The Space-Time Continuum Driver’s License Theory

I am a freak nature. I am also behind on blogging, but my birthday was Friday, so please forgive me for running away for a few days to part-ay. And by that, I mean I totally went grocery shopping and slept, because I have mono and shiz. Fun times.

For those of you who are new to my new blog over here and aren’t used to me from my old one over here, let me just let you all in on a little piece of information: I am not above making fun of myself. If it’s true, I’m going to say it. I’m not perfect; no one is, and sometimes it’s fun to pick on your own imperfections. It keeps you human, plus, it gives you a really good laugh. And trust me when I tell you that I like to bring the laughs and usually do by no conscientious fault of my own. But it’s totally okay if you laugh at me, because you’re probably laughing at me laughing at myself, and I’m cool with that. And now that you know that, welcome to the story portion of this blog, where I actually get to the point.

On November 2nd, I received a letter in the mail saying that I had to update my driver’s license picture or I would have to pay to have my license renewed. By the 12th. While I had mono. Because it’s too hard to alert me ahead of time. I’m just saying. So on the 12th, I strolled my way in there and promptly waited forty-five minutes to have my picture taken. Reaper was right, the DMV really is Hell. But I digress. As I was sitting and waiting to have my picture taken, I was getting out my two forms of photo ID needed: My old driver’s license and my old ID card. As I was looking through the two, I realized an anomaly. I looked exactly the same in both of them, and they were taken five years apart. Then it got weirder.

I got my new picture, and, once I got to Red Robin for my free birthday burger, I set them all out on the table to organize my ID card, old license and new license all neat like into my wallet. I looked exactly the same in all three of them. I never got older. It’s like I went to Never Neverland and hid out for the past nearly ten years. Even my mom and aunt cracked consistent jokes about it that I will never hear the end of until I stop secretly escaping to Never Neverland without being aware of it. I’m sure when I’m forty I will be very happy, but when you’re a twenty-six year old that likes guys in their mid thirties, it gets a little hinky, because you make them look like a pedophile so they don’t want any of you. Ha-ha, life. Ha-ha.

Then again, when my grandma was almost eighty, she still looked like she was in her fifties. She was like freaking Betty White, so I’ll take it. And if you don’t believe me, I have proof. Yes, I’m totally willing to embarrass myself with those awful pictures that come from the DMV for the sake of a blog.



2011 (And I’ll have you know I cut my own hair. Sad, I know, but it doesn’t look like a drunk squirrel cut it, so I’m happy. I also don’t look like a Muppet from outer space, so I’m double happy.)

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