Ohio BMV Trip 2018

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Yeah, Baby!

March 22, 2018

So, my day started with a very crappy realization that practically yanked my ass right outa a nice warm bed. I had forgotten to renew my license plate registration. Having celebrated my birthday two days ago, and this thought never even occurring to me, has me believing that my memory loss is not getting any better. Everyday, I hope for the best, but all this hoping isn’t amounting to a hill of fucking beans. While out shopping with mom the other day, I had to ask her 3 times what my purpose was for leaving the house. Why am I in this store? What did I come here to buy. Drawer pulls. That was her answer all 3 times. Drawer pulls. Then, last night as we watched tv, I had the overwhelming urge to go into the kitchen to do something. I stood up out of my chair, took 2 steps, and wondered what the hell I was doing. Where was I going? Did I have to pee? Did I need another glass of wine? Surely, not yet, cuz the glass next to me was still full. Christ! What the hell am I doing? Ah, ha, I’m off on a tangent…I would have forgotten what I was writing about today Had I NOT written the title at the top of my page. (This is my secret to writing memory success…my cheat…title at top of the page FIRST THING.)

Ok, so there I am, gathering all of my required paperwork that I will need to renew my registration. Knowing I wasn’t going anywhere that I deemed “face ready”, I brushed my teeth, combed my wild hair back and headed out the door. As I did, I caught a sight of my reflection in the picture window at the mop attached to my head. Damn. It looked horrible. Wild and untamed, it was everywhere. Sticking up here, stuck over there. I grabbed a bandana sleeve, covered my untamed tresses and left the house. I’ headed off to my first stop; the Ohio E Check station. Isn’t that place just a joke. I was there long enough to watch as the only worker there hot-rodded my poor Jeep almost through the whole length of the building. I don’t know if she wasn’t adept at driving a stick shift or she just thought Jeep was some kind of synonym for rocket-fucking-ship. I held my comment and my temper in check and talked to the gentleman behind me while Danika Patrick tested my car. After about 5 minutes, I left with my compliance certificate in hand. Next stop, the License Bureau.

 

“I pointed to the sign that was next to the camera. It said that all facial features must be shown as well as the full forehead. I then pointed to my head and face.”

 

