A Safe Place

This past week I was busy tearing the house apart looking for my social security card. I needed it for a tv show that a few of us Derby Dolls are doing later this week and we're getting a little bit of sweet moolah for it. Not enough to keep me in the lifestyle to which I've become accustomed, but it'll do.

Anyway, I had forgotten where I put my card, as I had found a reallyreallyreally safe place for it. Do other people do this often? I certainly have, and it's infuriating. I know that I have the card somewhere not too far down in the depths of stuff that's in the house, but where exactly is it? Where's the last place I remember having it? If I knew the answer to that, I would've found the stoopid thing already. AUGH. I'm also still looking for a CD case full of my rockin' self-burned cd's of the same 4o songs that I can listen to until the end of time and not be sick of them. That's in a safe place that hasn't been rediscovered by me...yet.

So after much digging, grumbling, sifting, expletives galore and a thrown object or two, I find the card. Yes! I can now go back to job-hunting with impunity. By the way, I found the card in my Xena: Warrior Princess lunchbox. Duh! Definitely a safe place!



Later in the afternoon I caught a show that dealt with the last hour of American Airlines Flight 11, which was the first plane that was crashed into the World Trade Center four years ago today. Watching this reminded me that there's no such thing as a safe place for people, especially coming on the heels of Hurricaine Katrina. LA is anything but a safe place in the natural disaster arena, but here I am...still. What does that say about me, I wonder. I prefer having my stuff safe than myself? Not like the stuff would be very safe anyway. Hmmmm. I guess I'm as complacent as the people who I'd like to think are more shallow than myself. Interesting wake-up call.