Preparation for my new license, including lip waxing

I am two days late on getting my new driver's license. My temporary internet ID expired on 8/4. (read through July's entries to read more about the license stuff!) But I have good reason for not making it to the center for the picture. Nope. I have not been ill. I did not have jury duty. I was not serving in the Peace Corps. My reason is: I was in dire need of a hair cut. I didn't want the next four years of my life to include showing an ID with straggly hair.

So, today after work, I found a salon that does not require appointments. I got my hairs cut. The usual (well, I only seem to make time to get my hair actually cut and styled twice a year s so I guess technically its not my 'usual'- Gosh, I really need to spend more time on myself)- long layers and framed around my face, only this time I added side bangs. I know that when I wake up tomorrow and shower and attempt to blowdry while styling, it won't look like it does now. But anyway, Jenny did a nice job.

What goes along with a haircut? Well, I like going to the nail places to get that done. So, off to Dallas Nails. I pull up and see the guy tugging at the open sign's string. The light turned off. The door was open, so from a distance I hollered out, "Oh no! Are you closing?"

The man looked at me and said, "Eyebrows? No- go on in."

Wow. Was it that obvious? Maybe I wanted a pedicure. Maybe I wanted a color change on my nails. Nope. This guy was good. From several yards away he managed to spot my need, to catch a glimpse of my bushy unibrow. And to top it off, the woman who made my eyebrows beautiful asked, "Lip too?" This is the third time I went here and got her. So I said, "Sure." I wasn't too embarrassed being this was the third time she pointed out my light, blonde, hairy upper lip.

So today- I lost hair on my head, hair on my brows and hair on my lip. Kind of reminds me I need to shave my legs.

Peace.

The Driver's License Woes of Donna Talarico

I have a license to drive. Had one since I was 16. In fact, I wrote a memoir chapter about the fateful day I managed to pass my driver's test, the day I drove us home from the testing center and ended up on the sidewalk and the day my mom drove us the rest of the way home.

I am also 21. I mean, I am actually 30. So, what this means is that I am old enough to drive and I am old enough to drink, even though those two things should never be done together.

So, let's talk about my recent driver's license woes. If you read my blog, you will recall a past driver's license issue. On Sunday, January 20th, seven months to the day from when Incident #1 this week happened, I blogged about the time a national chain restaurant located in Wilkes-Barre would not serve me because my license was cracked. I made a promise that I would get a new license. But six months passed, and since I have been busy working and writing and reading (for school), I just did not make my way to the local driver's license center. The closest I got to the driver's license center in Hanover Township was when I went to Nanticoke for a co-worker's birthday party. So, over the seven months, my cracked license got worse. It's faded, peeled and just a mess. In my blog post back then, I joked and said my license "expired" as a pun-- as in death, not as in the expiration date printed on the license.

So, a half year later, I plan to meet a bunch of co-workers and Wilkes friends at a local bar that has a great Sunday happy hour. I am the first to arrive, so this means it is my responsibility to reserve the table. This bar is not my regular bar, but over the past several months, I have been there for this Sunday happy hour, and the week prior, I was there with about 50 co-workers for a dual going away party. So anyway, the bouncer tells me he cannot let me in. I instantly think that he means it is because of my cracked license.

"Your license is expired," he says.

I think about this. I turned 30. That means I had a birthday on July 16th. Licenses expire every four years the day after your birthday. Shit. He would not let me in, but I pleaded my case with the manager, who did not recognize me but did remember the party the week before. He said I was being nice and said he could let me in on the condition I filled out a waiver and left my license at the front door. Great. I ended up having a wonderful night and was very thankful. Pays not to give people a hard time for doing their jobs, but at the same time, being able to do something that you are of legal age to do. However, one problem. I leave my cracked, expired license at the bar. The bar is closed on Monday and Tuesday. I have another co-worker's birthday to celebrate on Tuesday at a bar that I have only been to once. Crap.

Tuesday comes along. In the meantime, I tear apart the apartment looking for my camera card. Can't find it. I renew my license online and print it out. Thank goodness I had a passport from when I tried out for Survivor all those times. I have a valid photo ID, plus a temporary license, which is also valid when accompanied with your expired license, but figure I just have a few days until the new camera card comes and I can go get my new license. But....

We start at one bar on Tuesday night. I get in without a problem using my passport. Around 10pm, I drive just a few blocks, only on one street, to get to the second bar. Flashing lights. I get pulled over. Turns out I ran a red light-- not trying to. Just must not have been paying attention; probably texting. The cops asks for my license and registration.

Gulp. I would say this is bad luck, but really, it was good luck. He accepted by passport and temporary license. It took me a while to find the registation because Dave and I just traded cars and I never opened the glove box until this very moment.... the card was wrapped up in a napkin. Haha. The cop just told me to be careful. Whew.

So boys and girls- pay attention to the dates on your license. When a bouncer wants to hang on to your license, remember it when you leave, because the bar just may close for two days in a row. And just incase, get yourself a passport-- it can save your butt. (P.S. My license is still at the bar, in their cash register and it is Thursday. Guess I need to get it to turn into the center....)

My First Ticket

I've been know to live life in the fast-lane. However, I don't drive there.

I am a slow driver. People pass me all the time. People ride my ass all the time. In general, I think I piss other drivers off. I'm a 29-year-old grandma driver.

