T.G.I.F.F.

It's not my week.

Sunday 0200 hours: I realized my 4-month-old, silver snakeskin clutch was stolen at Pianos -- a place I loved and trusted with my time, friends and dance moves. I will still go there and try to forget what happened to me, but you can be sure I will never leave an ounce of my being off my arm or shoulder ever again.

Sunday 0330 hours: I spent about 15 minutes with a manager at Pianos looking at surveillance video.

"Is this you? Is that you guys? Are those your friends? Is that your stuff?"

"No. No. No. No."

It appears the only corner of the bar that wasn't covered by a hidden cam was the spot me and my six friends were huddled in. Though we couldn't nail anybody, I am grateful to the manager for trying to help me in my tear-filled desperation, and to the bouncer who ditched his post to light up the entire bar with his 6'4" bulky frame and flashlight.

Monday 1700 - 2100 hours: As a just-to-say-I-did-it measure, I filed a police report at the 7th Precinct, located right off the Williamsburg Bridge. I thought I'd go, fill out a piece of paper, itemize the value of everything I lost (a shiny new iPhone, Blackberry, wallet, designer bag, Visas, keys, makeup satchel) and head home. Three hours later, I'm sitting in a detective chair, channeling my inner Sherlock Holmes, and calling my credit card and phone companies trying to track down any movement or usage of my stolen items. I had been a victim of grand larceny.

"There were purchases made at Macys for 247 -"

"Get out!" I shrieked.

I turned to the detective helping me with my case (who knew a purse stolen late night at a bar warranted a detective's asssistance?) and covered the phone with my hand, "Oh my god, the *&^%$#@ charged stuff at Macy's. AHA!" I had this weird sense of glee.

"The card was then used at Kennedy Chicken for --"

"WHAT!?!? As in the ghetto, not-really-Kentucky-Fried-Chicken place? Oh my GODDDD-duh!"

I couldn't get enough. I hoped this joker spent half my credit card limit. I had a weird sense that the more he charged, the more chances we had of catching him (there's no way a girl would be going to Kennedy Chicken).

I canceled my cards immediately, thanks to the help of Fashionista and Mustang. But as the detective pointed out, you always have to follow up with your card companies to verify they in fact did cancel your accounts. Thank you, J.P. Morgan Chase, for your efficiency, although perhaps their delay in denying this bastard's charges could help ensare him.

It's now Friday, and my "to catch a thief" update is the detective called me yesterday for my phones' IMEI numbers. He is subpoenaing my phone companies for phone records. Insane. Write the IMEI numbers down, people. It is like a car's VIN number and they may be used by the police if you have the fortune of being robbed like me.

Thursday 1000 hours: My boss calls me into her office. It wouldn't have been so bad had I not seen my partner in crime leaving said office with a face as red as a roasted tomato.

"I know you are resistant to change..."

Think Bill Lumbergh from "Office Space"...

"But I'm gonna need you to come in at 5 a.m. from now on."

My heart sunk. I had no idea this was coming. I nodded my head a few times in acceptance. I blinked my eyes at a rapid pace hoping that would somehow prevent tears from erupting.

"Are you OK with this? I know you hate the evenings, and this is the next best thing I can offer you..."

Really? Oh man. I love my boss. I'd pretty much walk through fire for her, but I don't know if I'll be able to handle this.

Goodbye weeknight fun. Sayonara dinner clubs followed by going out. Au-revoir Thursday boozedays. Arrivederci late night chats with roomies. Hello sleeping pills.

So yeah. Awesome week on my end. As my coworker pointed out, "Nowhere to go but up." Up starts tomorrow at Hoboken's St. Patrick's Day Parade. Lord knows I could use me some luck (and drinks) of the Irish.