Juice Takes Scenic Route To Isla Mujeres

The passport has definitely disappeared. I have looked everywhere in the entire house twice. This whole ordeal has been frustrating but humbling.

That's okay. I have hatched a new plan that is going to be great. I am taking the Megabus to Chicago and will hang out with my good friend Kelly for a couple of days, crashing on her couch. I learned that the Chicago Passport Office will issue emergency same-day passports, but you have to arrive super early and wait all day. I tell Kelly this is my plan and she says, "Hey, I have a friend in that office. Let me see if I can get ahold of her." A short while later she calls me back--no need to wait in line, just show up Monday morning and ask for her friend, and she'll take care of me right away. Hot DAMN I am a lucky duck. Sun Country gave me full credit for the ticket I had to cancel, and I was able to find a cheap ticket to Cancun out of Chicago Tuesday morning. All told I'm only out about fifty bucks, I get a nice little trip to Chi-Town out of the deal, and I'll arrive just three days later than originally planned. I will still have nine lovely days to spend in Mexico.

In his book, Stumbling on Happiness, Daniel Gilbert posits that one of the reasons why people can be happy when things are (objectively) quite sucky is that we tend to justify situations so that we can feel better about them. Particularly situations where there is no other choice. I have no idea what he's talking about.

And not that I didn't have any other choices, by the way. I had lots of them. Or so (*throat clearing*) it seemed. The idea that was most appealing between the hours of 3 a.m. (as I am tearing through the boxes in the southwest corner of the attic) and 11 a.m. (as I am driving three hours to the land of my origin to get a copy of my birth certificate) involved disembarking during the layover in Dallas, taking a bus to the border, walking across the border on foot (unnecessary, but seems like an important and slightly poetic detail in the scheme of things), and then riding a bus down the whole length of Mexico to the Yucatan Peninsula. The adventure involved in this plan was so very alluring that I temporarily forgot that the bus ride would probably take a total of five days, and I would probably get raped and robbed, and I would still be faced with the problem of re-entering the United States. Once Summ got on the case late morning, a New Totally Foolproof Plan was hatched: We convince Sun Country that they have to let me on the plane, because I actually have a passport you see, but my husband accidentally took it on his trip with him, and he is going to Fed Ex it to me in Mexico, and (see!) I have the documents I need to get into Mexico (brandish birth certificate, driver's license, and big shiny smile) and I'll be all set to re-enter the United States once that passport arrives. Did I mention he is sending it via Fed Ex? They smile and say okay, sure, go ahead and board the plane. No problemo. Step two of this plan involves showing up distraught at the American Embassy in Mexico Monday morning, crying because I have just lost my passport somewhere in Cancun and pleading with them to issue me a new one. Your tax dollars at work. I am so cheered by the genius of this plan (and possibly a bit lightheaded since I had not eaten in 24 hours due to the distraction of the passport search) that I actually believe it will work and decide to call Sun Country to try out the story on them. They hate the story! Not a chance. No way are they letting me on that plane unless I prove that I have a passport--or have applied for a passport--to get back in the country. Of course I have a vague idea that these plans are half-baked and crazed, but at times my optimism tends to cloud my sense of reality.

That six hour drive today, by the way: Sad story. I decide that since I have no passport, I better at least get my hands on my birth certificate. From my old job, I have a lot of experience obtaining public records--including birth certificates--and I know that you need to request the record from the county where it was created. So I hop in the Subaru this morning and head to beautiful Fergus Falls, Minnesota (the Otter Tail county seat just in case you didn't know).

Three hours later, I arrive at the county recorder's office and request a copy of my birth certificate. The lady asks, "Were you born in Minnesota?" Something about this question seems strange--why didn't she ask if I was born in the county?--so I ask her: "Can you provide a copy of any birth certificate in the state?" "Sure," she says. Blink. Blink. Swallow. "So, for example, could I get a copy of this Otter Tail County birth certificate at a Hennepin County Service Center?" "Sure." "Really. How long ago did the systems get consolidated?" "About a year ago." Thoughtful pause. "Beautiful day, isn't it?"

Anyway.

I had a lovely dinner with Greta tonight. She is moving to southern California next week. We ate on the patio at Jax Cafe, which I loved--I wish my patio looked like that. I am going to miss having my Greta around... :( I gave jL a ring after we left (Jax is about one minute away from her house. Not that I need an excuse.) and was delighted to learn that she had just opened a bottle of Argentinian red. Perfect. All in all a nice way to end a basically crummy day.