Yet, Wednesday morning, I was given my very first speeding ticket. It's like a life milestone. Your first tooth. Your first step. Your first word. Your first "time." Your first beer.

Your first speeding ticket.

It was my first day at our new location in Shavertown, so I took a different route to work. Work is now about 12 minutes closer for me because I don't have to go into Wilkes-Barre on the Cross Valley, or through all the lights on Wilkes-Barre Boulevard. I have a short-cut that I can take which leads me right to the road my new office is on.

My first day going to my new workplace. I am driving on Sutton Road in Shavertown, which has some gorgeous houses. I dream of living on this road, actually. So, 1) I was extremely hungover. 2) I was in la-la land and 3) I was starting at houses, left and right. Next thing I know, I see flashing lights-- no siren though.

I do a double-take because I thought these lights must be intended for someone else, but I realize that I am the only car on the road, so I pull over.

I was quite embarrassed because if you are a regular reader of this blog, then you will know about my letter to the editor a few months ago-- about speeders and terrible road conditions on Route 118. So, I tell the cop this, as well as the story about it being my first day. I still got a ticket. $164. I was nice, polite, didn't object or anything. It is what it is. He was doing his job, and I was now late for mine.

48 in a 25.... yikes. That's almost double, a co-worker pointed out to me. It didn't feel like I was going fast. Maybe since the road is hilly and curvy, I was caught while I was coasting? I don't know.

I wanted to say to him, "Oh thank goodness you got me this morning because I was shit-faced when I drove home from Hops last night..." but I didn't think that he'd think it was funny. Haha. I sort of wondered if my breath still smelled like alcohol. I read Tucker Max, I Hope they Serve Beer in Hell, and he actually had his own breathalizer and was still reading drunk the next morning. I mean, I doubt I was, but it was a funny thought to actually get a DUI the next morning on your way to work.

And, as Murphy's Law would have it, I did win a Spiff at work-- $100! Collected it that same morning, which was quite comical. Last time I won on the slots (five years ago), my car broke down, so as Donna Luck would have it, win money- something happens to my car, or in this case, my driving.

My Expired License

When you don't get served a beer, even though you look old enough and like the blonde girl on your license, you know you have a problem.

My license is expired- in a literary sense that is. It's dead. It's life is over. It's broken. And my procrastinating nature finally got a kick in the ass last night.

Several months ago I left my license in my back pocket like a usually do. I must have sat on it wrong. It cracked. Over time, the little crack spread. Now, the license is basically in two halves, held together only by the small end of the plastic card that is still in tact. Since the license is cracked, the plastic coating is also peeling. It's hideous. But it's still my license. It's me.

I've gotten into bars just fine until last night. I was at a national chain restaurant and I won't say which one because I don't want to get anyone in trouble, but the bartender said that he could not serve me. I explained to him how it just broke in half and that I have my change-of-address card too to prove its me. He took both to the manager, but came back: the answer was still no.

We were only at the bar at this place waiting for our table to come available-- we just wanted a beer. But since we had plans to go to two bars afterwards. Dave was getting peeved. "You really need to get this taken care of. We may as well just go home," he said.

"But, I always end up knowing someone. It'll be okay," I reply.

The bartender asked if I wanted to see the manager and I said I did. Lo and behold, out came a woman I used to work with. She said she couldn't serve me.

"But you know me!" I pleaded.

She gave me a much-needed lecture that I really need to get this taken care of and that it truly was illegal for me to be served. I listened. I will go to PennDOT this week, or even do it online. I guess you don't need a new picture- they keep them on file. That's cool. But the bottom line is, I was able to get served. It was just ironic that I knew the manager.

Things always seem to work out for me, but I know that my luck will run out one day and there won't be a cool bouncer or an easy-going manager that knows I really am almost 30. At the next bar, the bouncer laughed at my license, but let me in. Later, at a dance club we went to, the door guy swiped my license in one of those machines and said, "Damn, girl. This is in rough shape...."

I mean, it almost makes me want to keep it as a fun conversation starter. Imagine the stories I could make up of how my license broke:

--I broke up a bar cat-fight. I lept into the pile like a hero. We rolled to the right and rolled to the left, and I finally got the two girls off each other. I came out a little torn up and so did my license, but the drama is over. The girls are best friends now.

--The bartender accidentally locked his liquor cabinet keys in the liquor cabinet. Patrons were thirsty and getting angry. I picked the door with my license and saved the evening, although some damage was done to my lock-picking tool. I got a free Mojito out of the deal.

-- We were sitting at a wobbly table and our beers kept sliding around. I did a MacGyver and placed my license under the uneven table leg to stop the table from moving. During the course of the evening, the table was bumped a few times and the license cracked.

-- I was at a bar with Jack Bauer and the gang from CTU when a terrorist came into the bar-- he had a suicide bomb. I was almost killed and escaped, but left my license on the table. Jack went back into the the burning bar to save my license. It was a little banged up, but he said that if any door guy ever gave me a problem to call him.

-- A haggardly old woman was working the door at the bar. Jealous of my youthful-29, she snapped my license in half. "You're half my age you young bitch," she'd say.

To to the manager last night and all those who served me the past few months, thank you for taking my driver's license. I will get it fixed. Until then, looks like I should drink at home.