Because of recent events, I have had to renew my professional licenses, thus necessitating run ins with the gargantuan swatch of red tape that is the Philippine government agencies. The worst of which was our version of the DMV: The Land Transportation Office.
I came in at 8am all perky and bopping along to Beyonce’s “Single Ladies” in my head, fell in line, got my number, and expected to wait no more than 30 minutes for a replacement of my lost driver’s license.
Fast forward to 3pm: I am no longer perky, nor am I bopping along to Beyonce’s Single Ladies. Some girl had a fixer to get her license under the table, and the fucking bootleg license (you know it’s bad when those two words come together in the same sentence) has the same number as mine. I have discovered that there’s upset, then there’s pissed, followed by frustrated, then near tears, then the idea of taking a baseball bat to every breakable surface. Thankfully, I didn’t get to the last part, but the nice, big, burly worker at the window was clearly uncomfortable at seeing a grown man cry, “I’ve been here for sevennnn houuurrrsssss…. *snot*… pleassssseee have mercy on my waiting SOULLLLLL *sniff”.
Lesson: Played skillfully, sometimes whining helps.
I ran three loads of laundry on Monday and then hung them out to dry for that sun-kissed fresh laundry scent. When I took them in, I piled them high and rolled around in them like a kitty on catnip.
Today is Friday. The pile of clothes is still pilled high, albeit now instead of oozing sun-kissed goodness, they stare at me ominously. I’ve started folding them, but I don’t think I’ve been able to make a dent. I’m firmly convinced that the clothes have started humping each other and are making new clothes.
Lesson: If you’re going to bum, bum hard.
When I woke up this morning, I took my cup of coffee to the window and found porn.
Yup, I didn’t see that one coming either. It was a DVD with a petit young lady splayed out in all her glory imprinted on the front. Out of curiosity, I popped it into the player (because I’m just that kind of guy) only to find that whoever made the disc did not understand the subtleties of pornography. Either that or the person is very VERY sexually confused.
How do I put this delicately… hmm. Instead of a choo-choo train going into a cave tunnel…
There were two penises.
Apparently my neighbors had purchased the item, but discovered (to their horror, I would imagine) that it was not what it was advertised to be. So they decided to leave an anonymous gift on my windowsill, knowing that Teddy Bear and I were not exactly living in the closet.
Lesson: Neighbors give the best gifts when you don’t keep secrets from them.