A lot of you know I’m pretty complicated and complex and deep and introspective and that’s just who I am, so it’s perhaps not a surprise to learn that I’ve taken a light-hearted event and turned it into something that has consumed my mind since about 10:00pm last night.
I had a post for today, which would have been an interesting read for you, an interesting tie between American Idol and something that happened to someone in my life many years ago that none of you knows about but would have made me feel very vulnerable if I had published it. I thought better of it for now. If I do nothing to stop it, it will post automatically at 7:14am Eastern on Friday, February 27, 2009. I’m guessing I’ll have drafted it before then, so don’t bother making a note on your calendar.
I know it seems like I tell you everything, like my blog is an open book, but I’m realizing I do keep a great deal to myself. And sometimes I think I want to put it out there, but then I decide it’s more important to me to maybe write it down but not offer it to the world. So, that’s where my head is at today. A very vulnerable place but I’m not sharing how or why.
So, to counter the fact that I won’t share with you what the effing a I’m talking about above, I’ll mention something random here: Every time I go to Quebec City I pass by a particular sex shop window and stare at the penis pasta in the black and purple box. I never go inside, just stand at the window and look in. I have no idea why it’s so intriguing to me, and in a city so rich with culture and things to do (minds out of gutter) that don’t involve me cooking my own damn food, I am always stuck thinking about making that damn pasta. There ya go, nice and random.
You need to go in that shop and by the penis pasta… and a glass dildo. Seriously.
Mel, *rolling eyes* it’ll be a while before I make it back, since now it takes an act of Congress to get across the border.
Lucky for you, you know someone who can help with that
An excellent point.
So, if I don’t have my SSN card or expired passport AND I’m changing my name to be something different than what it was before the last name change I can still get a new passport and get over the border? Because… I’m genuinely concerned about this.
The SSN card and expired passport are somewhere in the house, but there’s no fucking chance of me going there just to look for those items.
Hm. Ok, don’t renew the passport until the name is *officially* changed.
BUT, if you have your birth certificate, you can still get across the border.
Starting January 31, 2008, verbal declarations of identity and citizenship alone will no longer be accepted. On this date, U.S. and Canadian citizens entering the U. S. at land and sea ports of entry from within the Western Hemisphere will need to present (1) government-issued proof of citizenship, such as a birth certificate, along with (2) government issued photo ID, such as a driver’s license.
I had a response typed out all nice and neat addressing something I’ve never said too. But instead I think I’ll just mention how much I suddenly don’t like spaghetti and run away…
I think it’s fair to say everyone assumes my blog is an open book.
And yet, I have about 16 drafts in the backroom that will likely never be published. But they needed to be written, for me, to get them out of my head and out into the world.
Even if no one in the world ever sees it.
Is the penis pasta hard to ignore? Perhaps it’s a reflection of an Amalfi Coast fantasy bottled up in your Holden Caulfield state of mind.
Mel, you bet yer ass I’m not wasting my money getting a renewed passport in my current name.
RW, you don’t like spaghetti?
Britt, I have two others like that, but they’re just one liners of me fighting back about being put down by a certain someone who is no longer in my daily life.
Dan, I don’t want to eat the pasta, I just have this compulsion to make it. No Amalfi Coast fantasies. No fantasies about it at all, actually. And I’m wondering if I went back at this point in my life if I’d actually even notice the shop or the pasta.
I am sure the birth certificate would work.. but you will no doubt take heat from les douaniers in charge.. because I think they get high on the power… particularly when crossing into the “evil empire” that is Canada… Sheesh.. They treat it like crossing over at Checkpoint Charlie! When I was a girl, we used to cross over into Canada for DATES! This is more ridiculous than the Canadian agent asking if I have guns or cigarettes….
I’ve checked with Canadian powers-that-be, and the birth certificate/photo ID is fine for entrance into Canada.
And yes, the birth certificate/photo ID is fine for entrance into the US as well.
These rules are in effect for a limited time. WHTI (Western Hemisphere Travel Initiative) will be fully implemented (date to be deterimed) and that’s when you will need a passport to cross the border. So as soon as that name changes, get that passport renewed!
The problem isn’t getting INTO Canada… it is getting BACK into the US that is…
Not any more…
*on edit - I put in the wrong email and so it doesn’t know me. sniff….
Maman, that’s strange about the dates…
Mel, my trusty government worker, if I do need to go to Canada I promise to bring those documents with me and if for some reason I actually couldn’t get back because someone was being an ass and lying to me that I didn’t have the
writeright ID I’ll call you.RW, good, more for me. hehe. (Is your email all set now? I hope?)
That is the way we border chicks roll…
As much as I pretend my blog is an “open book,” it so is NOT. I was really glad to participate in a Blog Share today, so I was able to post something anonymously on someone else’s blog. Maybe you could do that next time?
Or maybe someday you’ll feel like posting it. And that would be great, too!
Maman, you live at the border?
DCMM, it’s looking less and less likely that I’ll ever want to post it, and if I did post it I assure you it’d make you at least squirm a tiny little bit with the way it’s worded. Not great.
You should buy some, and take pictures of it when it expands after cooking it. That would be fun!