2002-06-03

When everything seems fucked, seems to go wrong, sometimes your pain in the ass friend pulls through and reminds you why you keep him around. After scraping out the underside of the big green boat of a car my parents' own on Bowery & Canal, whipping up a batch on pancakes that burned really well and then realizing I lost a pearl earring sometime in a 7 hour span, I was ready to pack it in, call it a day, crawl up under a slimy stone, or cry.

I can't find things. I am not very good at locating my checkbook, finding a certain sized crochet hook, dropped earrings or most annoyingly, my glasses since my ability to find things is worsened by not being able to see clearly. Loosing this earring was causing me to freak out inside. Especially since I was out for the day and would not be back home until late. It was somewhere waiting to be found or getting more lost.

While comparing relative levels of stress, over a drink before the basketball game, it was decided that Angel would help me find my earring. He lived with me, he knows how I freak when I can't find things and it's best for someone else to just find them for me. I hope the new guy is good at finding things. I hope he realizes that looking for misplaced items is just as important as paying me for bills in a timely manner.

After drinking beer from bottles and cheering along with butch-queens in the Village, Angel carefully dismantled my room, searched under furniture with flashlights and was completely determined to find my missing pearl. When a intense search of the bedroom led to the location of the earring back, there was hope but no actual pearl to be found.

I sat on my bed and Angel decided he'd look in the bathroom. I was dejected, disappointed and scripting what to say to my sister while I contemplated how much it would be to buy a replacement and not let her know. Angel was asking me where my Stevie Wonder cd was, was talking to me and asking me if I was actually answering. I wasn't. I couldn't believe my pearl was no place to be found.

He came in with a freshly opened beer and said we should celebrate. I asked what as I lifted my head to see the shiny pearl pinched between his fingers. He found it the second he walked into the bathroom and wanted to put on music and get a beer to celebrate it being found.

And when he left to go home, he checked my jewelry box to make sure it was still there, made me promise to never sleep with them on again and said he'd look for it again even if I did sleep with them in. And part of that stress went away, and I could sleep safely knowing I had my pearls.

The car situation is something else entirely. If I can walk into the auto shop with two pearls in, it just makes it more tolerable.