Can I get a woohoo?

So the underlying decision behind going through my entire storage unit is not to determine how little I can live with (although it's a nice thought after reading the Voluntary Simplicity Movement), but instead I've been in a slight panic over where the heck my darn passport could be?!

Back in college, I used to keep it by my asian dragon (my dad painted it back in 1960-something, something that I'll treasure for my whole life - I should take a picture of it for y'all) because he was the guardian of my apartment. Well that was almost 2 years ago. In the mean time, I've packed up my whole life, put it into storage, traveled a little, worked a little, traveled some more, etc. So with that family cruise on the horizon, I was attempting to put into hyper-drive the searching for my ID. Cuz I didn't want to have to eat another $100 just to get another one (because you know with luck, I'd find it after I got back from the cruise).

Well as I'm continue to sort through "Keep," "Give Away," and "Consignment Shop," I pulled out my old refereeing briefcase (it's my old laptop bag which I used to carry extra whistles, game supplies, rule booklets for when coaches got rowdy, haha, and food) out of the garage. I don't know why/how it got out there. But it was there. Gaining cobwebs. So as I rifle through finding more pens (which I feel I can never have enough of), some girlie products (in case athletes had incidences, just call me Sister Mary Ashley), and...holy crap...my passport! WTF?

How did it get in there? Did my evil twin ref games in Canadia? Did it grow legs and walk in there? I swore I packed it with the asian dragon so he could protect it while things came alive in my storage unit. Apparently not. Damn. I'm impressed. So I called my dad, leaving a huge "waaaaahoooooo" voicemail. Pretty sweet.

Who's ready for Mexico? This relieved redhead right here.