The sign on the door said you must check in before taking a number. So far, so good. I spoke to the lady at the check-in counter, told her what I needed and she directed me to go stand in line #2. As I walked over, I noticed that there were 4 people ahead of me. Not so bad, I thought. I may just get out of here in record time. As I waited, I went over in my mind what I needed to get the job done. I opened my wallet and took my drivers license out. I looked at it, and noticed that it, too, had expired 2 days ago. What the fuck! I had exactly enough money left this week to get one sticker. I really needed 2, but since the travel trailer is in winter storage, that was $45 that I didn’t have to part with right now. Ugh! Great. Renewing my license was going to be, guess what? Exactly $45. Must be meant to be. So, I finish waiting my turn, and when I get to the counter, the lady tells me that since I needed both renewed, I would have to go back to the check-in desk, take an eye exam, and she would then be able to re-direct me to the proper line to wait in. Trying my damndest to keep my pulse and my breathing in check, I made my way up to the check-in desk. The lady there gave me a puzzled look. I could tell the next thing out of her mouth was going to be nasty, so I beat her to speaking. (I was too close to maiming something at this point….) “Seems that I must renew my drivers license, too.” She smiled, which took me by surprise. Even looked fake as hell. Thinking that she may never know that her smile may just have saved her life, she directed me to the eye machine and rambled on about flashing lights and colored boxes. When that was done, she told me to go wait in line #1. I retraced my steps back to where I had just come from moments before. The woman I spoke to at Counter #2 asked me if I had gone back for the eye exam. When I told her I did, she remarked that it was very quick. I said, “Well, I am kind of a super hero.” I waited another 10 minutes for my turn again. I got to the counter, told the lady what I needed and handed her all the paperwork at once. She was very efficient, and went straight to work. She smiled. I smiled. It was pleasant. As I waited, I looked around the bureau. It wasn’t too busy, but there were a few dozen people there. A big guy wearing a pair of shorts and a tank top. This seemed a bit out of place, but it is Cleveland. In March. At last check, my car reading said 27 degrees. Ha, must be his extra layer of fat. Yeah, sure, I have a few of those myself, and I’m always freezing my ass off. There was a guy in a suit, another guy in sweats, a few giggly girls in yoga pants, grandmas with walkers, and moms with strollers. All had the same damn look on their faces. The man behind me in line smelled half-dead, and the lady next to me wearing a hijab moved away slightly. I assumed his heady manly emanation must have offended her nostrils. The lady asked me if I needed to make any changes to the info on my license. I said that I wanted to change my weight from 280 to 260. As she made the changes, she handed me my new registration sticker, told me to remove my head covering and proceed to the picture taking area. I told her that I wasn’t comfortable taking my head covering off at that time. I pointed to the sign that was next to the camera. It said that all facial features must be shown as well as the full forehead. I then pointed to my head and face. She told me again that I would have to remove my head covering. I again stated that that would NOT be happening. She said I could only wear it for religious purposes or medical reasons. Did I have medical reasons? Well, that is really none of your business. (At this point, I didn’t feel like I needed to tell her that I was having a very bad hair day.) I told her Yes, I did have quite a few medical reasons. She asked me if I was going to remove it. I told her no a third time. She walked away and had a consultation with another woman sitting at a desk a few feet away. When that lady looked up at me, I just smiled the best smile I could muster at that point. It felt genuine, but I’m sure it looked like pre-meditated murder. I gave a slight nod of my head to draw her attention to the lady standing next to me wearing the hijab, who happened to be waiting in the drivers license renewal line. The lady dropped her eyes, and nodded. My lady came back and directed me toward the camera, where I got my picture taken. After wards, I was told to have a seat and it would take a few minutes for the license to process. I found a seat, and watched the lady in the hijab get to the front of the line, get her picture taken. I wonder if she was asked to remove her head covering? I wanted to ask her. When my name was called, I jumped up and practically ran to the counter. I was giddy with excitement. The man handed me the new license and asked me to look it over to make sure all the information was correct. All I could fixate on was the fact that on my new drivers license, that I will have for the next 4 years, has a picture of me wearing a black bandana sleeve.

BA-BAM!

Victory!

I feel like I won something.

I feel like I stepped up and took on the establishment.

The man wasn’t keeping me down today!

Take that, Muther Fuckers!

Now, I am in no way racist of anyone, be it color, beliefs, religion, etc. BUT, I do have a problem with fairness. You simply cannot ask one person to do something and not allow others to do the same thing. To me, there is no difference between that lady’s hijab and my hillbilly bandana. I’m sure underneath what she wore, her hair was just as bad as mine, but who gave the Ohio BMV the right to make that call?

Love,

Gwynny

Shut the Fuck Up, Mr. President!

Ok, so I do not care if you like Trump, or don’t like Trump…this is MY RANT. For the love of GOD, what the hell is wrong with this guy? Sometimes I think that maybe it’s just my imagination that he’s such a waste of human skin; an embarrassment to our great country, and everything we were built on and what we stand for. Surely, if others saw him and his actions as I do, they would see that he is mentally unstable and something would be done. Right? I keep waking up, each and every day from this nightmare thinking this. Growing up, I was taught and reminded on a regular basis that you must respect the President, respect the office it stands for. Well, no more. I respect what the Office COULD stand for. I respect my fine country. Do not ask me to respect a man that thinks he is above absolutely every other breathing being on this planet. He is a pig, a cretin, and I wouldn’t offer the man a drink of water if he was dying of thirst in front of me. Yes, I know what that makes me sound like. I am fully aware of what I am saying. I have no want, concern, or any compassion for anyone who treats people they way he does. Women, Minorities, Foreigners, Dreamers, the Poor, the Sick. So, here we are in the wake of a handful of disasters that have ripped through our majestic planet, and this MF is tweeting about people on their knees at a sporting event. Maybe, Mr. President, you should get down on your knees and apologize to the fine people of this country and the rest of the world that you have insulted, ignored, abused, and beg for their forgiveness. People in Texas are still suffering. The people of Florida are still suffering. The people of Puerto Rico (yes, Cheeto, they are Americans!) are going to be suffering for a very long time. People are starving. People are dying. What are you doing? Tweeting about football! Somebody needs to do to you what needs to be done to every bratty 4 year old. You need someone to tan your ass. You want something to whine about? Whine about disasters. Whine about death. Whine about injustice. No, your too busy trying to entice that other N. Korean nut-job into a pissing contest. So easy for you to be able to send our young people to fight over who’s dick is bigger. Here’s an idea…fuel up your plane, put your family on it and fly your asses over to N. Korea, and sit down with Kim and his clan, and go at it to the death for all we care. Leave us the hell out of your pissing wars. Since he took office early this year, this country has regressed about 50 years. Maybe more. We are a laughing stock of the world. I don’t care whether you liked Obama or not. He wasn’t crazy and unstable, and he tried to do what was right. He didn’t purposely try to screw everybody just because he could. Just for the spite of it. I sometimes wonder what Obama thinks when he gets up everyday. Probably the same thing a lot of us are wondering….WHY the fuck doesn’t someone take his internet connection away and send him to his room!

