I am leaving work now to go to the DMV. I could not think of a better way to spend my afternoon, except possibly getting waterboarded by my grandmother in the Artic. I hate the DMV so much that the very thought of going today makes me want to claw my own eyes out. Luckily, I have filled out their form - which I hope is the right one, although I have a feeling that as soon as I get through the hour long line I will be forced to stand in they will politely inform me that I have the wrong paperwork and that I will need to step out of line to fill out the right one. This news will most likely be broken to me by a person in a poorly fitting uniform that looks like she wants to castrate my first born. Once I finish with that I will be forced to take a number, like at the deli counter at my local grocery store, and wait patiently - hoping the guy's next to me body odor does not rub off on me. Does he not smell the BO NOR the pungent aroma of onions that is permeating from his pores? Then, they will call my name and I am required to take a picture that I will be forced to carry around with me for the next six years and display to every clerk, bouncer, and potential employer in the tri-state area. No doubt, because of the pressure this fact puts in me I will sneeze or have something hanging out of my nose at the exact time the flash goes off. Not to complain, my last picture made me look like a serial killer, so any picture would be better.