If you all remember, my purse was usurped by a senior citizen last Sunday.
Yesterday, something exceptionally odd/wonderful/pathetic happened that inspired the following to my mom, who has probably been sweating kittens since I informed her that my social security card was now free-range:
Salom Madra:
Today [college] received an envelope addressed to yours truly with the following inside:
My college ID
My mail box key
My room key.
My Cafe Grumpy punch-card
A copy of my insurance card
My checking card
My credit card
My driver’s license
My Social Security Card
My laundry money card
My YMCA membership card (of which I am no longer a member)
Two Central Park ice skating tickets (which have since expired)
My Yogi Tea coupon (thank god… I was really fretting about that.)
A check I voided a long time ago
A phone number I had stuffed in my wallet last July. A biker was passing through Economy Drug*, and upon hearing that I was going to school in New York City, he gave me his sister’s phone number… just in case I got myself in a bind and needed someone. She’s apparently a playwright too. Needless to say, I have never called her, (her name is [redacted]) but I have half a mind to now.
Another phone number someone gave to me after work on Sunday.
And a slip of paper from Marc, fellow bartender and photographer, whom I modeled for mere minutes before the robbery. It has the directions to his abode written in blue ink.
Things missing:
My cell phone. Obviously.
My Crunch gym card. (Heh.) This hardly matters because everyone at Crunch knows me and issued me a new pass the day of, but I’m trying to imagine this funny person taking pole dancing or tai chi.
My wallet. Which was ghetto and needed to be replaced anyway.
My purse. Which I miss. Very much.
My key-chain. This was more valuable than my credit card? I am confused.
A postcard from Marc. I imagine it is hanging on her wall because it is a very pretty postcard.
My spare tampon.
The package it came in:
Was written in “old-person’s handwriting”. Undeniably. If you saw the address, you would say: “Yes. A person who has trouble holding a pen and can’t see very well most definitely wrote this.” No return address.
Good things that derived from this chaos:
I am no longer with the Sprint hos. And my phone is much cooler. (I get it tomorrow. Don’t worry… I’ll call you first.)
I HAD to buy a new wallet. And I am no longer Anchor Blue ghetto.
[Some shit here that is none of your business.]
Did I tell you I cut my hair? Again? Photos forthcoming. Peace.
Love Janet
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