Near crisis in my Material World

This is so stupid I had to tell someone.

So last Tuesday I left a pair of earrings at Matt and Greg's that I had taken off because I was hula-hooping. (Note to self: get a hula-hoop.) I picked them up the next time I was over there and put them into the little inner pocket of my purse. You know the one: the one where anything you don't want readily available to the first person you ask to grab your keys. Tampons, condoms, anything vagina related, oftentimes cold medicine, band-aids, etc. The point is, that's where I put my earrings.

Let me say right now that I have a bad habit of losing earrings. I don't lose both of them, I only ever lose one. And it's usually from a pair I really like and wear all the time. So since I love that stupid earring, I can't get rid of it and it goes into my craft bag/single-earring-graveyard until I can find a way to keep it with me.

The earrings I put into my purse were, without a doubt, my very favorites. Big blue circles of shell, kind of shiny and sparkly but never over the top. I get compliments on them nearly every time I wear them. These are my go-to earrings in a pinch. So of course, when I went to fish them out about half an hour ago and I found ONE... I was displeased.

I refused to believe it. Not a-fucking-gain.
Even though I was at work, I pulled all my unmentionables out into my lap, praying that the moving guys carting the piano upstairs would not come in to ask me anything right at this moment.
But it wasn't there.
Shit. Shit shit shit.

Now here's something you need to know about my purse: it eats things. No, really. It wasn't until I couldn't find my wallet but felt it in my enourmous bag that I discovered the giant hole in the lining. I pulled out the hair pomade I thought I lost, about $2 in change and pens that I kept accusing people of stealing. This was the first place I went to looking for the earring.
Nope.
FUCK.
I pulled everything out of my purse. My purse is the size of some people's backpacks, so that's a lot of stuff.
Nowhere.
It was about this point that I actually began to panic. These weren't anything that I could replace. I got them at some store in Canada that I was probably never going to see again. I'd already cursed the day that I didn't buy every color they had of these earrings. More than that, I really liked them. I started getting way too worked up about the earrings. In a fit of refusal to let them go, I made a huge sweep in the underlining of my purse, feeling around every square inch of available space.
And there it was. A little worse for wear, stuck underneath the bottom-most interior of my bag. But there.

I need to keep better track of my earrings.
And maybe, just maybe, I need a smaller purse.

Gettin' that old "consumer" feeling all over again.

Maybe I can pin this on Greg. He keeps talking about new clothes and stuff and it's making me go, "Awwwwwwwww, I want new clothes too!" But it doesn't stop there, mostly because I won't allow myself to go shopping in this condition (heaven forbid I come home with a full new outfit). I browsed around online at stuff, gradually scaling down to the "sale" category items. That was when things took a whole new turn. Apartment goods.

With the possibility of an impending move lurking in my head, I can't help but a) take inventory of what I have and b) figure out what I need to get while c) discovering many things I don't need, could use but can't afford. Ah, the most depressing category. But at least with these there's no real danger of me buying them.

Alas, then I begin to plot out cheap items that I need (good Dana) in addition to things that are of no real consequence but don't cost much either (back on track, cowgirl!). This category is why IKEA is so damn dangerous. If you don't go in there with a list on a search and destroy mission, you are coming out with a set of Fler candles and holders ($4.99) or the Slatthult wall decals ($15.99), nay, or both!

But this sets me on maybe the most dangerous track of all: trying to make my apartment look cool without having to pay too much. Which will inevitably end up costing more than I expect and taking up large tracts of time as I sew pillows out of some damn Swedish fabric inexplicably named Belinda, affordably priced at $3.99 a yard.

I better just buy those fucking $10 shoes and get it over with.

You know, just in case.

Been reading a few issues of Entertainment Weekly that I've been neglecting and you know, they're making me think.

Oh, no, not in a relevatory, life-changing, "what am I doing with my life/career?" type of way. No no no. EW, as much as I love it, doesn't generate that kind of thought. Except that Chris Nashawaty article on Jackie Earle Haley. Seriously.

