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And so, my mantra was born. I kept saying to myself, "I'm going to Paris, I'm going to Paris." Still, I feared going to the highest peaks right away and proclaiming my decision. I knew all too well that I've made grand decisions before that didn't pan out. I didn't want this trip to be one of those.

When I met up with Eric later, he proved to be supportive of my idea, though not really excited by my suggestion to travel to Europe. While he liked the idea to travel and broaden our horizons, he just didn't have any romantic attachment to Paris or Europe. As we walked to the dollar theatre, we concurred that we must consult with our good friend John Wade immediately. Outside the theatre, I told John of my travel idea. "Do it!" he told me. Surprisingly, he thought it was a great idea and told us enthusiastically to go for it, that it'd be "a life changing experience." I think even Eric was blown away by his enthusiasm for the idea. Having traveled through Europe himself, John shared some of his favorite places to visit. My mind reeled with more possibilites as I began to plan, plot, and scheme how to make the trip actually happen.

Certainly, I wanted to leave immediately. I wanted to flee the programming, the fiberglass dust, the work, and the responsibilities at once! Unfortunately, it just wasn't possible to get out of the country on that short of notice, especially without a passport. And to get a passport, I needed to request an official copy of my birth certificate from some dusty drawer in southern California. I knew my family wouldn't be forthcoming with the document. I'd asked before. No, they'd ignore my request. Optimistically I'd assume they were just too busy to respond to my attempts at communicating with them, that they meant well, but life circumstances kept on somehow preventing them from sending any form of communication to me. Right, and my brother the atheist probably dropped his bible on his foot on the way to pick up my phone call.

And so, in parallel to my family request, I found myself ordering an express copy of the blasted certificate though VitalChek. Of course, its not that simple. After the online submission, I had 5 days to get an identity check form printed, notarized, and faxed in. Now where the hell are you going to find a notary public at 4 pm on a friday afternoon? They just don't exist. No, the odd species of notary public works only until about 3 or 3:30 pm at which point they burrow underground in fear that the bloodied blundersnatch shall devour them and their precious array of stamping paraphernalia. To add to my unease, Monday was a holiday. I started to wonder how VitalCheck defined 'day.'

Finally, on Tuesday we trudged up the long and dusty Sand Island Access Rd. to catch the bus to the notary and then to my job's weekly meeting. Eric suggested that we take the 19 bus rather than the more direct but further A-bus. Ambivalent about the idea, I decided to acquiesce. All went according to plan for a while. We boarded the bus, and the bus trudged along at the speed of snail, stopping near Best Buy to pick up a person in a wheelchair. The wheelchair ramp descended, the person got on, the wheelchair ramp went... umm... the wheelchair ramp went... hmmm. The driver got out and jumped up and down on the ramp, kicked it a few times, toggled the button to raise it a dozen more times, but the ramp wouldn't ascend. No matter how much the drive, passengers, the mechanic, or the transit supervisor poked and pried the ramp, it just wouldn't budge. Eventually, a half hour later, another 19 bus moseyed along to claim us. Unfortunately, this significant bus delay meant we arrived at the banks' notary desk 10 minutes after the notary went on her 1 1/2 hour lunch break.

Eric told me to go wait in line for a teller while he inquired to a worker. A minute later, Eric pulled me out of line. The worker had called up and the notary said she'd wait for us. We scaled the vast staircase in this, the premier branch of the First Hawaiian Bank, up to the next level. A woman ferried pieces of artwork up and down the staircase with an air of purpose. We meanedered past the cubicles, were redirected to another distant area of the cubicle farm and finally found the fairy-laden desk of the notary. Alas, the desk sat vacant, the frilly fairies without their owner. The office neighbor though, told us she'd be right out. I started to get visions of Dorothy approaching the grand wizard of Oz.

Minutes later, the fairy keeper arrived, stamped, signed, stamped, signed, frowned at the California law requirements, crossed out 'California', penned in 'Hawaii', stamped and signed some more, stamped another piece of paper, stapled the paper to the original document, drew a pentagram, lit candles, chanted to the gods to bless this document and to smite those who would abuse its terms, snuffed the candles, cleaned up the brimstone, and handed us the paper. Surprisingly she told us there was no charge, though I did double check to make sure my soul still belonged to me.