July, 2009:

If you found an inanimate object, say for example, oh I don’t know, a little black notebook in one of the conference areas at the Sheraton Hotel in Chicago, a notebook that did not belong to you, as evidenced by the contact information on the inside cover that is NOT YOUR NAME and NOT YOUR EMAIL ADDRESS, would you turn it in to Lost and Found or maybe even contact the owner yourself to return it? You would? Really?

Then where the hell were YOU when I lost it this weekend? Because I needed YOU to find my frickin’ notebook that had all kinds of random notes I’d been collecting at the Blogger’s Conference That Shall Not Be Named (because so many people are sick of hearing about it).

I realize Moleskine notebooks are coveted by some, but even when they are already used? Who keeps those to themselves?

You’re probably about to ask, “Well, what did you have in it?” and you’d be a fairly reasonable person to ask such a thing. Except if I knew the answer to that question, then I wouldn’t need to find it now, would I?  In fact, the whole reason I write stuff down is because I immediately forget it and need it for reference later.

I cried to my fellow indifferent bloggers who gave me the obligatory “Oh, I’m sure it will turn up. Lost and Found will eventually have it.” When what they really meant was, “Quit your belly-aching you big baby. Why were you, a blogger, a person who spends all her time on a computer writing all the time, why were you writing long hand in a notebook? Idiot.”

And they would have a good point, actually, because I recently lost ANOTHER Moleskine notebook on a plane a few months ago and THAT ONE (which ALSO had my contact information in it) was never returned to me either. What is the matter with people that they can’t be bothered to turn things in to the Lost and Found, or send one lousy email? If I had found someone’s notebook, I would jump at the chance to help get it back to them, paying shipping and everything, but that’s because I have this little White Knight gene, that seems to be missing from everyone who stumbles on MY quilling genius.

Right about now, you’re probably asking, “Well, where was the last place you saw it?” and let me tell you, dear reader, I’m so glad you asked me that because not only do I know the last place I saw it, I have pictoral proof:

Let the record show, that in my right hand at exactly 12pm on Saturday, is the missing notebook in question, which can only mean one thing: that’s right, the Michelin Man stole my notebook.

Is this some cosmic lesson that I shouldn’t be spending so much money on paper, that I should stick with the Dollar Store elementary school notepads? Or is it that I can’t be trusted with paper and pen?

Did I mention that I have a history of stolen writings? Oh yeah, some literary god or the ghost of Mark Twain or whoever has been continuously throwing up obstacles to keep me from writing. When I was traveling all over Europe doing that post-collegiate backpacking/Eurail living-on-$25-a-day thing over the summer of 1990, I kept a journal of my traveling adventures. Then, on the last day of my 3-month trip, my backpack was stolen. From the trunk of a car at a London tube station. I can understand a guy wanting my stale underwear and unused toothpaste, but my travel diary? Did he take it and become some best-selling author somewhere in Romania on my literary brilliance?

You would think that I’d be used to people making off with my writing by now, become desensitized to it, detached even. But instead, each subsequent occurance increases my disbelief in the next, like the contestant in a game show who keeps getting the answer right and approaching that million dollar prize, or that Home Run Derby guy who kept hitting it into the stands a couple of weeks ago, one after the other, breaking records. What was that guy’s name again? Marshall? Johnson?

Don’t get me wrong, I had a good time and all at this Conference That Shall Not Be Named. And Ann from Ann’s Rants gave me a walking tour of the neighborhood. It was a fine day and we strolled in our Saturday hats to Millenium Park:

So while the weekend wasn’t a total bust, I think I’ve learned that when it comes to notebooks, I can’t have anything nice.

But YOU can…

Nanny Goats in Panties is hosting its first giveaway for a Rachel Ray 10-piece cookware set, as noted in the upper left sidebar. To enter, just click HERE or on the pots and pans below… (if you click on the panties, you’ve gone too far)

No trip to Chicago is complete for all things goat without a pop-in to the world famous Billy Goat Tavern, which is famous for two things, really. It is the place about which the SNL Cheezeborger Cheezeborger! sketch parodies. It is also famous for some baseball curse that I don’t really know about, but you can read about it here. See? That’s two baseball refereneces I’ve flubbed up today.