Love, Gwynny

AA & WW – Under One Roof

So, Today I sit here with a new determination to get my ass back on the road I need to be on. The past 2 weeks have been an overwhelming struggle for me, and I have yet again, allowed myself to succumb to my less than stellar eating habits. For the better portion of the last 14 months, I have been able to walk the straight and narrow on my WW journey…(for those of you who don’t know, WW is Weight Watchers.) It’s the AA of fatness, which I guess in all rights, is actually OA (Overeaters Annonymous). Hu! I needed to toss in a reference to AA to tie in to the latter part of this gripe, so bear with me. Anywho, yada yada, where was I? Oh yeah, the past 14 months…I’ve been able to lose a significant amount of weight, and I must admit, it was fairly easy. Once your in the deepest part of your misery hole, there is only one way out, and that’s up. Between my health problems and my mental state, it was either eat myself into having to purchase a Jazzy or try to get my life and head into some kind of control. Seeing since I don’t have the money for a personal mobility device, I thought I’d start with the other option. You are what you eat. I was a big sloppy mess of sugary goo, and that’s exactly what I felt like. Coupled with my ever undulating Thyroid issues, I was a fucking light bulb ready to blow out.

This brings me to my loving husband, and the above AA reference. Let me preface this to say that my dear hubby, John, IS one of the greatest men in the world. He is kind, loving to a fault, generous, and very attentive…well, as attentive as a guy can be. I mean come on, sometimes they can really kinda fuck that up, eh? But for the sake of this writing, he is a wonderful man…98% of the time. (LOL. Love you my baby.)

It is no secret, far and wide, from anyone who knows us, that he is an alcoholic, and has been since the ripe old age of about 15. He actually started drinking much younger than that, but I have given him the benefit of the doubt for those first 2 years, sort of like a trial, but after that, all bets are off. I have known him since I was 9 years old, which puts him right in that first 2 years of practicing his blight. By that time, I was also very well immersed in my lifelong addiction with food, which was obvious from looking at me. Fast forward a few years, and here we sit. Him the alcoholic and me the foodaholic. We both recently celebrated some milestones in our respected programs. He celebrated his 2nd full year in AA, and I celebrated an 80 lb. loss on the scale.

I have been to quite a few of his meetings, but he never to mine. He said that attending with him would maybe give me some tips that I could use that would help me in my own personal situation. I must agree that good advice is good advice, and can be turned around to be of use in many addictive situations. He loves the program. It works for him, which means it works for us, and we have a happy marriage. Yay, us….

