You know, for all the shit I've cut open my veins for on Wailing And Failing, have I talked about my missing passport?
If I haven't, I have a hell of a lot of catching up to do. But here's the story short: After my parents sent Grandmother to the old folks' home, My Fucking Father cleaned out her bedroom. And then, even though he didn't tell me, he cleaned out my bedroom in order to move all of my stuff into Grandmother's home. (Since I didn't agree to it, I still consider the room I currently sleep in "Grandmother's bedroom.")
He cleaned out everything, but what irked me in particular is that he cleaned out all the stuff in my nigthstand's drawer so he could move the nightstand more easily. I keep a lot of junk in there, to be sure, but I put a lot of important stuff in there, too -- stuff such as my passport.
So one day I come back home and all my stuff are in bags. And -- I could be wrong, but I'll say that he did -- My Fucking Father threatened to set all my bags out for recycling unless I do something about it. So I had no choice. Even though I wasn't exactly sure they knew -- they might have known then; they know now -- I had to drop everything and take all those bags to storage for safe-keeping.
I didn't have time to search for my important documents, such as my passport. I swore I would look for it later, when the coast was clear. But ... well, OK, I didn't take the time to thoroughly look through all my bags. I took out, like, four bags, and they weren't there. So even though I know I have my passport, it was, for all intents and purposes, gone.
I knew I had to get a new passport soon, but besides maybe visiting Grandmother in Hong Kong, I had no reason to. But then Mother, shortly after she came home from Las Vegas, asked me if I had declared my passport lost yet. I was at my computer when she asked this, and I knew there was no way I would be able to find my passport before something would happen where I would need it -- say, Buddha forgive me, Grandmother taking a turn for the worse. So, immediately, right then and there, I filled out a DS-64, the online government application declaring that I have lost my passport. Once I submitted it, my passport, which is in my storage unit somewhere, is invalid.
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I was going to get a replacement ... soon. Whenever. I still had no pressing need to go overseas, and I was subliminally discouraged that I would probably have to pay extra for replacing a lost passport. I have some free time now between projects, though, and I figured I would fill out the application to get a new one before I would go back to my scoring project and/or a new job that I found in August.
But yesterday my parents hit me with a surprise. My sister and brother-in-law are coming home next month for a few weeks. And that gives the family an idea of yet another road trip, this time to Niagara Falls. Finding time to do this is going to be a problem; I technically am not working then, and I could just do this week-long vacation without any issue, but I am looking for work, and I'm scared that taking this vacation would preclude me from some good work opportunities down the road. (Also, I have three trips I'm taking this year, and even I kind of think that I'm taking too many this year!) But as you probably know, Niagara Falls, or at least the side that's cool, is in Ontario, which is in Canada ... which means I will need a passport to go on this trip.
So now I'll need to get this passport. As soon as they mentioned this possible plan, I thought, "Great -- this is the thing that'll make me get that passport." And I mentally made a list of things I have to do: Fill out that application, get a passport photo, ask my folks to get my birth certificate, find time to go to a passport office, get money I really shouldn't spend. It's that birth certificate that I was thinking about after dinner. And it was something that probably dawned on My Father after dinner, because in the evening he knocked on my door (while I was sleeping) and asked me if I got my passport yet.
I'm pretty sure he was disappointed in me when I told him the truth. But I was surprised that he had my birth certificate downstairs. I thought it was in our safe deposit box at the bank. Anyway, I got it, and then I spent some time last night doing the DS-11, which is the app that you need to fill out to get what is essentially a new passport. I got it, and unless I have a huge problem printing it from my Adobe, that's done. Need to get a photo, which I think I'll do tonight. I'll probably get the cash for it from the bank tomorrow; I'll convert the case from the scholarship money for the alumni chapter to a check then, too, so I can deposit it through my smart.
So, I just need to take my photo, my application and my birth certificate with me to a passport office, probably on Thursday, and I'll get my passport ... hopefully in time; they say it takes up to six weeks, and this road trip should be in eight weeks. But I've heard that passports have a backlog. Will I get it in time? I'm not going to spend the extra money to expedite it; I'm going to just roll the dice. Forgive me, but I guess I still have some residual anger over My Father moving all my crap without my permission.
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OK, the "Fat Boy" part of my title. I got so psychologically anxious that My Fucking Father would be mad at me for not getting a passport by now (he's harped on me to get one in the past, several times) that, once I got on my computer last night to begin my DS-11, I started eating. I actually was pretty good before I got home because I exercised. I was so hungry, in fact, that I stopped by the combination gas station/Taco Bell close to home to get a burrito and Coke, anticipating that what I would have for dinner would be something I wouldn't totally be engorged with. It actually was soup, but even after that I didn't feel fat.
But after Father asked that damn question? Well, first I ate some flan Mother made. Then I went to finish off the bag of chips my cousin said I could take home after his 4th of July party. Then I hoovered down some peanuts and chased them all down with some mango-flavored lemonade. That night, boy, I swear my muffin top got, like, 20% bigger. And even now, after I had a cookie and coffee, I know I got real, real fat. And all because My Fucking Father asked me a question.
Moreover, I plan on seeing not one but two movies back-to-back this afternoon; I think The Shallows and Central Intelligence will be gone this time next Tuesday. I always get popcorn and Coke when I go to the movies, and that won't change. But I still have the banana and sandwich Mother packed for me. And then there's dinner. So even though I didn't plan on it, and even though I don't want to, I'm going to work out this evening. I have to.
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