Drought, Disease and the DMV

I recognize that it has been quite some time since my last entry, but I have been busy applying for a summer internship and training with my thirty-something coworkers for a Tough Mudder that I will not even be participating in. So, as much as I would love to apologize and say I know you’ve been awaiting another update, I’m not sorry and you haven’t been so let’s not kid ourselves.

Another major reason that I haven’t written of late is because California has been pumping me full of disease. Since I arrived here, I have come down with:

• A 24-hour virus with flu-like symptoms
• Poison oak on my left arm, lower back, upper butt and entire magical forest of pleasure and delight
• Poison oak once again in less of the forest, but also in my nose, ear and on my lips
• Unbearable indigestion from the steroids I was taking to deal with the poison oak
• Faltering patriotism, since this horrible state accounts for so much of America

Despite having the luxury of lying in bed and watching The Shawshank Redemption (arguably the film that has fallen the furthest from Oscar grace and into incessant reruns other than Schlinder’s List), the 24-hour flu-ish thing left me bitter, angry and convinced that Californians had unanimously agreed that I should return home. This was further proven by the drought that threatened a regional water regulation, which seemed to be spurred by my arrival.

It was even further proven the next weekend, when I went hiking in Henry Cowell Redwoods State Park (which I will write about if I get around to it) and contracted poison oak. I choose “contracted” carefully, as this unrelenting itch-ferno is like a case of herpes bestowed by Satan himself. While I’ve been hanging out with my good friend Matt a great deal here, I must say that my best friend on the west coast is by my side at all times:

 

The following is a progression of the poison oak on my left arm (including how much time each stage lasted), which you may feel free to skip if you are easily made queasy:

 “Hm, whaddya think that is?” (2 days)

 “Yikes, that burst and now I’m really itchy all of a sudden…” (5 hours)

“HOLY FUCK MY NERVE ENDINGS ARE EXPLODING. THIS AGONY IS UNBEARABLE.” (10 days)

“Eh, wasn’t all that bad.” (1 day)

To ice the proverbial cake, a couple of weeks ago I had to get some paperwork for my car’s smog check (I thought smog only existed in Ferngully: The Last Rainforest). The adventure took me to the most magical place on Earth:

Now, I’ve spent time at the DMV before to get both my learner’s permit and my driver’s license. However, I must have blacked those instances out of my memory, since had I recalled standing in line there, I wouldn’t have been surprised enough by this go-around to write in my phone, “This place is a stinking bastion of all things hellish and pathetic.”

Allow me to elaborate.

To start, I have never seen a prostitute in person, but I may as well have been greeted by a pay-per-orgy on my way in. As soon as the doors creaked open, I was met with a clan of decrepit middle-aged blondes named Sally who stank of cigarettes and desperation; I’m almost positive that this DMV was a converted drug rehab clinic and the state didn’t want to spend the time or money to kick out the squatters.

I approached the front desk, only to receive a gruff welcome from the head banker of Gringotts:

To my right stood this haircut:

Where did they get these people? Did they dig up the most low-budget eighties porn they could find and just hire the ogres straight from the VHS? To make things worse, the computers had been stolen off the set of Die Hard:

I could go on, but the pain of reliving my time at the DMV is both too great and has been explored by far greater comedic minds than myself.

Instead, I’m off to go rub Cortizone on my penis.

Dreamin’ of Californication,

Luke

Also, be sure to check out the intern blog I've been writing for the company I'm interning at, CKR Interactive. I promise that it's neither boring nor professional.