The problem is that for some reason, he doesn’t get it when it comes to my predicament. HE DOESN’T GET IT! He sees the struggles I go through on a daily basis. He knows that I’m trying to learn new habits, and get a handle on making better choices. He knows I have a set amount of points in a day, and for the week, and I have to stay on point. I cannot let my guard down. I have to be just as vigil as he does when he passes a grocery store or a corner bar, or a beer cooler. I have told him repeatedly, YOU as an alcoholic CANNOT drink PERIOD to stay sober, but me as a foodaholic? I can’t STOP EATING! My only option is to learn to control my addiction. Most of the time, I am able to do this, but he doesn’t make it easy. I know he doesn’t do it on purpose, or to sabotage me. He says it’s because he’s trying to be nice. Loving. Caring. I don’t see it that way. I need him to be mean. I need him to sit there and eat that fucking pizza like he’s surrounded by a table full of convicts, all the while encircling the pie with his head bowed and arm protectively around it. Instead, I get comments like,

“Is that all your going to eat?”,

“Wanna go out to eat? I’m thinking Buffet tonight.”, or

“Do you want some of my pizza?”, or

“I can’t eat anymore, here eat the rest of this.”

OMG! It is these times that I want to stab that guy I love so dearly in the fucking neck with a mammoth tusk! I want to scream at the top of my lungs,

“Do you want a beer?”, or

“Let’s go out and get shit faced and have a good time.”, or

“Hey, let’s do some shots?”

But, I don’t shout. I have, though, taken to asking him these exact questions. Mostly he peers at me as if I’m kidding. I am not. I try to explain to him that he is not helping me by being kind and loving. He is teasing me, and he needs to stop. I have always been a drinker. More so in my younger years, but when he decided to go back to AA, I quit, too. His drink of choice was always beer, so I no longer drink any beer for fear that I would feel guilty for teasing him. If I do partake, it is a glass of wine, which doesn’t even rate on his radar as a suitable adult beverage. Usually, if I do have a glass, I am either out in public or he is at work. This is my choice, and it works for me. I don’t ask him to not eat around me, that would be a ridiculous expectation. He can eat whatever he wants, just please don’t put it in my face. Don’t try to be nice to me. Just eat your food.

Now, if you know John, then you know that the ONLY thing that he likes to eat is pizza! THAT’S it! It’s a joyous occasion when I can get him to stick anything else in that pie-hole of his, and an even better day when it’s a vegetable! He thinks nothing of asking me to pick him up a pizza “on my way home”, never thinking of the agony I must endure on the ride, smelling the melted cheese and garlic butter, both drenching the thick crust with perfectly cooked pepperoni’s with their middles hot and oily, and their edges slightly curled up and crispy just the way I….OMG! Just STOP!

Somebody know where I can find a fucking mammoth tusk?

Love,

Gwynny

Dear McDonald’s

Grand Mac

Dear McDonald’s,

I just wanted to take a quick moment to send you a letter and let you know of the turmoil that your restaurants have caused in my marriage. My husband John is a wonderful man and a good provider for his family. He is a very hard worker, and a very simple man. He doesn’t ask for much, but deserves immeasurably. John has simple tastes. In clothes, in hobbies, in food. For instance, he loves McDonald’s Big Mac’s. Always has. So, imagine his excitement when he saw that you were offering the new Mac line. The Mac, Jr., the original Big Mac, and the Grand Mac. He decided on the Grand Mac at once. I found out how many Grand Mac’s he was enjoying on a weekly basis when he came to me for more gas money after using his allotment for the week.

“What do you mean your out of gas? What did you do with your money?” I asked.

“Well, I did go to McDonald’s a few times.” he said.

“Oh, I see…Grand Mac’s, hu?”

“Yep!”

When I asked how many times a week, he said an average of 3 trips, or so…Ok, so I don’t have an issue with him eating something that he enjoys, so I just gave him more gas money.

John has always been a very impatient and emotional person. He is also very stubborn, too. A few years back when he was living in Indiana, he was asked repeatedly to “pull forward to wait for your fresh fries” at the Hartford City location. Now, Sure, we all know that this is just a small inconvenience to most of us, but to him “Fast food” means FAST FOOD NOW. The last time this happened, he waited over 5 minutes, and when he got them, they were not fresh. They were double-dipped. Old and dried up, but freshly SOGGY. That was it! He made a decision right there and then to not return to ANY McDonald’s for a year!

