Happy 29th birthday to me- well, give or take a decade

So here is the short story to sum up this year's birthday.

Let me start by stating that I don't love birthdays.  At least, not my own.  I'm not really sure why, but I have been like this most my life.  I'm beyond thrilled to decorate, celebrate, or jump out of a cake for YOUR birthday.  Something about my own birthday, however, seems to paralyze me.

I'm not concerned about growing older.  I don't look that old, and I've truly never acted my age.  Age is just a number.  Except for when I'm entering a bar, it never really comes up.  *Special shout out to the nice boys that still card me in bars, by the way*

So... apparently I'm so old that I couldn't renew my driver's license online.  I had to actually go into DMV to renew it.  DMV seems to question my ability to see with these ancient eyes.

I take my number and sit in the chair.  The same discolored, metal leg chair in every DMV in America.  No one is in a good mood.  A poster on the wall announces that the personnel at DMV strive to make every customer happy.  Ya, right.

When my number is finally called... almost an hour later... I look for counter #9.  I can see counters 1-8 lined up in a row.  I can see 11 and 12 on the other side of two unlabeled counters.  Is it just me?  Am I imagining the logic that the unlabeled ones would be, um, 9 and 10?

I wait, patiently, at the alleged #9 counter.  And... I was wrong.  #9 is actually the same counter, at the front of the room, where I got my original number.

I trek over to the correct counter to see that they have actually moved to the next customer.  Catching the eye of the power hungry nazi friendly assistant, I wave my number towards him.

"Ooooh.  I called you, but you never came."

I explain that I couldn't find the counter.  After some very deliberate searching through the computer system, he declares that he can still help me.  I'm still in the system.

Just to be clear-- if you couldn't find my arbitrary number in the computer system designed to call customers in order, I would have to what... start over?

I am instructed to read a line of letters.  Then I announce the four colors I see in the vision do-hickey.  Then I'm done.  Thank goodness they made me come in.  Clearly I'm not senile based on that forty five seconds of testing.

"Are you still on 17th street?"  Yes.
"Do you still want to be an organ and tissue donor?"  Yes.
"Do you still weigh 120 lbs?"
After a slight hesitation, I answer, "sure."

This is where my fabulous beginning to this birthday begins.  I will be able to tell this story for years to come.  The kindly man cocks his head to the side and asks me, "really?"

Ya.  Happy birthday to me.