Oh how silly I felt as I reached into my pocket to find not a wallet. Usually that pocket contains a wallet, so not a wallet was not what I had expected. I had already been through the whole lost wallet thing once this year and I thought I’d like it if that was the maximum number of times I did so.

Luckily I found the wallet in my apartment. False alarm everybody. But here is the thing: It seems like every time I take my wallet out of my coat, I lose it. Today I went to the school bookstore to get my superexpensive books for my classes, right? They don’t let you take your bags with you into the bookstore, I assume to prevent stealing (because broke students would clearly benefit from having their superexpensive books for free and we can’t have that), and I left my coat with the bag. I wasn’t wearing the coat, just carrying it around (it is like my security blanket as those who know me already know) so leaving it with the bag made more sense to me than putting it on. Thus, I took my wallet from the coat! Anyway, I guess after I bought the superexpensive books (they were appropriately superexpensive), I stuck my wallet in my pants pocket, gathered my stuff, went home, and dumped my pockets. When I left, I gathered my phone and keys, but not the wallet. What an idiot! What an imbecile!

Anyway, when I went back to the bookstore because I had to buy one more superexpensive book, I didn’t have my wallet. I headed back to the apartment, on the way encountering and petting a black cat. I took the kitty visitation as a sign of good luck and, sure enough, my wallet was found. Hooray. But I’m too tired to go back outside tonight, so I will buy the superexpensive book I still need tomorrow.

Now, you may not have noticed, but I have just used the story of my wallet as a framing device to mask my real point. I think the books I’m buying are a touch expensive. If only we lived in a futuristic age wherein a digital copy of all relevant information could easily be distributed to all who were trying to learn! What a shame it is that that is beyond our technical limitations.

Okay, so I lost my wallet today. Marq and I had gone to see Cabin in the Woods (my second viewing, it being an excellent film) and as we got up to leave I said “I feel like I’m missing something,” but apparently I did not investigate hard enough because after Marq headed off on his way home I realized I had a new wallet-sized amount of air in my pocket. Sucks for me!

The staff of the theatre have taken my number and will call me if it is found (and I checked the ground between the cinema and the bus stop twice), but I’ve already had to cancel credit cards. This is a hassle and I am right now going to remind myself: When you get the new credit card, PDR, make sure to update all the things, including this site, which are paid for by that card. Do not lose this site.

Haiku!

Wallets hold money.
This is their primary use.
They can also sing.

My wallet (one of the non-singing variety) did not have much money in it, but apart from the aforementioned cards it did have my health card, a id card for work, and a Subway gift card with like 16 bucks on it. I hope it is found.

I lost a wallet once before, years ago, and have a mildly interesting story I might as well put on the Internet: I had found and returned a purse a few weeks earlier and been given a twenty dollar bill as a reward even though I didn’t want to take it. I had pinned that twenty to my bulletin board intent on not spending it. So when my wallet went missing (evidently falling out of my pants while I was skateboarding. This is why I prefer to keep my wallet in my trenchcoat pockets. These have yet to let me down, as my wallet had also been in my pants today. Pants are stupid), I got a call from some nice guy who had found it and I decided to give the very same twenty I had got to this guy. I choose to believe the same bill went on to be passed from person to person as a reward for things to this day, but this is unlikely. But still, it would be nice.

As I left the elevator, two young men were getting on. As I proceeded across the lobby I heard one of them say something along the lines of “Did you see that? That guy was packing!” and I don’t know what that was about.

• “Packing heat?” I was unarmed. Perhaps it was just one of those trenchcoat stereotype things?
• “Packing wood?” I had no erection. Perhaps my pants bunched up to make it look like I did?
• “Packing a lunch?” I didn’t have any food. Perhaps the guy smelled food and assume I was making lunch for myself?
• “Packing on the pounds?” No more so than usual. Perhaps that guy saw me a lot when I was really thin and has not seen me since?
• “Packing more than you bargained for?” I don’t think I am. Perhaps I am?
• “Packing for a trip?” I had no luggage. Perhaps the fact I was walking was equated with travelling in that dude’s head and he assumed I was preparing to leave?
• “Packing fudge?” I was not engaging in homosexual intercourse. Perhaps sometimes when I get off elevators I look like I’m doing gay sex?
• “Packing the buck?” The word is supposed to be passing. Perhaps that guy doesn’t know idioms well?
• “Packing peanuts?” I am not made from styrofoam. Perhaps I look like I would keep valuables safe during shipping?
• “Packing smashers?” I don’t think that means anything. Perhaps that means something?

So anyway, I don’t know what’s up, but I might be packing. Just… keep that in mind.

Those of you who follow my life religiously and commit every detail to memory will recall the time I got hassled by the fuzz for just walking at night a couple years back. It just happened again. Once again I use this site as a place to log my time on the wrong side of the law.

There were some differences beyond it being two years later, of course. Take a moment to familiarize yourselves with the details of the old case and I will compare. This time I was dressed in all kinds of black clothing again, but instead of the rebel insignia, I was wearing a shirt with the Venture Brothers logo designed to look like a skull. I was stopped in front of the same gas station as before, but there was no backup. And instead of an attractive woman, the cop was a man. Still pretty attractive though, if you’re into that sort of thing. And I got some details on exactly why I was being questioned. Apparently it went beyond walking around a four in the morning. Get this: A man around my height with dark clothing has been, wait for it, Exposing Himself To People. I match the description of a Flasher.

You know, trenchcoats have a bad reputation, but usually I just have put up with the stereotype of dressing like all those idiot school shooters and psychotic loners and stuff. I mean, sure, I’ve had people comment on flashers wearing trenchcoats before, but generally that negative stereotype of we trenchcoat wearers is mentioned only occasionally. Now, the copper said the flasherman was wearing “dark clothes” so I don’t even know if he actually was wearing a trenchcoat himself or not. Either way, I hope he’s freakin’ happy making it just that much harder for people like me to wear trenchcoats and not be evil and suspicious looking.

Oh well. Stay tuned for the next adventure of PDR vs. RCMP, whenever it may occur.

I’m not sure why, but it feels so right to be wearing a trenchcoat with bare feet. I only wish I could find some reason to do that more often.

Also, I wish to learn to swim. But without a pool or a lake or anything, that would be difficult. The bathtub is a huge disappointment in this field. If I were rich enough, I would have a pool in which to teach myself. It would be great. Greater than five sandwiches.