When he finally did go back, he would no longer pull forward. If the employee asked him to pull forward, he would politely tell them that he “was fine right here”. He would wait right there at the window until he was served. When they told him, “Sir, we have other customers whose order is ready”, he would ask how that was possible when he was before them. Now, I have told him repeatedly not to piss off people BEFORE you get your food for spiteful reasons. I’m sure if none of the people working there at these times didn’t spit in his food, I’m 100% sure they THOUGHT about it! (I would have!)

I have spent the better half of our whole adult relationship hearing and reliving all of the bad experiences he has had with your company as well as a host of others. When some of your restaurants changed their fry supplier a few years back, you would have thought the conspiracy was directed at him personally. “The fries aren’t as long as they used to be! They are small and short.”

Then there was the fiasco taking away the two cheeseburger meal. The list goes on and on.

Now, I am in the midst of the Disaster of 2017, which is really straining an already strained relationship.

Last Saturday, April 22, 2017, we stopped at the restaurant in Berea on our way fishing. He wanted a Grand Mac. I wanted an iced tea. We waited our turn at the counter and he started to place our order. The girl behind the counter spoke up when he mentioned the Grand Mac.

“I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t have the Grand Mac anymore.”

“What?” John said. “No Grand Mac? Well, why the hell not?”

The girl said, “It was only for a limited time.”

John looked at her in wild bewilderment. He asked her if it was a good seller? She assured him that it was a very popular menu item. He then asked her if it was such a popular item, would they NOT continue to offer it. She was dumbfounded. Afterall, she was just some 16 year old kid trying to make a paycheck to pay for her fake nails or her car insurance. She wasn’t in any position to make corporate decisions on what to sell or not to sell. She was speechless. She just kept repeating how sorry she was. “Could I get you something else? We still have our Big Mac?”

John, hands thrown in the air, said, “I don’t want a Big Mac! This is bullshit! I want a Grand Mac!”

John looked at me, and that’s all it took. I could see not only the frustration in his eyes, but the anger that was boiling up from underneath. At this point in our relationship, I didn’t have to be psychic to know what was coming next. I went ahead and ordered him a Double Quarter Pounder, fully aware that it was not going to satisfy him in any way. Not his hunger, his emotional state, or anything else for that matter. I felt beaten. I had looked forward to a good day out fishing, but I knew that my whole weekend just imploded all to hell by the little girl behind the counter, withholding that sweet, juicy, fat-laden , 2,000 calorie heart-attack on three buns from my darling husband. I finished ordering and filled our drinks at the pop fountain. I walked off to find a table, while John carried his tray in stunned silence. I could see the light on, but nobody was home. I sat down and opened my salad. By the time I tore open the dressing, he was home again…I sat there, crunching and listening to him groan and grumble. He told everybody that would listen. He kept repeating. “Ok, That’s it, I’m not coming back again! I can’t believe it. Why would they get rid of such a popular item? What are they thinking?”

Then he said it! He said, “I’m gonna write a letter!”

Oh Lord, help me!

Now, you’ll have to excuse me as I am giving you the G Rated version of what actually happened.

I think that of all the companies that have upset him and purposely done him wrong, that your company takes the cake!

If your company is going to introduce a new item, and the people like it and it’s a good seller, why would you just stop making it? Isn’t the idea to give people what THEY want and then you get the money YOU want? Do you have any idea how your irresponsible business decisions affect marriages? If you personally went home and told your spouse that you had a surprise for them and let them get excited about it before telling them you had nothing….What do you think would happen? CHAOS! That’s what!

A simple menu change has caused undue amounts of stress in my life. Sometimes, I seriously cannot stop the shaking. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. The dreams are the worst. When the nightmares come, nobody in the house sleeps. I am so emotionally drained that there are days that I cannot fight myself to get out of bed.

If there’s one thing that could go a long way into making my summer, my life and my marriage whole again, would be for McDonald’s to bring back, permanently, the Grand Mac.

It’s such a small favor that I asked of you, but would be a huge deal to me and my family.

Please, please, please, bring back the Grand Mac!!!

Sincerely,

Gwynn McCauley-Boozer

Love, Gwynny