I was hanging out in The Mom's kitchen last Sunday night, discussing the kinds of things that any normal mother and son would discuss, like work, life, love, and the DU hockey team's forechecking schemes, when LifePartner came in and asked me what was up. I excitedly babbled to her about meeting a girl, and flying around the frickin' globe to see her.

LifePartner's never been terribly romantic, and I expected some decidedly pragmatic advice concerning Internet Friends and how to avoid having my vital organs harvested with a tire iron.

Instead she asked, "You got a Passport, right?"

"Um... I thought those were just for Spies and International Jewel Thieves. I've always gotten outta May-hee-ko with just my Birth Certificate."

"Yeah... NO. Doofus. It takes about 6 weeks. So, get one. NOW. When's your trip?"

*counting on fingers* "sinzzina... azonna... FUCKSTICKS. 6 weeks."

I found out that you can get a Passport on "expedite" status though, for extra money of course. Not a huge deal as I was at least formulating a plan, and that pleased me. Not to say I didn't feel dumb, but I was still safe from my own stupidity at the moment.

Monday, we took out NewCodeGuy for his first day at MyCompany, and after lunch my wallet magically disappeared. I couldn't find it at home that night, in my cube the next day, nor in my truck the following night.

I was reunited with some long, lost items though, and was overjoyed that my Fly-Fishing gloves and a box of Tic-Tacs had partied down with a leaky bottle of Transmission Fluid on the floor of my truck.

The Gloves can be washed, I think, but the Tic-Tacs chrystallized into some Giant Mutant TAC that had gotten so used to being a passenger in my truck that it physically threatened me when I tried to remove it. I'm a big enough pussy that I AM afraid of any Sugary-Minty-Goodness when it growls at me, and I'm alright with that.

This threw my "plan" off a bit too.

No Birth Certificate (in my wallet... I know, I KNOW) and No Driver's License means No Passport. No Birth Certificate also means No Driver's License. Getting a Birth Certificate means an interminably long wait from TinyPodunkTown's Clerk's Office, even though the Clerk regaled me with stories of how she used to hold Baby JuddHole during basketball games.

I replied, "Oh yeah? You didn't DROP me, didja? 'Cause I'm feeling particularly dumb lately."

She didn't find this amusing, and the prospects for my Birth Certificate getting put on "expedite" status dropped significantly.

I started to wonder, "Is this a SIGN?!? Am I not meant to go to Australia? Am I as big of a gotard as I feel like right now?!? Are the 5 Mountain Dews I drank today the reason that my hands are shaking so violently? What the hell IS one-hour martenizing? Can you test a AAA battery the same way as a 9-volt, by licking it?"

My thoughts settled down when I realized that I could get my shit together in time, and perhaps my new idol, Eduardo, would be able to shake his staff down and see if any of them "found" my wallet somewhere in the building or parking lot.

Work then got really busy.

Work is almost always busy, and busy is good, but when Stressy McTensington moves into my life and starts wigging out in CubeWorld, there is usually problems. I was causing errors all over the place, and some my fellow dwellers of CubeWorld were growing increasingly agitated that we were all having to stay late until our project was launched, and launched without any JuddFuckUps, as they were now being referred to.

I decided to put a stop to the "wigging," and release some tension that was filling the air. I reached for the Nerf Dart Gun, ready to spread some decisive Foam Justice, quietly leaned over the wall of my cube, and pegged DataAnalystGuy directly in the back of the head.

As he shrieked in surprise and annoyance, I shrieked loudly as well. Not because of the incredible 20-foot shot I had just made, but because my wallet was subversively hanging in the loading mechanism of the gun. It had apparently decided to copulate with my incredibly sexy Nerf Gun in order to produce a Killer Army of LeatherClad, Plastic-Armored, Nerf Punishers with names like CitiBank and Chase.

There was a surprising amount of rejoicing from CubeWorld, but I only found out later that this was because my co-workers were quickly becoming concerned for my sanity, as well as their own safety, but everybody made it home alive last night.

Today we're actually waiting, as I write this, while our Superiors meet and decide how late we're going to stay tonight, and my co-workers have figured out that, if they don't give my darts back, they won't get shot anymore. A few of them are also theorizing that by destroying the darts, they probably won't get shot ever again.

They are, of course, very mistaken.

It's going to be a long night.

Important Thought

It should be noted that attempting to "blast" a piece of chewing gum off of the lip of the urinal, no matter how good your aim, will almost always result in excessive splatter, as well as leaving the goddam gum in place, slightly wet, but ever-clinging.

It should also be noted that any response to the question of what happened would probably be more appropriate than, "I just pissed on myself."

Don't ask me how I know this, just note it.