So, I was all set to write you another post about BlogHer09, one that involved tales of too much barf in the Sheraton and one that involved Miss Metalia‘s brilliant idea (she’s an ideas person, you know…) to cure me of my phobias using a little aversion therapy (otherwise known as “you know what you need, Ali? A Vomiting Clown!”).
(shudders)
and then I was going to write you an entire post dedicated to how freaking LOVELY every single person was. and how we had to change rooms three times. And I *may* even know the tale of the disappearing Edward…
…but alas, too much has happened since I got trampled (for the second time that weekend – first was by some scary women in search of vibrators) to the floor by a jackass man-in-a-hurry. TO THE FLOOR. yeah, that was some good times right there. When I got back to my mom’s house I had to start packing up for our oh-my-good-god early flight the next day back to Toronto to pick up our wordly goods and the husband to begin our drive to our new home in Atlanta.
only there was a WEE problem:
um. yeah. that. which, of course, exploded into the complete destruction of my mom’s house, an angry and frustrated ali’s mom, an angry and frustrated ali’s husband, and an angry and frustrated ali. We called everyone we could get a hold of – – – immigration lawyers, border agents, Air Canada representatives, anyone who would answer the phone (which at 8:30pm on a Sunday night was, um, NO ONE). The husband faxed me a copy of Isabella’s birth certificate – this proves she’s a Canadian, a copy of her consular report of birth abroad and her social security cards – they prove she’s an American.
and I decided to take my chances at the airport in Milwaukee.
where they didn’t even ask to see her passport.
and then I decided to take my chances at immigration when we got to Toronto.
where they didn’t even ask to see her passport.
and then we decided to take our chances crossing back over the border in Detroit (after I had done the ugly cry saying goodbye to Jack and Ilana. UGLY CRY).
where (HAT TRICK!!) they didn’t even ask to see her passport.
NOT THE FACE OF A TERRORIST
(just the face of a holy terror)
and, apparently the face of a child who likes to entertain herself on long car rides by cleaning herself with baby wipes. and singing about it.
I hope the United States of America knows what its getting itself into…
more tomorrow about monsoons in Kentucky, strange men at rest stops, and how I embarrassed myself while talking about the original KFC.
for now, I have to go and throw out about 3 dozen baby wipes from my van.
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