Last summer, I was between "homes" for long enough that I packed quite the quantity of junk in my trunk (oh yes, baby... rarr) and it stayed there until the ignominious death of my previous kia. I had moved out of my apartment a few weeks before heading to Buenos Aires for the summer, and then took an exceptionally long time moving my stuff into the Seattle place. Also some of my stuff didn't quite fit in the new place(I still can't figure out how to get sufficient book shelf space for my personal library).
As a result, much of my "life" (as defined in material terms) remained mobile; always kind of awkward whenever I tried to cross the border for a claimed night of "dancing" in a car packed to the gills with moving boxes. This was especially good when I headed up last year to accompany a good friend of mine to a wedding. And by "good friend" I mean a tango buddy who lives in San Francisco, but has family up here. When his cousin invited him to a Vancouver wedding, he immediately recruited me so that he could dazzle his relatives with his mad tango skillz. We were to meet up at his hotel in downtown Vancouver, from which he would drive me to the wedding, which turned out to be in ... actually I have no idea where it was, except that it was many miles out of Vancouver, proper and involved a Hilton and a mall and a lot of terrifying driving on illogical highways. Oh and by "good friend," I also don't necessarily mean "good enough that I actually knew his last name. Naturally, I showed up at the border with a sum total of 1/2 my life's possessions stashed in the back - failed to clarify anything beyond that I was going to a wedding of people I'd never met at some unknown location after meeting a friend I knew of as "Sly" at a hotel somewhere in Vancouver, if he'd like to see my mapquest directions, but I couldn't say I knew of any reservation numbers or anything like that. The guard looked a little flummoxed, yet did evenually let me across. Sometimes I think they just don't care, considering how rarely I give anything approximating coherent answers as I cross the border.
Nowadays, the trunk is mostly packed full of energy bars and athletic stuff. It's gotten to the point where I have to hit the car before a run even if I'm just doing it around my apartment, because - well - as often as not, my shoes, mp3 player, etc. are all in my car. I also have a bag with my swim gear, towel, shower goods, sunscreen, deoderant, some makeup, extra socks. In my experience these things breed, so I'm hoping if I give it time, I might grow a bumper crop wardrobe out of my trunk. It is good to know, though, that should I crash my car and be consigned to many days stuck on a freeway island, I should have roughly five billion carbohydrate heavy caloric sources to sustain me. Granted, the water thing might be an issue, but hey, I have a water belt! That's like water, right? And should I go mad and decide to dance myself to death, I've got my option of different styles to dance, having both ballroom and tango shoes.
Anyways, we've all done those SAT "which of these is not like the other" questions, so I'll bet you can figure this one out too:

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