Thursday, November 13, 2008

Motherfucker.

So I think most of my readers know that I always try to find the silver lining when bad things happen to me.

Losing my Ipod in a sewer? Hilariously random.

Losing my glasses in a cemetary? An excellent opportunity to talk about The Vaj and innapropriate porn.

Losing my adorable in a freak encounter with scissors? Compare to mushroom cut and let giggles ensue.

But today I've met my toughest match yet. Picture it:

At about 9.02am I get an email from a colleague about going to get gourmet poutine for lunch. Clearly, this set my day off to an awesome start (fries + poutine + gravy = Jesus' special gift to me) - I attack my to-do list with zeal, make some challenging phone calls I've been putting off until I was in a greatest-ever-nothing-can-get-me-down mood, and had a mini-heart-to-heart with a friend in need so I could pass on some of my poutine-inspired positivity.

So lunchtime rolls around and we set off with zeal for the Gilead Cafe, home of the city's trendiest and (apparently) most delicious poutine. We were discussing taking the streetcar over when my pal Erika realized she didn't have any change for the TTC. Because I was in such an amazingly good mood, I offered up a tradesies - her bills for my tokens. We did the exchange, I put her crisp fiver in my wallet, and put my wallet away in my bag. About 5 minutes down the road, just after we exited the sketchy stretch of street outside my office (I call it hobo-ville, and I actually think I'm describing it kindly) and entered the swanky Victoria & King swath of stores that sell expensive things I'll never need, I realized my purse was feeling really light. I scanned my brain thinking about what I might have forgotten at home this morning that normally would weigh my bag down (book? keys? vitamin water?)... and realized I had forgotten nothing.

And then a wave of panic hit me: where's my wallet? Do I have my wallet?

After a frantic search, examing every pocket, every nook, every cranny, even my friend's bag I realize it's gone.

Motherfucking GONE.

I deduce it must have fallen when I put it back in my bag. I was in such a poutine-induced trance that I wasn't paying much attention and might have done the old mistaking-where-the-actual-hole-is game (that'swhatshesaid) and missed the gaping mouth of my purse and it slid to the ground.

Or I got pick-pocketed.

In which case, have fun QuickFingers fucking MacGee because I had $5 in there and cancelled my cards within 5 minutes of realizing the wallet was missing. So, you know, enjoy my fucking pocket change. I hope it buys you your dreams. Or at least 1/2 a latte from Starbucks. Asshole.

I see no silver lining, just a lot of really fucking annoying bureaucratic red tape. And no ID for my trip to Chicago next weekend (aside from my passport, which is at home THANK GOD). And a new health card that expires every 5 years. And a lot of missing shit that I can't remember I had in there and probably won't remember until I get to Blockbuster to rent Superbad for the 50th time and realize I no longer have my Blockbuster card.

And honestly? Not helping that it's freezing and rainy and dark already and it's only fucking 4.53pm.

I want to be back in California, land of light and sand and beach and James Van Der Beek. Land of places my wallet was. Land of tan and giant pancakes.

Land of Britney's vagina.

(Hey, at least I tried.)

2 comments:

leon said...

i love yer hair!

Anonymous said...

as fun as it is to see the word "motherfucker" everytime i go to your blog. i miss the updates!

-jess