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So, yesterday, they wouldn’t let me on my flight out of Dulles. My passport expires Jan. 25, 2010, but apparently, the country where you are going decides when your passport is expired to them. Some countries require your passport to be valid 6 months after your arrival date. Some 30 days. Some don’t care.

Costa Rica cares. Since Jan. 25 is more than 30 days from yesterday (Dec. 29), I was not allowed to check in. Meanwhile, in Atlanta, my mother checked in fine (her passport expires the same day as mine), and my cousin in Charlotte checked in fine (hers expires Jan. 20). I had to go down to the national passport office and wait in line all day for an emergency “duress” passport renewal.

And by the time I could call my family to tell them I wasn’t on my flights (my parents didn’t have their cell phones), they didn’t understand what was happening. They didn’t understand why I was detained and they weren’t. They thought I was lying. Yeah. I’m lying so that I can get up two days in a row at 4 a.m. and ride the Super Shuttle out to Dulles (oh yeah, and through all this, my car is broken down in the shop). I’m lying so I can spend all day in maximum security with armed guards at the passport agency. I’m lying so I can spend $25 on crappy photos of myself. I’m lying so I can spend an extra night at my house not sleeping and checking the clock every twenty minutes worrying I’ve missed my flight. And I’m lying so I can fly to San Jose airport alone and ride a van, alone as well, over the mountains through coffee country for three hours.

The other part is I don’t even know if they have gotten any of the messages that I’m coming. That I’ll be there this afternoon and not to worry. They probably think I’m sitting at home lounging in the luxurious accomodations of my 600-square-foot apartment watching stuff on Tivo instead of hanging out for a three-hour layover in Charlotte with my co-passengers that look like actual adventurous people with functional carabeaners (not just keychains) on their backpacks, or people out of some sort of J. Crew travel catalog of perfectly-pressed mid-winter resort-travel-wear. I swear there’s a woman across from me wearing a parka over a floor-length sundress with platform sandals. What the hell am I doing wrong?