The Hollies '30th Anniversary Collection: 1963 - 1993'

I feel like a moron right now.

I’m not happy with myself.

I didn’t do anything stupid… Like telling a Dale Earnhardt Jr. fan that his chances of winning a race this year really sucks, because I’m still sporting pearly whites.

I failed the written test when I applied for a motorcycle learner’s permit earlier today.

I didn’t just past the visual exam (ahem)… I ACED that motherfrakker! Oh yeah! I know my signs, baby!

The written part was horrendous. They kept asking questions about going through intersections as if motorcycles are completely different types of vehicles. What the hell, man?

Those damn questions about swerving really threw me off too... No pun intended.

When I got to one particular question, I must have read that joker over and over again for at least two minutes. I gave it a pass until I cycled through all the remaining questions. When it came around again, I read it repeatedly with the answers over and over for another three minutes.

I could NOT miss another question because I would fail the test.

So I answered with something that sounded logical because I didn’t really know what the question was asking.

There was a diagram.

There was a car with a blinking light pictured… Someone was going to take a left across my lane of traffic… Should I drink a beer? Should I maintain speed and cross through the intersection? Should I hoot at the sweet mama in her yard to right while she bends over to hang up laundry? Or should I shoot or stab my supplier and take over?

I was at a total loss.

I chose an answer and it wasn’t the right one. I was hurt. I felt ashamed.

Like the great philosopher Big Daddy Kane once said… “Pimpin’ Ain’t Easy”.

I was called over to an examiner’s desk. She stretched her hand out and extended a smile to me.

“I failed," I said. "There’s nothing for me to hand you but this paperclip.”

“Oh, that’s all right honey,” she said with southern accent. “You can come back and take it again tomorrow.”

So I tried bribing a governmental official by offering her ten bucks to take it again in an hour.

Let me tell ya, folks… Ten bucks don’t get you squat these days.

I know complete morons who are motorcycle certified. Morons that would literally sex up a sign post after a good night of drinking. Morons that when threatened with death would surely die because they can’t put together a sentence without a double negative…

They’re frakkin’ motorcycle certified!

I have a tendency to overanalyze simple things. I overanalyze things to the point where someone wants to smack the crap out of me.

I’ll just try again next week.

--If you haven’t noticed… I’ve been watching a lot of Gilmore Girls lately. I love it! It’s great! It’s funny and insightful. If you’re a pop culture junkie… You should be watching this gem of a show!

But there are side effects.

I’m drinking coffee. I’m drinking coffee like BOTH girls Gilmore.

Yeah…

I’m drinking coffee on days where small longhaired dogs could move too fast and burst into flames.

I’m drinking coffee!

I’m totally going against my rule of not drinking coffee when the high temperature for the day is 50 degrees or above.

I’m going crazy, that’s all it is to it.