(no subject)

Couldn't let kittenpants have all the bureaucratic fun this week -- I'm off to have my car inspected and perhaps, if the stars are right and the gods are favorable, licensed. I believe that I have already assembled all the artifacts of power for the licensing ritual except for the Yellow Sheet of Safety.... We shall see.

In the meantime, here's Alan Cumming in a dress: ( Well.... you're going to click, aren't you? )

EDIT: I am informed that the pic below the cut is not actually Alan Cumming in a dress, and could be more accurately described as "Alan Cumming in MOST of a dress."

EDIT AGAIN: What makes the car go? BLOOD DOES! BLOOD DOES! Fucking four-wheeled demon took a bite out of me. Nonetheless, we are all prepped for inspection now, as all the proper lights light up.

(no subject)

Couldn't let kittenpants have all the bureaucratic fun this week -- I'm off to have my car inspected and perhaps, if the stars are right and the gods are favorable, licensed. I believe that I have already assembled all the artifacts of power for the licensing ritual except for the Yellow Sheet of Safety.... We shall see.

In the meantime, here's Alan Cumming in a dress: ( Well.... you're going to click, aren't you? )

EDIT: I am informed that the pic below the cut is not actually Alan Cumming in a dress, and could be more accurately described as "Alan Cumming in MOST of a dress."

EDIT AGAIN: What makes the car go? BLOOD DOES! BLOOD DOES! Fucking four-wheeled demon took a bite out of me. Nonetheless, we are all prepped for inspection now, as all the proper lights light up.

Ritual of licensing complete.

Asmodeus is all legal now. Per my last 'safety inspection', I had to replace one of his brake lights. I've been carrying the bulbs around for like three months but just hadn't bothered to do it. There's something amiss in his electrical system that causes this same light to blow all the time. Anyway.
( Cut for blood )

So I finish the job. I make a solid attempt to change the high light, which is also dead. I can't pull the socket away from the light housing. I swear some more. I remember that the last time I went in for inspection, two years or so ago, I couldn't pull the thing either, so it's been dead for at least two years and it has not caused me any problems yet, so I ignore it. I also remember that the last time I changed out the light that bit me, I had also injured myself. I theorize that perhaps the car requires blood sacrifice every so often. Could be true, right?

I pack my crap up, and head down to the service station to get an inspection. I am the eleventeenth car in line. It will be a few hours. The service station I go to is in Belgium, which is not really close to my house, but they do a good job, and I know there will be something for me to do within walking distance while I wait. So I spend the next two hours wandering around Belgium, which is always exciting. I stop in at the candle shop and pick up some votives. I hit a few more shops, in which they sell nothing I need, but I have some time to kill. I wander further down the street and discover a hair salon. I think, well, I have nothing better to do, and I desperately need a haircut. I spend an hour (an hour! I do not have that much hair, people!) in the salon, and come out with something much better than what I went in with, so that's good.

I amble down to the service station to see if they are done. They've been done for 45 minutes, but hadn't bothered to call and tell me. But, miraculously, I do pass inspection. At this point, I have all the necessary talismans in hand, so I proceed to the final challenge, the DMV. There are approximately nine billion people in the line, and although there are five windows at which clerks could theoretically exist, only one actually has a clerk in it. Waiting occurs. Then, more waiting. I have started to compose existentialist theatre in my head. Finally, the coven meeting breaks up in the secret room, and a string of clerks arrives. I wait some more, but am cheered by the new arrivals. The woman behind me is there with her daughter. They are hispanic, and the mother is teaching English to the daughter. She has brought a book on earthquakes and volcanoes for this purpose, and is reading it aloud.

At long last, I face the guardian. She demands the objects of power: renewal slip, insurance, property tax receipt from 2004, property tax reciept from 2005, safety inspection, driver's license. I present them, and she charges me $54.50 and gives me two shiny stickers that say 2008. I am legal again, complete.

So, um, that's been my day. Here at the office getting a few things prepared for tomorrow.

Ritual of licensing complete.

Asmodeus is all legal now. Per my last 'safety inspection', I had to replace one of his brake lights. I've been carrying the bulbs around for like three months but just hadn't bothered to do it. There's something amiss in his electrical system that causes this same light to blow all the time. Anyway.
( Cut for blood )

So I finish the job. I make a solid attempt to change the high light, which is also dead. I can't pull the socket away from the light housing. I swear some more. I remember that the last time I went in for inspection, two years or so ago, I couldn't pull the thing either, so it's been dead for at least two years and it has not caused me any problems yet, so I ignore it. I also remember that the last time I changed out the light that bit me, I had also injured myself. I theorize that perhaps the car requires blood sacrifice every so often. Could be true, right?

I pack my crap up, and head down to the service station to get an inspection. I am the eleventeenth car in line. It will be a few hours. The service station I go to is in Belgium, which is not really close to my house, but they do a good job, and I know there will be something for me to do within walking distance while I wait. So I spend the next two hours wandering around Belgium, which is always exciting. I stop in at the candle shop and pick up some votives. I hit a few more shops, in which they sell nothing I need, but I have some time to kill. I wander further down the street and discover a hair salon. I think, well, I have nothing better to do, and I desperately need a haircut. I spend an hour (an hour! I do not have that much hair, people!) in the salon, and come out with something much better than what I went in with, so that's good.

I amble down to the service station to see if they are done. They've been done for 45 minutes, but hadn't bothered to call and tell me. But, miraculously, I do pass inspection. At this point, I have all the necessary talismans in hand, so I proceed to the final challenge, the DMV. There are approximately nine billion people in the line, and although there are five windows at which clerks could theoretically exist, only one actually has a clerk in it. Waiting occurs. Then, more waiting. I have started to compose existentialist theatre in my head. Finally, the coven meeting breaks up in the secret room, and a string of clerks arrives. I wait some more, but am cheered by the new arrivals. The woman behind me is there with her daughter. They are hispanic, and the mother is teaching English to the daughter. She has brought a book on earthquakes and volcanoes for this purpose, and is reading it aloud.

At long last, I face the guardian. She demands the objects of power: renewal slip, insurance, property tax receipt from 2004, property tax reciept from 2005, safety inspection, driver's license. I present them, and she charges me $54.50 and gives me two shiny stickers that say 2008. I am legal again, complete.

So, um, that's been my day. Here at the office getting a few things prepared for tomorrow.