The Snorting Dauggers

I’m not sure the appropriate amount of need an individual has to have before its considered obsession, however recently its been my goal to build a world around a muffin-obsessed yeti that dreams and sweats and gormandizes and has panic attacks and grows and stalks and sneaks and dances; All about Muffins.

The basis is set and the story is progressing as I develop this tale of misadventure as the misunderstood biped travels into the big city in search of the desired pastries. Tearing through metal and patiently waiting in corporate american lobbies only to desire the ability to recreate from all the things known for tasting good.
The plot threads are coming together and working towards a final conclusive moment.

I’m really pretty excited about this one…
e.

It comes to me as no surprise that working approximately 22 hours within 30 can lead to misappropriation of materials and thoughts. Strangly enough, there was a conversation that recently came up regarding how much something is worth to you. Is that DVD worth the money you’d pay for it? Does it have the Director’s Commentary? Are there Portugese subtitles? Perhaps. But the cover art is shit. Worth it? To some. How much is it worth to the vagarent selling me my daily Street Wise? 5 bucks at Reckless Records in trade or the twenty-eight at Borders? All of this is relevent when applied to time and money. My friend locked her wallet in a ZipCar in the glove box. She called the customer service representative who promptly asked if she had a reservation for the vehicle? No. Isn’t it silly that you can’t let me open the car for 30 seconds to retrieve the missing object? Is there a reservation for the desired vehicle? No. Ugh.

I asked how much that wallet is worth to her. 5 bucks? 10 bucks? The 8 bucks plus-three-types-of-tax worth? She thought about it and realized that it would just be easier to get the vehicle for a hour and reclaim the lost object(s).

Now, back to the point. Last evening, after working 13.5 hours, in a cab, on the way home, I left my phone. He was a speedy guy too. And spoke english. Just my luck. Got out, walked ten feet. reached for it, realized it wasn’t there, ran back to the corner, and phhht. No tail lights anywhere. He was gone. Quickly running to my home half a block away, I grabbed Karen’s phone and repeatedly called myself. It was on vibrate. In the back seat. Twenty minutes later, dude picks up, “Yeah, I got your phone. I’m downtown. Whadda ya wanna do about it?” Karen handed the phone to me to negotiate. What is this phone worth to me??? All the numbers I’ve had for three years? Shit.

It took him five minutes and thirty dollars to come back to my apartment and return my lost property. Thank you for the aptitude for quick thinking.

Peace.

E