Adventures at the DMV

On Friday, I showed up at the DMV to get my license changed from Nebraska to Tennessee.

This is mostly because A) I was kinda sorta supposed to get it changed over after only a month in Nashville and B) THERE ARE NO STATE TAXES IN TENNESSEE. Boo-yah. As an independent contractor, this is very good news for me. I think.

ANYWAY. I go to the DMV with my roommate, B, who I just met a couple weeks ago, so if we have to wait at all, we can bond and stuff. I don't expect to wait long, though, because, hello, the longest it's ever taken me before was ten minutes. Of course, that was in a little town in Nebraska, where directions often are like, "Okay, you turn right at the red house. You're going to stop when you see a cow." But whatever.

And then I saw the marquee. First, it said something like

WE TAKE CREDIT AND DEBIT CARDS YO.

And then, it switched to:

THERE ARE FORTY-TWO CUSTOMERS WAITING.

And then, it said:
AHAHAHAHAHAHA. LOSER.

Anyway, B and I were sitting in those uncomfortable, slightly dirty plastic chairs, and we were discussing, go figure, GUYS. Perfectly sensible topic to discuss around the forty other people, right? "What's your type?" I asked her, after I divulge mine. (Which will remain secret, unless Johnny Depp or Daniel Craig feels like calling me or something.)

"Hmm," B said. "I like musicians. Artists. You know, scruffy guys."

"So," I said. "You're like M. You like big hairy guys."

I should clarify. I was joking. Except about the fact that friend M really does like big, hairy guys.

And then B saw the guy next to me, who happened to put the ugh in scruffy. And he was kinda leaning forward, interested in the conversation, the threads from his cut-off tee dangling hotly and his greasy ponytail tossed over his shoulder. Not only that, but he's at least thirty years older than either of us.

B saw him and laughed nervously, because we both know we pretty much accidentally asked for it. I mean, who discusses guys at the DMV? I mean, especially when we are so busy getting our pictures taken for our licenses and taking difficult eye tests and watching the guy at the first desk try to reason with a rude woman who cut in line and never EVER just sitting and doing nothing and wishing for cell phones and iPods (and oh maybe an editor to call).Fortunately, ten minutes later, I did get called up to turn in my form and proofs of ID and somehow pass an eye test with freaking flying colors.

And really, my picture isn't even that bad. Okay, it's not like, GOOD. I didn't MEAN to do Blue Steel a la Ben Stiller in Zoolander. But I don't have any mysterious flecks or cowlicks or anything that I've noticed.

But seriously. This all did teach me something.

That waiting while on sub is not NEARLY as bad as waiting at the DMV. ;)

Because while you might have to wait longer, you don't have to worry about bad photos and old guys with greasy ponytails.

Excerpt from MY EYES ARE UP HERE

Hey peeps!

Here's the first page of MY EYES ARE UP HERE.

The absolute worst day of my social life started with the Shaw High School Gazette.

I say social life because I’m trying not to be a complete drama queen about it, and it’s not like anybody died or anything like that.

Unless you count my pride. And any semblance of a reputation I had left.

But anyway. The Shaw High Gazette.

I probably would have known sooner, but my dad has been trying to teach Hermes, our blubbery old golden retriever, to fetch at age twelve. Using all of our newspapers.

“Honey,” Mom had said that morning, sipping a cup of herbal tea that was supposed to prevent thighs from turning to cottage cheese, “see if you can pick up a copy of the Gazette at school. I think you’re in it, but I can’t tell.”

She glanced at the slobbery mess of grayish pulp lying on the kitchen floor.

I promised her I would, although I don’t know why. Mom is in newspapers and magazines and was even on a billboard in Times Square two years ago, so it’s not like some stupid article about me in the school paper mattered, but whatever.

But it does matter. And now I know exactly why.

Not for the reasons Mom thought, though. Not so she can stick up on the fridge with her flowery magnets and play proud mother.

I stand in front of the little metal stand at the front of the school. My fingers shake slightly as I pull the newspaper out and shake it open. The article is about volunteer work I’ve been doing at the local elementary school, where I mostly play around with plastic letters and tell kids not to pee in the potted plants. But it’s the headline that’s the problem.

ROXANNE MCKELLEN GIVES HEAD START TO YOUNG STUDENTS

And then I glance back at the papers.

Someone has severely flouted the Rules of Journalism. There’s a fold in the headline, so that only part of it shows up, pressed against the glass of the bin.

ROXANNE MCKELLEN GIVES HEAD

Holy. Crap. My heart thrums a beat in my ears.

Someone taps me on the shoulder and I whirl around. It’s Michael Ward. I try to block the bin of newspapers from sight. Never mind that there are at least five other bins on campus, or that they’ll be handed out in every single class today, or even that there is a big, tottering stack in the journalism room.

“Hey, McKellen,” Michael says. “What’s going down?”

And then he winks.

Introduction

Hey guys, I'm Mandy! I was delaying in arranging my apartment tonight when I realized: I needed to make a blog. A real one, not one where I friends lock half the posts. So I created this, slapped a Macbeth line on the top and a pretty picture, and wah-lah. I'm blogging it up. Anyway, a little about me.


1) I write books! My current fave project is ROADIE, and it's about a girl with hippie parents who gets hired on as a roadie for her favorite band, Plan B. And, you know. Scandals, break-ups, and port-a-potties ensue. If you want to know more about my work, check out http://www.amandakmorgan.com/


2) I am totally and completely in love with music. I don't care if I'm at a huge concert of a tiny one. I. Love. It. Nashville is a perfect city for people like me! And, contrary to popular belief, Nashville is not country saturated. That doesn't mean Keith Urban isn't going to pass you on the sidewalk, but it does mean that the only people that wear cowboy hats are tourists. Of course, this does not mean I do not own a country hat and lots of equally country CDs. I am, of course, a Nebraska girl.

3) This is how I paid for college. Yep, by being an outside hitter. And 13 IS lucky. Seriously.

So what can you expect from me? Hmmm. Well, generally, I like being random, so that's a start. I sometimes will vlog, and I will sometimes play the four notes I know on my acoustic guitar. Most of the time I'll discuss writing, but sometimes I'll discuss sharing a bathroom with two other girls, guys (in general), and music. I'll admit to loving both TWILIGHT and HARRY POTTER but I probably won't tell you what I don't like. I'll attend SCBWI Mid-South and talk about that. And sometimes I'll point you toward other blogs--for example, I can tell you that Suzanne Young (http://suzanne-young.blogspot.com) has SCBWI photos that will make you jealous.

Until next time,guys! :)