It's easier to do than you THINK, okay?

I know for a fact that no one reading this does not already know the beginning, middle and end of the story I am about to tell, but I feel the need to write it down for posterity's sake. It would be a disservice to the entire blogging community if this account went unwritten here. It's the sort of story that, even when it's happening, makes you think: "Yes, God. Now I know why I have a blog. I guess the universe does have meaning."

Now, brace yourselves for a chapter in the saga of Caitlin the travel Jinx entitled, "Looking back, it's actually kind of hard to believe it didn't happen sooner."

This part of the epic begins the Friday before Thanksgiving break and my departure for a three day tour with my a capella group, the Cornerstones. (Yeah that's right, I toured like a rockstar. I won't go into too many details of our totally bitchin' visits to several midwestern hotspots, but I will say this: there may or may not have been some speed limit violations involved. Oh yeah. Who says Christians don't know how to party? Say it with me: Bad. Ass.) Anyway, the day of the commencement of said tour, I had my day all planned out. I would go to my morning classes, have lunch, then skip bio of sci-fi, (bad ass, remember?) withdraw some cash and pack. Everything was going according to plan.

until.

I opened my wallet and my cash card was nowhere to be found. Those of you who know me well know that I always remain calm and collected when faced with stressful situations. So, you can probably guess that, upon this discovery, I very logically began to hyperventilate. Then, I systematically and level-headedly proceeded to tear every inch of my room apart looking for the damn thing while muttering a high pitched stream angry gibberish under my breath the way my father does when he can't find the remote: "mumblemumblemumledamnitmumblefrickin- -mumblewhatthehelliswrondwithme?...mumble." After two hours of searching, I had to give up and cancel my card. The representative of the Mayo Federal Credit Union on the other end of the phone made fun of me in her head for not knowing my own social security number. I could hear her silent laughter in my heart.

Once the whole thing was taken care of, I only had about twenty minutes to pack before I had to leave for tour. In a haze, I pulled out the biggest suitcase I could find, threw in the necessities, and headed out the door to meet my fellow cornerstones. After announcing the fact that I was without finances and would be depending on the Christian kindness of my group members for food (very glad feeding the hungry had been a pretty central part of the gospels), I thought I would be able to put the whole thing behind me and enjoy tour....

I THOUGHT

We had not been on tour for twelve hours before I discovered the first flaw in my hasty packing job. I had forgotten a toothbrush and toothpaste. Like a pro, I was unfazed by this small inconvenience. I used my last dollar to remedy the situation at our next gas station stop. It was not until the next night that I realized that the toothpaste incident had been mere foreshadowing.

The next morning, I awoke early at my host's house to shower first. When I dig through my suitcase to pick out an outfit for the day, the extent of my packing ineptitude finally manifested itself. It was though I had spun around a bunch of times before packing with my left foot while blindfolded. For a three day tour, I had packed twelve pairs of socks, five pairs of pants, a curling iron, blow drier and every pair of earrings I own...but no underwear. That's right. every middle schooler's nightmare. If the incident had been published in the "Embarrassing moments" section of Seventeen magazine, it would rate "bright pink" on the blush-o-meter...rivaled only by that one story about the girl who wore a white dress to prom during "that time of the month."

But I digress. If you forgot where I left off, we were at the part of the story had just been stranded in the Midwest without my panties. If my roommates had been awake as I made this discovery, they would have seen me sit back on my heels next to my suitcase in disbelief and mouth, "You have got to be kidding me."

At breakfast, I told the other girls on tour about my plight. After laughing a great deal (unlike the hungry, the bible doesn't mention any specific protocol in regards to inefficient undergarment packing) they were sympathetic. Johanna, who's home town we were in, kindly offered to take me to Old Navy to find suitable replacements. On the way out, we ran into her equally gracious mother who asked us where we were going. Since my brain responded to all this trauma by regressing to the age of twelve, the following conversation was pretty middle-schoolicious:

Johanna: Oh, mom, Caitlin lost her cash card before we left, and there were a few things she forgot to pack, so we're just going to get some stuff from Wal-Mart for her.
Johanna's Mother: Oh, what do you need?
Me: Oh, um... just some personal items...
Johanna's Mother: Like what? I just want to make sure we don't already have what you need in the house.
Me: Well...
Johanna: UNDERWEAR mom. She didn't pack any underwear.
Johanna's Mother: Oh, OK. I can't help you with that...

-We drive away-

At this point, if I had been in a Hilary Duff movie, I would have burst into tears and written in my diary about how nobody GETS me, and buff homecoming king Chip Davis would never date a girl who forgot to pack any underwear on a capella tour. But, to my daily chagrin, I am not Hilary Duff. So, I took the whole thing in stride and picked out a nice, simple three pack of cotton bikinis at Old Navy. I now owe Johanna about four dollars and my first born.

Here, the story pretty much comes to an end. Tour continued as planned and my new underwear served me well. No further packing emergencies came up, though I never did do anything with that curling iron. Or seven of my twelve pairs of socks. In the end, I chalked up my experiences up to the wrath of the travel gods. It's all just further evidence that I will never be free of my travel jinx. Now, find joy in my misfortune, good friends. Seriously. Go ahead.