupid to pursue further argument. Some of you may be wondering why I’m not still there going back and forth with the gal. At some point in my life, I learned it wasn’t worth it. Wish I would have learned the lesson as a know-it-all 17 year old instead of always seeking to verbally joust with my dad. All I gleaned from the many long hours of arguing is that arguing and arguing well only results in being grounded for a very long time. Not that I didn’t have many opportunities to keep the grounding to a minimum mind you. I felt it requisite to point out to my father that the only way he could win an argument with me is by grounding me. Strangely enough this would induce him to show just how badly he had lost by extending the grounding a few more days. How my spinal chord in the cervical area remains intact this day is a testament to my dad’s seemingly infinite patience. I would have obliged my son’s unspoken request for cephalic-body detachment without taking a second to consider the ramifications. No doubt I effected many of his hair follicles to jump ship prematurely. Sorry dad.

Day’s summary: Still no valid DL, no bank account open, some pool time, a fair amount of reading, US soccer team wins, another post for you to question why you’re wasting ocular energy and committing brain cell genocide by reading this filth, and lastly watched a movie with friends.

Things to hang my hat on: Studying begins earlier than anticipated. Tonight I get to learn the rules of driving the way Kentucky sees fit to enforce them.