MY FRIDAY AS MRS. MURPHY

If only the headline of this post meant that I had met a charming, handsome Irishman named Murphy, and eloped so we could enjoy the solitude of our love, for at least the first 24-36 hours of our union...instead, it is my distinct horror to admit that anything that could have gone wrong on Friday, clearly did. I am clearly now engaged, if not to Murphy himself, then to his Law.
 
What follows is an abbreviated form of the sweaty, frustrating, endless wait of a day that Friday was for Our Heroine.
 
Super Freelancer Braves the DMV
Had to get a driver's license. Friends swore NY State license-getting was a breeze. Decided to be anal and check website's instructions and call the information line that tells you what to bring, just to be sure I had everything. You needed 6 "points" worth of identification; my passport (4) and old NJ license (2) should have been than enough. For good measure, I threw in a Con Ed bill and a copy of my Social Security statement (an extra 2 points each). Got there, was summarily discharged by the sweltering elevator into an inferno of a waiting room where there was a 1.5 hour line just to get on line. We snaked back and forth around the antechamber; every five minutes, an elevator arrived and spewed forth additional queuers-to-be. Got to the main line, which snaked around for another 15 minutes. Finally, nirvana. The window. Then the mean man staffing it informs me of their new, post-9/11 policy: no matter how many points of ID you have, you must also have your original social security card, or you can't get a license. Who the hell knows where that stupid card is?? How do they know it's an original, anyway? Is there some special 1971-edition hologram on it that proves that I didn't make it myself on the Internet? Do my parents have it in a safe-deposit box somewhere??) But of course, they don't tell you that on the website or on the phone line.  I left, making a beeline for the Manhattan Mall, with its industrial strength air conditioning and TCBY.
 
Detour: Commerce Bank
On the way home, stopped and checked my bank balance. Not good.
 
Coming Out of the Dark
Apartment light burned out. Two weeks ago. Have been denying the fact that I am slowly going blind, while waiting to find the super. Then I just got tired of waiting--climbed atop my sink to discern which type of bulb was needed and managed to extricate one without dropping it. Went to the hardware store and bought the damn bulbs. Then spent close to an hour perched barefoot atop my sink trying to screw them in, while my halogen, the only remaining source of light, gave me heatstroke, and I was sure, a very dangerous tan. Then one of the old bulbs slipped--I just managed to catch it as it hit the floor. Phew. The first time luck's been on my side all day. It's cracked, but not broken. Then, a sound like an ice cube hitting hot coffee--crack! And it exploded into smithereens. I was still barefoot, now surrounded by broken glass. I screamed: "No!!" and I believe even "Why, God...why??!!" I gathered up my courage and the visible bits of glass from the floor and disposed of them safely. I swept up in the kitchen, and wore shoes for the rest of the day. A day later, there still may be a shard in my foot. I'm not sure. 
 
Vacation, All I Ever Wanted
On those days when you totally hate your life and everything makes you cry...nothing's better than planning a vacation. I have no time, no money and no energy to book a cruise. So I'm going to Atlantic City, even though it's going to rain. If luck is on my side, my roll of quarters will become a couple of hundred bucks, and my vacation will pay for itself. And if not? I'll be back before I (or you) know it, burning the midnight oil and hoping that the next job's going to be the lucrative one. No worse off than I am now, and maybe, hopefully, a little more relaxed.

MY FRIDAY AS MRS. MURPHY

If only the headline of this post meant that I had met a charming, handsome Irishman named Murphy, and eloped so we could enjoy the solitude of our love, for at least the first 24-36 hours of our union...instead, it is my distinct horror to admit that anything that could have gone wrong on Friday, clearly did. I am clearly now engaged, if not to Murphy himself, then to his Law.
 
What follows is an abbreviated form of the sweaty, frustrating, endless wait of a day that Friday was for Our Heroine.
 
Super Freelancer Braves the DMV
Had to get a driver's license. Friends swore NY State license-getting was a breeze. Decided to be anal and check website's instructions and call the information line that tells you what to bring, just to be sure I had everything. You needed 6 "points" worth of identification; my passport (4) and old NJ license (2) should have been than enough. For good measure, I threw in a Con Ed bill and a copy of my Social Security statement (an extra 2 points each). Got there, was summarily discharged by the sweltering elevator into an inferno of a waiting room where there was a 1.5 hour line just to get on line. We snaked back and forth around the antechamber; every five minutes, an elevator arrived and spewed forth additional queuers-to-be. Got to the main line, which snaked around for another 15 minutes. Finally, nirvana. The window. Then the mean man staffing it informs me of their new, post-9/11 policy: no matter how many points of ID you have, you must also have your original social security card, or you can't get a license. Who the hell knows where that stupid card is?? How do they know it's an original, anyway? Is there some special 1971-edition hologram on it that proves that I didn't make it myself on the Internet? Do my parents have it in a safe-deposit box somewhere??) But of course, they don't tell you that on the website or on the phone line.  I left, making a beeline for the Manhattan Mall, with its industrial strength air conditioning and TCBY.
 
Detour: Commerce Bank
On the way home, stopped and checked my bank balance. Not good.
 
Coming Out of the Dark
Apartment light burned out. Two weeks ago. Have been denying the fact that I am slowly going blind, while waiting to find the super. Then I just got tired of waiting--climbed atop my sink to discern which type of bulb was needed and managed to extricate one without dropping it. Went to the hardware store and bought the damn bulbs. Then spent close to an hour perched barefoot atop my sink trying to screw them in, while my halogen, the only remaining source of light, gave me heatstroke, and I was sure, a very dangerous tan. Then one of the old bulbs slipped--I just managed to catch it as it hit the floor. Phew. The first time luck's been on my side all day. It's cracked, but not broken. Then, a sound like an ice cube hitting hot coffee--crack! And it exploded into smithereens. I was still barefoot, now surrounded by broken glass. I screamed: "No!!" and I believe even "Why, God...why??!!" I gathered up my courage and the visible bits of glass from the floor and disposed of them safely. I swept up in the kitchen, and wore shoes for the rest of the day. A day later, there still may be a shard in my foot. I'm not sure. 
 
Vacation, All I Ever Wanted
On those days when you totally hate your life and everything makes you cry...nothing's better than planning a vacation. I have no time, no money and no energy to book a cruise. So I'm going to Atlantic City, even though it's going to rain. If luck is on my side, my roll of quarters will become a couple of hundred bucks, and my vacation will pay for itself. And if not? I'll be back before I (or you) know it, burning the midnight oil and hoping that the next job's going to be the lucrative one. No worse off than I am now, and maybe, hopefully, a little more relaxed.