Where is my passport? So many piles, so many bags and boxes went out of my apartment. So many went down the garbage shute. What if my passport got put in the wrong pile? What if I get to the Canadian border and they don't yet know they're just a territory of the US. It says so on the box of my new GPS: "Covers the US including Hawaii, Puerto Rico and Canada."
What if I didn't put my social security card, birth certificate and passport all in the same envelope and then loose it? I wouldn't be me, that's what.
What if I didn't put my social security card, birth certificate and passport all in the same envelope and then loose it? I wouldn't be me, that's what.
Speaking of the move, check out the stairs that kicked my ass for five years. That's four flights people. Song of the day: Baby Got Back. The ex, we'll call him Ironman, used to climb 240 ft into the tops of windmills everyday and he still hated my stairs. But he was like, 100, so maybe not the best illustration. That's 50 stairs down and 50 stairs back up for every damn thing we moved out of there. As Elder Brother said; "Give it up for never having to do those fucking stairs again." It really lightened the mood as I drove away from my beloved neighborhood for the last time and yes, we say things like "Give it up" Woot. Woot.
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