bad times in Philadelphia

WHAT -- a weekend.  if this holiday weekend were a mixed drink, i'd tell you not to make it again; however, if you were to do so, you'd need one part fun, two parts anger, three parts frustration, and one part much-needed therapeutic drunkenness.  garnish with a few tears.


let me elaborate.


Saturday night i was out on what was shaping up to be a really fun second date with a tall lawyer when my phone begins ringing repeatedly.  it was one of my roommates.  of course i immediately feared that something bad had happened.  it had.  


i rushed home to find my roommate Moody talking with police officers, as our apartment had been burgled within the short, two-hour period between the time that i left for my date and when the roommate got home from his.  despite the police officers' warnings to leave everything as the fu@$%ng criminal pieces of s&%t (hereinafter, fcpos's) had left it, i ran around checking to see what was taken.  at first, it appeared that not much was taken.  the fcpos's left our flat-screen televisions and my four bottles of vodka, so i wasn't too alarmed about my weekend plans being ruined.  oh wait ---- 


every small, portable and prized valuable was taken.  our laptops.  our watches.  our backpacks.  our jewelry.  my prescription eyeglasses (who the -- why would -- whatever).  just things, i know.  i've told myself repeatedly that they're just things, but i haven't been convinced.  because my roommate's watch wasn't just a super nice watch; it was a gift from a family member.  and our laptops aren't just electronics, but they contain so much information -- mine contained almost seven years of my music, my writing, my photographs, my favorite po--- um -- websites.  and yes, it's almost all backed up, thank Buddha.  but some of it's missing, and worst of all, some fcpos out there has MY STUFF and MY INFORMATION.  i'm so angry right now.  angry again.  angry still. angry FOREVZ.


and then worst of all, for me:  my backpack -- you know, my North Face "hiking" backpack that came with a wine/water pouch and drinking tube.  not because it's a nice one and it was a great gift from Moody that i wouldn't have bought for myself because it was expensive, but because it contained so much.  the journal i had kept since high school.  that's where the tear garnish comes in.  that's the worst for me.  my roommates have their own worst losses from this event, but mine is the journal.


so i do the only thing i know how to do: i shift into attorney mode and try to think ahead, rather than to be emotional. 

• first we demanded that the locks be changed (did i mention that there was no forced entry? long story.).  the locks to our building and apartment were changed within hours, thanks to Shaunice's screaming.  
• next we catalogued every item missing and looked up either cost or replacement value.  
• then i pulled out the only laptop left in our house (again, thank you Buddha for the one) and drafted a demand letter to several potentially responsible parties.  someone is responsible for our loss, and i'm happy to let the Philadelphia civil court system sort it out if necessary.  i'd be happy to tell you details, but i shouldn't do that right now.
• now we wait, but not patiently; rather, we make life miserable for our apartment management company until we get somewhere.  

 i'm ready for this weekend to be over.  i'm angry and in a bad mood, and drinking my feelings only works for so long.