the sort of good samaritan

A few nights ago, for the first time since that time in the summer after eighth grade when i left my backpack unattended at a waterpark in Phoenix because i was too lazy/cheap to get a locker (on that same trip I was also too lazy/idiotic to use sunscreen, resulting in second degree burns on my shoulders, but that's another story), I lost my wallet. It vanished mysteriously somewhere between that last bar and my house, and I didn't notice it was gone until the next morning. I figured the most likely scenario was that it fell out of my bag when I was in the cab home (and by "fell out of my bag" I mean I probably took it out and then missed the bag in attempting to put it back...hey, it was dark in there and both bag and wallet are black.) So I spent the next day canceling cards and calling every cab dispatch office in the New York metropolitan area. After several descriptions of my lost property and resultant snickers, I started regretting getting a wallet with a dinosaur on it. By the eighth or so call I gave up hope of ever seeing my wallet, and the $200 cash, bajillion cards and paychecks that'd need replacing, and almost ten-year-old Wisconsin driver's license, again.

After a few days of carrying around my passport and borrowed cash stuffed into the pocket of my Moleskine notebook, I received a phone call from my old roommate from the East Village apartment.

"There's a package for you here with no return address."

"It doesn't happen to be wallet-sized, by any chance, does it?"

"It looks like it could contain a wallet, actually."

Lo and behold, it was my wallet. Because I have yet to give my employer my new address (we just get our checks at work), and because I put off depositing my paychecks, whoever found my wallet sent it to a most convenient place. (Procrastination, you always come through for me.) Whoever found my wallet also availed himself of all the cash (coins included!! to save on shipping costs, perhaps?), and my monthly metrocard. I would like to know what went through the wallet finder's head. I imagine it was something like, "Thanks for the new iPod, silly drunk girl. I guess I can at least give you your crap back."

Oh well, I'm just happy to be able to put off going to the New York DMV for another year. And I like the dinosaurs.

in case you haven't barfed enough lately

So I'm maybe kinda actually seeing someone, with whom I may or may not work, and who may or may not be of legal drinking age. I know I know, I'm shocked too (about the first part of the sentence at least). Almost as shocked as I'd be if I ever managed to get to the coffee shop before 1pm. Anyway, last night I had my first bartending shift, which means I closed. He used to close on Wednesdays and then a new manager started doing the schedule and didn't anymore. He was going to switch to get the closing shift (longer hours = more money), but noticed that the closing busboy was the one who has a car and has, on occasion, given me a ride home. He kept the lesser shift just so I'd get a ride. The logic is somewhat flawed in that while, yes, I saved $10 by not taking a cab, he would've made a lot more than $10 had he worked the extra hours. But still, awwwwwww. I need one of those swooning couches.

lazy!

It is 6 a.m. and I haven't managed to fall asleep since my first attempt at 2:30, so I'm up writing a little roundup article I was assigned about afterhours/24 hours places in New York. I am less disturbed by my insomnia than that it took me a good hour to realize the Alanis-esque irony of this situation. Now I feel guilty that I'm at home eating granola and dicking around on the internet rather than out inhaling Korean barbeque, drooling over computers I want but don't need, or getting creepy-sounding spa treatments.

holymotherfuckingshit

After six, count 'em, six months without internet, I am writing this from the comfort of my overly heated, unnaturally lit apartment. I used to think I could never survive without internet at home, but, apparently, I can. It's like that book we all read in 9th grade where the dude is freezing and has to kill his dog and crawl inside his still warm carcass to survive (and the title and author of which I cannot recall at this time but could probably look up now that I have the internet)--any obstacle can be overcome with enough will, determination, and patience to spend 10 hours over the course of a month speaking on the telephone with Verizon customer service representatives. Internet Garage, you will not be missed.