When it comes to the little things, I've always been a bit of a shit show. I lose keys, lose cell phones, misplace W-2s, forget passwords, forget car registrations, forget bar deadlines, miss trains, make inappropriate comments, make poor nutritional decisions, befriend homeless people, get hit on by homeless people, speed on roads where I know there are cops and have twice - TWICE - had a wardrobe malfunction at church. (Let's not talk about the many times I've had a wardrobe malfunction elsewhere.)
This weekend was a doozy of personal failure, and I shall not recount it here. But let's just say I've since spent a lot of time since talking with bankers and trying to verify my identity by answering questions like, "Which city were you married in?" (Um, never been married) and "Which of the following addresses have you lived at?" (Is 'none' an option?) and "When did you work for Thomas Pshjn?" (Hey, there aren't any vowels in that last name!)
But today I had a triumph and found my birth certificate in the super safe pocket of my messenger bag. Booyah!