The DMV and the dangers of shopping alone

After a morning meeting with a student I think might have been high (the only other option is sleep deprivation or some sort of dumbstruck crush on his prof), I decided to get my new GA license and check out the new mall near my town. Yes, my life is this good.

Denise at the DMV took care of me. She welcomed me to Georgia, and when I said this was actually a return home for me (resignedly), she clapped her hands and said, "Let's see if you're still in the system!"

Ho boy.

I was. 10 years younger. From my days at Woof U. We redid the stats, and Denise announced to the room (no, seriously, to the ROOM) that Ms. Meg weighs the same now as she did in college. She then asked me to explain how this was possible and tell her whether I actually telling the truth? Horrifying. I was waiting for a tape measure to come out. I assured her that it was indeed the case and yes I went to the gym and wasn't she sweet to say something ("bless your heart" suddenly meaning "I'd like to cut out your heart, Denise.").

After this charming exchange, she looked at my MD license photo and said, "Whoo. You sure do need a new photo!" This is a close second to the guy at the video store in Bootymore who declared upon seeing my license that "you are WAY prettier in person! DAMN that's a bad photo!" To my Mount Vernon fellow I laughed and said yeah, I looked like an angry lesbian, and he laughed, but here I just gritted my teeth and said, "Yeah, bad haircut." She was still shaking her head in awe of my bad photo when I teetered over to Ms. Sally the photo girl. Needless to say I made it into a glamour shot. Makeup was ON, hair was FLUFFED, sexuality was HETERO!

Feeling beaten down by this experience, but rather pleased by the work, I decided to check out the new clothing store in town. This is where I almost brought my camera phone into the dressing room and bothered my more stylish friends like JordanBaker, MysteryGirl!, Momentary Academic, or Diva T for advice. I bought two wrap dresses that either make me look like a fabulous retro fashion minx or an extra in the typing pool from 9 to 5. I'm trying to trust my gut on this, but I may have made a grievous error. But then again, I'm living outside of Atlanta. I may be able to squeak by.