Poor, Poor Pitiful Me

10 Apr

The past couple of weeks I’ve been cooking up a huge pot of self-pity stock with which to make a hearty pathetic stew. The meat will be a fine cut of wretched beast and the vegetables an assorted mix of anxiety, fear and intermittent rage tubers. The noodles are homemade from stress and the whole thing seasoned with my bitch tears.

I don’t handle stress super well. Like everyone on the face of the planet at some point your shit comes up snake eyes and bad things snowball to the point where you are fully prepared to snap, headbutt the nearest human being and flee weeping and screaming into the night to be picked up by the Po-Po three counties away, naked and drunk.

It all started last Saturday when my purse was snatched from the back office of Das Hotelenstein. There was a doorstop propping the door open and sure as the goddamned sun rises that was the day a passing fuck of a junkie took the opportunity.

BAM. Purse gone. I was only alerted to the fact that it had been stolen because when that ass face was running away with it my phone dialed the last number called. Which was my boss, who called and wanted to know what I wanted. I hadn’t even gone back to check before I knew I’d been jacked.

I had to call the police, make a report and then stand there as I was blamed for the whole affair. Then I was written up for it. Even though I wasn’t the one who put that fucking doorstop there in the first place and wasn’t the one to forget to kick it out.


My boyfriend , Mark , was a prince. When I called in a panic, asking if he would please, please bring my laptop so I could shut down my bank accounts he was there within ten minutes. Then he patrolled the garages and side streets looking for the son of a bitch that took my shit. He found the scattered remains of my belongings in the lower car park which included the purse itself, my house keys and my kindle. It’s odd that he took the wallet and other electronics but discarded my Ereader. I suppose crackheads aren’t big readers.

Then in the midst of trying to fix my accounts and replace my debit cards I begin receiving emails from the harpy that runs our building accusing me of being late on rent and running a gigolo lounge.


Then came the pissed off email marked with double exclamation points from my other boss asking why I accepted a cash walk in at 3 AM. Ahhhh, That guy hates me.

Then returning to Das Hotelenstien to be called “Dumb” for getting robbed.  Then get my write up for it. Then wonder if my cards will come in in time to pay for my books for Stumptown Comics Fest…

Oh, but Stumptown…In five days I will be in the loving arms of Erika Moen and her sultry hunk of man, Matt. I’ll be free wheeling around that north western paradise with my hipster peeps…Doing lines of caviar off of Adam Elliss‘ tramp stamp.

So more funny to come. As soon as I can stop dreaming about being covered in spiders and missing flights and dragging myself into work day to day and maybe find the time to wash my underwear.

Five days, five days, five days and I’ll be normal again.

Thanks for reading guys.


7 Responses to “Poor, Poor Pitiful Me”

  1. Jana April 10, 2011 at 9:43 am #

    ): I am sorry your things got stolen AND that you were wrongfully blamed for it. Bosses will blame anyone they can so long as it isn’t them. They are bitches.

    I hope you have a great time at Stumptown and stumble upon possibly thousands of dollars just lying around (or win the lottery, I don’t know). (:

  2. Simone April 10, 2011 at 10:18 am #

    Boo, that sounds like a shitty series of events. Work sucks, but getting written up for stupid shit is the worst because you feel so powerless. Take a deep breath, drink some wine, and remember: life will get better. But hey! You got a funny blog post out of it, you have a sweetie of a boyfriend who found some of your stuff, and you’re going to a cool comic-thingy soon!

    I love the way you started this post off. Love the imagery.

    Keep ya head up.

  3. Ayla April 10, 2011 at 3:59 pm #

    So wait. How is getting your purse stolen even remotely your fault?

  4. Lynn April 10, 2011 at 7:11 pm #

    I’m so sorry to hear all that. :((( If I could I would give you a big hug right now. And bourbon. Lots of bourbon.

  5. erica April 11, 2011 at 9:43 pm #

    Dude. Sometimes life makes love to you, sometimes it’s like bend over and suck my cock. I have frequently forcibly sucked of this cock. You have karma of extra awesome Stumptown headed your way 🙂

    I think it’s cool that you get to work a late night job during the loony magical hours of SF crazy times, but you deserve to do it with a much better breed of captain. Like waitress at Orphan Andy’s. Or sort mail at the post office–they’re government so they’re lifers who don’t give a shit, and I bet they’re hilarious at 3am. Or a bakery.

    -erica, former san franciscan, lifer who doesn’t give a shit

  6. Sawyer April 12, 2011 at 8:12 am #

    The fact that you were blamed for being robbed and then WRITTEN UP for it make this situation so infuriatingly unfair that I would gladly leave a shitty review of your boss’s customer service out of sheer spite, while swearing up and down that you saved me from a rampaging crackwhore. That was a run-on sentence, but indulge me my rage.

    Have a good time at Stumptown!

  7. Andrew Farago April 14, 2011 at 3:55 pm #

    We’re going through the “why did you do that” thing now as US Airways finds new and creative ways to tell us why they’re allowed to steal things out of your luggage.

    They haven’t come right out and said “if you cared about your computer, why did you trust us with it?”, but way too many other people have.

    See you in Portland! We’ll all get drunk and commiserate.

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