Anyhow, I was reading all these articles where celebrities are like, "Oh I'm really into this right now and this book/author is absolutely tops and I can't live without this food and this is my favorite album ever."
And it got me thinking.
Well, first it got me thinking "Oooh, what would I say if I were famous and being asked about my favorite things?" And I was eating these Trader Joe's Everything-flavor Pretzel Slims. This was how my thought process was going...

"I'd definitely say these pretzel things. Trader Joe's in general. Food in more general. Food. Wine." (looking around) "There's that Anthony Bourdain book. Not crazy about this one, but Anthony Bourdain could be on the list. Oh, there's my planner. Day planners. Yeah. Can't live without them. And post-its. I really like the color of my planner. That shade of blue; that's going on the list. Hmmmmmm..." (looking more) "Those cheap, semi-disposable Glad-Ware containers. Can't live without those. Food. Already have that. Alright, music. Ummmm, what's in my CD player? What was the last song I listened to? Yeah. THAT's going on the list..."

And on and on.

This could go on forever. I would hate to be the person who interviewed me and asked about my favorite things. They'd have to devote an entire issue to me. Plus, most of them would be things that were immediately in front of me or fresh in my mind. By the time the issue came out, I might not even like half of them anymore. It would be about as useful as the damn In/Out/Five Minutes Ago "Shaw Report".

Latest EW issue says...
In: Plumcots.
Out: Tangelos.
Five minutes Ago: Tomaccos.

*sigh*

I've just exahusted myself.
I need some coffee.
Coffee is definitely on the list.

That was close... too close...

So, upon heading out to my car this morning, I saw something on my windshield.

I went closer. It was a piece of paper.
Shit.
A little closer. Too large to be a ticket.
Whew!
I grab the paper.
It reads, "Can you please call me; you hit my front bumper. My number is blah blah blah, Thanks, Erick."

Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck.

So I go home, get myself ready for work and head out, the whole time worrying about this note. I have to call him. Chances are if he wrote out a full note on blank computer paper, he got my license plate. Not calling would make everything worse. What if he's an extortionist? What if he saw the dent in my back bumper and decided he was going to try and milk some money out of me (not knowing that this cow is pretty dry)? What if I did hit him and cause damage? Should I just pay the guy what he wants? I can't pay to cosmetically fix my own car, let alone his! Should I just go to my insurance company, let them handle it and then charge me out the wazoo? I can't afford to lose my "good driver" status!

So I called him.
Just a little paint scratch. One of many for him. He was planning on repainting the bumper anyway. This has just been happening to him a lot since he moved to LA a year ago. He was very understanding and doesn't want anything from me. He just wanted me to know and to be more careful.
And I'm grateful.
And hugely relieved.
But at the same time, I can't help thinking,
"Welcome to LA, buddy. If this is the worst that happens to you, count yourself lucky."

But still... WHEW!

This is how I know Greg is bored.

When Greg is bored, he reads my blog. If the last posting is really old, he'll bug me to put up a new one. This is cannot fault him for because, frankly, I do the same thing to him. Ha ha.

Well, frankly, I'm kind of bored too. Not in a "dear god please kill me" kind of way but more in a "the day has just begun and I'm idle" way.

Thoughts for the day:

Weak coffee with Irish Cream Coffeemate will always make me think of high-school and the music hallway.

Most jobs that I bitch and moan about, when I think about it, aren't really that bad. And I don't really mind them that much.

I am a wimp. Anytime I do something remotely physical, I hurt the next day. However, I highly doubt this will lead me to exercise.

I have no idea why most peanut butters have so much damn sugar.

I wonder if a peanutbutter-peach pie would be any good. Someone asked me about htis combination the other day. I think it could work.

I think my shoe is going to break. I figure I'll wear it until it does... but it's really going to suck when I'm out somewhere for the day with a broken shoe.

I am really glad that Dynamite Kablammo is still together.

Meh, that's all for now.