I’m definitely Britney Spears.

Because, baby, I did it one more time. The ninth time, to be exact. And it is mightily frustrating.

If any of you are reading this and very confused why I am calling myself a 90s pop star, please click the link. If you don’t have time or are in a poor cell spot, the short version is I got seven more IDs in one night. And it SUCKS.

It’s a number I can’t overcome. Out of 609 total IDs over a three-year period, 63 have come in seven nights. That’s a whopping 10.3%.

And I’d trade all but one of those nights for a shot at 8 or above.

To commemorate getting over 600 and the latest slew of seven, here’s some throwback blog style I haven’t done since the late 400s.

601: Uber Fast

From getting out of the Uber to getting back into the Uber took all of 80 seconds. The Uber driver didn’t even have to start a new trip or take off from the stop sign because his last passengers were his new passengers. At the very least, this was an ID confiscation with a reduced carbon footprint.

602-4: Family Affair

No crunk. No percolating. No floatin. No dancerie for this family. Out of two parents, a 21st birthday girl, her boyfriend, her brothers and another guy friend, or maybe a cousin, and grandma, I got three IDs. And it phased nobody. Not even a fought. They just all shrugged it off and left. No more drama. Thanks, Mary J.

605: Crumbs of Heroin

An odd troupe of ravers came up bit by bit and one of them was too young. One guy had a mysterious plastic bag in his man satchel that I asked him about. It was a bag of crumbs that looked an awful lot like dried brown sugar. Cookies, perhaps? We’ll never know, because he waved the bag in my face and loudly proclaimed THIS BAG IS MINE! Damn, dude, lay off the H.

606: Thank you, I think?

I’ve had several people talk to me with civility after I confiscated their ID but nobody has ever, EVER said something like: “You’re great at your job… and I appreciate your existence.”

607: Everything is Bigger In Texas

A 6-foot tall, black-haired, blue-eyed woman from Texas is something I would notice. Unfortunately for both of us, the little girl in front of me wasn’t any of those things. I feel like her being the seventh was a straight-up cosmic taunt.

I turned away two drunk guys (just after Specs came back to visit) and we had some ‘fun.’ Well, not fun because they all tried to argue with me after saying, “I understand.” Hint: If you say you understand, you shouldn’t be talking anymore. The more you talk after “understanding” the drunker I will think you are, and I’ll be correct.

One of the Bs & Cs kept taking his wallet out and showing me his ID, even though I repeatedly told him I wasn’t letting him inside because he was walking down the street serpentine, with his eyes half shut.

“But here’s my ID. Here’s my 21st ID!”

“Oh, no,” I said. “What happened to the other 20?”

Yes, I am kind of an asshole.

We can all debate the “kind of” later.