Saturday, February 16, 2008

Call me, or not.

Last weekend I broke my phone. It was a traumatic experience. I was washing my hands, and my phone fell in the sink. Then some weird firework display erupted on the screen, and then a weird noise, and then dead. A part of me died, too.

I started to freak out. I ran in circles, then I drove to Improv Asylum faster than I ever have. I literally made it there in 10 minutes. I stormed down the stairs, tried to get my phone to work again, then drank a nice big glass of wine. Or two. Or three. Why!

The thing with me is that I've had a cell phone since I was like... 12 or 13. I know, gross, but kids today get them at much younger ages. Gross! I've always had some way to communicate with the outside world when I wasn't at home using my land line. My phone, and cell phones in general, have become safety blankets. Like, sure, half the time nobody ever calls me because I'm so not a phone person (besides texting) - but it's good to know it's there. And of course, the moment it dies, I get calls and calls and texts! I get invited to a party, asked to hang out by another friend - and all of these people think I'm blowing them off!

Anyway, I have a new phone. But I went TWO LONG DAYS without it. I had to pay $50 to the insurance agency for them to send me a new phone. I didn't have a memory card, nor did I back up my phone numbers through Verizon, so it's a whole new start. No pictures (mainly of my dog). No videos (mainly of me in the car playing Miley Cyrus). No phone numbers. No NOTHING.

Oh, and I have a Mint Chocolate phone. The bright green one. It's name was Finn. I like the name Finn a lot for my phone, it reminds me of a small, young, Irish boy. I'm going to name my new phone Finn II. Even if it's not the same and will never be loved as much as Finn I.

The moral of the story? I don't know. I hate not having a phone. Never do that again.

1 comment:

McWhadden said...

I thought it only fair to point out that you did not have cell phone since you were 12. Your older sister did. It just spent most of its time in your greedy little hands.

You did, however, have a pager since you were like ten. Because while you weren't cool enough to have a cell you were apparently a drug dealer. Or hooker. Or doctor.


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