327

Anyone who knows me really well knows that I love the number 327. It was the number of the house I lived in when I lived in PA, years upon years ago, and ever since then, the number has been branded in my mind.

I see that number everywhere. I count it as a lucky thing, but don't think I'm superstitious. I'm not. I just love this number. Or any combination of the three numbers. They just stick out like fireworks over Boston on New Years Eve. My mom joked tonight that I should marry someone who was born on March 27 (3/27) or July 23 (7/23). I, of course, thought that was awesome.

So today I had a brilliant idea while driving home. I saw the mile marker which numbered 347. A simple deduction told me which way I would have to go in order for the numbers to start going down (somewhere on the south side of Moscow, I think), so I formed a plan. Tomorrow morning I'm going to take a little trip. Go on a treasure hunt, if you will, and will (hopefully) find that mile marker reading 327. I could probably google it and find where it is, but it would be more fun to just follow the road. I'll take my camera, a snack, and set out to find that green and white 327.

Wish me luck.