Thursday, June 30, 2005

Barbeque

The last DMV trip was...a success! HA! I now park legally! And have DC tags! I win, I win.

Washington is notorious for its hot, humid summers and everyone is sure to remind you of this every day, particularly when you are all outside feeling as though you might drown if you take too deep a breath. (Coming from the dry, dry land of the West...the humidity is definitely a change, and a nice one. I never knew my skin could actually feel moisturized naturally.) Today's walk to the metro, however, was cool and foggy, the kind of day where everything is muffled and you don't feel capable of any extreme emotion - Very Angry People seem somehow sedated and Very Happy People seem mellower and the only thing that's missing is a nice cup of tea.

Last night was a magnificent thunderstorm, and I love thunderstorms. Better, I was with My Boy celebrating his birthday and all ten of his immediate family/their significant others/visiting cousin went to a Brazilian Barbeque for dinner. Let me tell you, the Brazilians know barbeque. Not only was there soup (Beef tongue, anyone? Seafood bisque? Oxtail?) and salad (Octopus, artichoke, beans, gazpacho, potato, mussel, shrimp, egg...) and Hot Things (Crab, potato, Yuca flour, fried Yuca...) but at regular intervals they come to your table with various cuts of meat (roast beef, turkey wrapped in bacon, flank steak...) and shave some on to your plate if you so desire, and as much as you desire. And when you can't possibly eat any more, you turn over the painted wooden marker at the end of the table-which was previously turned to green for "More meat please!"-so it is red for "Stop I can't possibly eat any more meat." And then they bring the dessert cart.

But the unfortunate news is that Martin starts The Real Work and had to go in at 4 am, which cut the party short, or shorter than we had originally planned. The post-dinner dancing was nixed and I'm already feeling All Sad that he won't be around much anymore. Maybe I can steal a few hours on the 4th with him. *feels despondent and foggy and wants a cup of tea*

Monday, June 27, 2005

Department of Malevolent Villains

Otherwise known as the DMV. So...I took the afore-mentioned safety inspection certificate, and my DC license, and my insurance card, and my registration, and my car title, and my passport, and my social security card, and my lease, and I went to 301 C. Street, NW, which, despite being the Department of Motor Vehicles, has about three parking spaces. Then I stood in a long line of bored people, some of whom were hanging listlessly off their significant others, most of whom were staring into the abyss that is the Waiting Area. I got to the head of the line. They gave me a number. I slid into the Waiting Area. They called my number. I proudly and resolutely walked up to Window 3 and laid all my paperwork out:

Me: "I am here for a zone 3 parking permit!"
Her: "Do you have your DC license?"
Me: "Yes!"
Her: "Do you have your car inspection?"
Me: "Yes!"
Her: "Lease?"
Me: "Yes!"
Her: "Insurance?"
Me: "Yes!"
Her: "Is your car registered here?"
Me: "Well, isn't that why I'm here?"
Her: "Why isn't it registered?"
I stared at her blankly. "Um...because...I haven't...registered it...yet. But that's why I'm here. Isn't it?"
Her: "Insurance?"

So I got out my insurance card. She looked at it. "This isn't DC."
"Well, no," I said, " I just moved from Colorado, so the new paperwork should arrive next week. But it's still insured with the same company."
Her: "You need paper proof of DC insurance. I can give you a temporary parking pass until you get it."
Me: "I already have a temporary pass. I need a permanent one."

And then she said, with absolute condescention: "Well, you've had three weeks to do this. Why haven't you registered your car yet?"

I wanted to shoot knives out of my eyes. "I know I've had three weeks to do this. I've been to four DMV locations six times in those three weeks and had my car repaired. NO ONE told me that I needed to bring a paper copy of DC insurance to get my parking permit."

She rolled her eyes and leaned back in her chair. "Sorry. Come back later."

I left the building and burst into tears, which ruined my mascara.

Then I called my wonderful insurance company, who e-mailed me a copy of my DC insurance paperwork while I was on the phone with her. She also found a way to cut my insurance payments in half. May Laura from USAA, her children, and her children's children be blessed.

So today I will leave work an hour early, get on the metro and go to the DMV yet again. I called them this morning and asked, very specifically: "What exactly do I need to bring to the DMV today to register my car and get a parking permit?"

And when I get home, I will mail my just-drafted complaint letter to the nasties who are in charge of not telling people how to get parking permits.

Thursday, June 23, 2005

Le Woe des Autos

I love living in Washington. I love my Toyota. I do not love what happens when living in Washington + owning car = $622.06.

My apartment doesn’t have a garage so I park on the street. No problem. These past three weeks I’ve been using a temporary parking pass issued by the local police station. About two weeks ago I went to the DMV in Georgetown and said, “I’d like to get a parking permit for zone 3,” and proudly produced my lease, my license, and my car registration. “Sorry,” she said, “You need to be a DC resident. And you need to have your car inspected. And you need a DC license. And the car title. And your birth certificate or passport.” Hmm.

So I got off work a little early one day and took myself and my passport to the other DMV, the one in NE that is open until 6 pm. I paid $40 and got a shiny new DC driver’s license. Yay!

Next on the to-do list is the car inspection. No problem, I thought, I have a good little car that even has a new battery. So I went to the car inspection office and then patiently waited for their diagnosis, expecting to hear that it passed with flying colors. When it was done, I went out and the (very rude) man said, “Open this door!” so I opened the passenger side door. “You FAIL.” “…um. Why?” “That dent in your bumper. Safety hazard. You FAIL. Get it fixed and come back in 20 days.”

Granted, it’s a large dent. But I drove from California to Virginia in that car with that dent. It’s 8 months old. It hasn’t caused any accidents and I don’t expect it to spontaneously combust. But what could I do? I need to park legally! I took it to an Auto Body repair shop after work on Monday. They gave me an estimate, and it was about what I and everyone I talked to expected: Parts, labor, paint, time...it adds up. I cringed, but left the car with them.

I’ll pick it up when it’s done on Friday and fork over $582.06. Then I’ll have it re-inspected at 7 AM on Saturday (thankfully, that’s free.) Then I’ll go straight to the DMV and bring my lease and my passport and my license and my title and my inspection certificate and my credit card. Then they had better give me a parking permit

Sunday, June 12, 2005

Back!

All sorts of good developments lately: the removal of the braces, the new studio apartment, the new (paid!) fancy internship, and being back in DC after a two week hiatus in Colorado. The last internship ended on a high note: the wildly successful conference on U.S.-Saudi relations, which was sort of the fruit of my labor, or at least, I worked hard on the little bits for which I was responsible. It's great to be back in DC where my Boy lives only a short drive away and where there are places to go dancing EVERY NIGHT of the week and where it's hot and humid and really feels like a summer. But I will be without my favorite dance partner as my favorite Boy is starting surgery residency soon...90 hours a week is a lot of time at work, and not much time to do much else. I'll miss him, but he will enjoy it and be a Very Good Doctor.

I have a vaguely-explained internship at the Marine Corps Headquarters doing something ... with intelligence ... and foreign language ... ? All my correspondence with my future emplyers has been in vague terms and I'm still not entirely sure what my job description is. Never mind. It's paid. It's in DC. It takes care of my service requirement. If I tell you any more, I'll have to kill you.

It's also great to have my own apartment with a full kitchen, my own entry, an enormous closet where all my shoes can be prominently displayed, and new appliances, close to the metro and Whole Foods (what more could you want?) I plan on having a housewarming shindig soon and inviting everyone I know, which is not that many people, complete with hors d'oeurves and fancy colored drinks. With umbrellas, maybe.