I decided to turn this weblog into journal-mode because I don't have enough time to keep up to date in my newsreader, and someday I'll want to look back on this week and see what I was thinking.

For the first time ever Team Costley/Torrez were ready to head off to the airport at the exact time they had previously agreed on. This was an auspicious way to start the wedding week. There were smiles all around until...

The TSA agents notified us we had been pre-selected to be rigorously searched. We decided this was because we arrived too damn early and they realized they could do their song-and-dance because we weren't boarding for over an hour. It seemed like it would be simple and quick, until we saw the folks ahead of us with scowls on their faces. Soon enough I would have such a scowl.

They were thorough. The most thorough and meticulous searching I've ever seen (and I traveled a couple weeks after 9/11). It turns out my iPhone is apparently made of bomb-like material because it made the bomb alarm machine go "blee-bloo" when everything else made it go "ding-dong". So I was pulled aside for super-rigorous-searching which involves the TSA agent filling out a form that had: "Bomb Detection Alert Event" written at the top of it. My favorite part of the interview was that she asked me if the address on my license was indeed my current address THREE TIMES in a row. By the third time I decided this was their super-secret terrorist discovery method akin to Blade Runner's turtle on its back question. Only a terrorist would say, "You know what? You got me, that's not my current address. My current address is 123 FALLUJAH STREET!"

When she was done she called over her supervisor who looked over the form and then pointed at the top and asked, "Is this your current address?"

If this was a summer movie the TSA agents are now hanging out in our apartment inviting their other TSA friends over with the knowledge we won't be back to that address for a week or so. (Did you know they made FOUR "House Party" films?)

The only thing that was of interest on the flight is that I watched a lot of drift racing and I convinced myself I could probably do it. I think I'd be pretty good, not too cocky, just really focused yet friendly. I really hope there's a good drift video game for the XBox.

Now I'm sitting in the guest room in my old house in Long Beach. Amber is on her way back from an appointment and we're going to hit the Crab Pot, a restaurant where they dump a huge bowl of seafood (crab, shrimp, clams, mussles, corn on the cob and sausages) on your table and let you pick through it. Whenever I eat there I like to pretend I'm a giant and the townspeople have brought me a pile of animals to eat.

The cats who live here are pretty spooked as there usually isn't someone walking around the house in the afternoon. Two of them are on a ledge above the kitchen cupboards and they stare at me like I've completely ruined their day of sleeping and eating and sleeping. Each time I walk by them stare back and shout, "Is this your current address?!"

They don't like that very much.


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