Thursday, Feb. 27, 2003
I would like to thank each and every one of you for the wangitude.
Well, there's a sentence I never envisioned writing.
So my quest to convince the search engine oogle-Gay that the spousal unit is the go to guy for wangitude is proceeding apace. (Yes, yes I am using my finely honed encryption skills to throw the search engine off my cunning plan. Thanks for noticing.)
Tens upon tens of you have linked the word "wangitude" back to this diary, giving it five of the justly coveted top ten spots in said oogle-Gay search. That makes five down, five to go by April 25.
My partners in crime over at 12% Beer hold the sixth position, which is not at all surprising considering the massive amounts of wangitude there. I love them as if they were family, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to take them down in my ruthless quest to give the spousal unit an extremely silly 50th birthday present.
I mean, really, what's a few friends in the face of the unbelievable cachet of being the consort of oogle-Gay's Mr. Wangitude?
My thoughts, exactly.
I know that you will be as surprised by this as I am, but this cachet does not spill over into so-called real life. No. Really. I mean it. Yep, today I walked into the local Quebec Licence Bureau to renew my driver's license and health insurance card And I Was Treated Just Like Everyone Else, forced to take a number and line up.
The line moved with excruciating slowness. Every document that you get from the SAAQ tells you to come with two pieces of photo ID. The walls of the SAAQ are plastered with posters telling you anything you do there requires two pieces of photo ID. A sign above the head of each clerk tells you that you need two pieces of photo ID to complete any transaction.
Did the people in line ahead of me bother to bring in two pieces of photo ID?
No, today was the day When Everyone Too Stupid To Bring In Two Pieces of Photo ID went to the branch of the SAAQ closest to where I live.
I was rolling my eyes mightily at the stupidity of some people.
FINALLY I got to a wicket. Triumphantly I handed over my immaculately completed form, complete with two pieces of photo ID and payment in correct change. Oh yes, I was a model of efficiency. If smug was a mineral, at that moment I would have been the planet's richest source of smug.
The woman handed me a laminated piece of paper. "You have to read and respond to each of these health questions before we can issue your new licence," she said to me. The type was very, very small. I rummaged in my purse for my reading glasses. No glasses.
Remember all that smug? Gone. In a heartbeat.
I held the sheet of paper as far out as I could, but sadly my arms are too short now to bring it into focus. "Could you read it to me?" I asked her piteously. She rolled her eyes, but she did it. I could feel the people in line behind me growing restive as we methodically played 20 questions. Oh the pain. Oh the humiliation.
The worst moment? When we came to the question about whether or not I suffer from Alzheimers. She gave me a very, very searching look when I said no.
Don't you just hate it when that happens?
Goal for 2003: 500 miles - 804.5 kilometers
Want to delve into my sordid past?
She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -
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