Losing my shit in so many ways
Ok, I have to say: rolling with Taco and Jedno was fucking awesome.
And I really do mean that, despite the fact that the various festivities of the past three weeks have cost me several valuable things. And I'm not even talking about the assorted dents put into my dignity and my immortal soul.
Let's have a look, shall we? Since April 15, I have lost:
The aforementioned cell phone.
A grey wool sweater. I loved that thing, even though there was a big-ass hole in the elbow and several incipient ones under the armpits, making it the epitome of what my mother refers to as "Throw that damn thing away, you look like Please Send to Care." Alas, I foolishly left it hanging from the strap of my backpack, and it fell off during one of our mad dashes to make a train. You win, Berlin Ostbahnhof, you win.
A fucking awesome black cord jacket.Such a good jacket; next to my combat boots it's the item of clothing I've worn most this year. Tragically, it was a casualty of a severely intoxicated Dresden jaunt, somewhere between the Nintendo playing with the hash-smoking bartenders*, and the inebriated trying-to-find-our-hostel. Taco went back to look for it the next day, but no dice. I'll miss it a lot, particularly since it contained, in the left breast pocket:
Every single little plastic card in my possession. You know, the ones with stamped lettering and magnetic strips and all. Those plastic cards. Yeah. What I'm sayin'. Just to savor the exquisite pain a little more, let's enumerate them:
*The bartenders were smoking the pot! Not us! Just in case you're reading this, Mom! Which I hope you're not!
**I hope. Ixnay on the empted-tay, Fate.
And I really do mean that, despite the fact that the various festivities of the past three weeks have cost me several valuable things. And I'm not even talking about the assorted dents put into my dignity and my immortal soul.
Let's have a look, shall we? Since April 15, I have lost:
The aforementioned cell phone.
A grey wool sweater. I loved that thing, even though there was a big-ass hole in the elbow and several incipient ones under the armpits, making it the epitome of what my mother refers to as "Throw that damn thing away, you look like Please Send to Care." Alas, I foolishly left it hanging from the strap of my backpack, and it fell off during one of our mad dashes to make a train. You win, Berlin Ostbahnhof, you win.
A fucking awesome black cord jacket.Such a good jacket; next to my combat boots it's the item of clothing I've worn most this year. Tragically, it was a casualty of a severely intoxicated Dresden jaunt, somewhere between the Nintendo playing with the hash-smoking bartenders*, and the inebriated trying-to-find-our-hostel. Taco went back to look for it the next day, but no dice. I'll miss it a lot, particularly since it contained, in the left breast pocket:
Every single little plastic card in my possession. You know, the ones with stamped lettering and magnetic strips and all. Those plastic cards. Yeah. What I'm sayin'. Just to savor the exquisite pain a little more, let's enumerate them:
- My debit card.
- My credit card.
- My Czech Republic health insurance card.
- A 10 Euro phone card, which is a minor but annoying loss.
- My key card, which I need to open the front door of my apartment building.
*The bartenders were smoking the pot! Not us! Just in case you're reading this, Mom! Which I hope you're not!
**I hope. Ixnay on the empted-tay, Fate.
posted by ridley at 5/04/2005 01:51:00 PM
5 Comments:
Well, at least you lost the stuff and are pretty sure there's no way to get it back. So, you know, you can focus on getting over it. In the last week, both my discman and a newish pair of Converse All-Stars have gone missing (definitely taken, not lost), and I'm going crazy trying to figure out who on campus could possibly have them. It's a small place! Who would have the gall to nick them right out from under my nose?
--Catherine
Plus, who the hell wants someone else's shoes?? Newish or not, that's kind of ooky...
Hope you find your shtuff. Mine, alas, is gone forever.
were they smoking the hash?
.
.
.
.
.
huh.
weird.
-taco the soopermexican
I'm awfully sorry about your lost things but you are still with us which is a great blessing!
Now, we know that other person, Jedno, similar in nature and in the same locale has a date to return. And you?
Having grown up with a brother and being the mother of sons, no one should discount the possibility that boys would wear someone else's shoes, new or otherwise. Or unmentionables for that matter. In fact, the Household (Brothers of the Eternal Song) my son Michael is in at Steubenville has a shoe box. Any shoes you don't wear on a daily basis live in that box and if you find yourself in need of a pair of Converse, Rockports, flops, nasty whatevers, you take them and wear them. And when you are through you put them back. I guess the most we can hope for is that socks, preferably clean, were worn while wearing said shoes.
The Moral:
Marrying a man who hides his socks, hairbrush, razor and various other unmentionables from his sons (and now daughters) is not such a bad choice.
God Bless, Kitty
Taco: I think so. It smelled like that weird European thing where they mix hash and tobacco.
Disclaimer: My friends told me this info! It is not experiential in any way!
Kitty: ETA stateside as yet unknown. But probably early July.
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