Some higher being is punishing for my angry dancing last night (I think it's most likely the Duchess of Melodrama working on her own this time as the Prince of Purging was thankfully M.I.A. last night). My phone is gone, and that really sucks when you only have a cell phone on which your life depends. Hopefully my mom will be able to convince the good people over at Cingular wireless to send me a new phone on Monday as I'm sure all of the job offers I've been expecting will come in on that day.
I know I didn't lose the phone at the bar, but I may have left it at the Hollywood Grill on North and Ashland (their pancakes and bacon were so amazing that I lost what little mind I had left). I remember sending text messages to people at the table (to Morgan: "I WAMTED TO PUNCHING A GIRL IN THE FACE;" to my brother: "FAV BRO EVA!"). After that, my sketchy memory does not include having a phone. Kristin called the restaurant this morning but they didn't see any found phones, and that means it could have fallen out of my coat pocket in the cab or on the sidewalk somewhere. I doubt I'll find this phone.
Oh, this is the suck.
I guess I could write something about technology and how much we depend on it. ("Dude, what did people do before cell phones?!?!?!?!?!") But I'm not going to do that, because I like technology. I like cell phones. Especially when I actually have one.
I do have a non-cell phone story that I find amusing. I woke up to find an instant message from my friend Emily, which said, "How do I set my MySpace profile to private? I asked my eight-graders how to make my page look pretty and they told me they were going to search for me."