Friday, January 6, 2012

The One Where I Lost, Found My iPhone (and the Three-Day First Date)

Remember when I mentioned that guy that woke up in my bed on Halloween? The one I met because I was empathizing with his situation about living with someone when you knew the relationship was over. And the best advice I could offer was: Get out as soon as possible. (To avoid putting holes in walls with half-thawed frozen pizzas.) I don’t remember the conversation at all (thanks to vodka and jello shots), but he recounted it later and told me I was very nice and simply offering my veteran advice. He also told me how he ended up at my house: He lives one metro past me, so we shared a cab and when I got out he said “Can I come too?” and, dressed as a fucked up ballerina, I pulled him out of the cab.

We woke up the next morning - I didn't know his name - he called me out on it, but didn't give away that he was right. Leaving, I told him to call me when he broke up with his girlfriend, expecting to never hear from him again and chalked it up as another amusing story. A few days later, I noticed his hat balanced delicately on my shelf and – because I didn’t recall his name – looked for him on Facebook via a mutual friend. I messaged him that I had his hat (which was enormous on my head; so I definitely couldn’t keep it; or throw it away because that’s bad karma) and did he want it back – his profile picture still adorned with his girlfriend’s face.

He replied (and changed his picture to just him). And then I replied. And there was a short back and forth of a week or two. In week two, he told me that he had broken up with his girlfriend the week after Halloween. I was impressed; he did something it took me two years to work up the courage to do. And on top of that, she was moving out – something the ex and I could never agree on.

Later the conversations turned to Gchat. Doesn’t everything? Have we met? Hint: It does.

Over chat he asked me out. Why over chat and not on the phone? Because I told him I hate phone calls. And then I realized I need to stop saying that because it sounds way better to say “he called and asked me out”. I have since rectified this – at the urging of a girlfriend – and will henceforth stop telling people to text me because I hate talking on phones.

The weekend before Thanksgiving break, we had made plans to go to dinner that Saturday. But remember in that last blog how I said I went on a “few dates” – or rather “one date that lasted three days”? Well, there’s a story, which is fitting since in our chat conversations the week prior I told him my life is filled with stories. I’m “that friend”: I have come to terms with this.

So the guy from Halloween (hereby know as HG, or Halloween guy) and I had a first date set for Saturday, but Friday I got drunk. Having chatted a little online the week before, on Friday, when I ended up in the lobby of some guy’s apartment in NoVa and well aware I didn’t want to be there, I sent a text to him to save me that read like this: “Please come save me am from save me from whereby I am wher am am”. Seriously:

 I mean why WOULDN’T you help this person you hardly know who was CLEARLY not drunk out of their mind and totally able to type things you can understand. Right, you wouldn’t. Only he did. He got in a cab from DC, took it to where I was (finding me only by talking to whomever it was I was with, who was clearly just waiting for me to give up and sleep in his apartment), picked me up and took me back up to my house where I promptly left my phone in the cab. Apparently this was just after I said “I think I should check the cab”, but instead shut the door only to realize my phone was in it seconds later and tried to fruitlessly and drunkenly chase after it. Note: It didn’t work.

So, at 5am, drunk, and after he just saved my ass, I yelled at HG that it was his fault my phone was gone. He walked away. I cried on the sidewalk. He came back shortly after, realizing I was completely and utterly didn’t-eat-then-went-to-an-open-bar-and-played-flipcup-drunk off my rocker. He convinced me to walk back to my house and there I looked up on my computer to see if I could track my phone (since, after it was stolen in the summer – I set up MobileMe on it so I could track and remote wipe it).

We decided to go to sleep and check in the morning to see of the phone remained where it was marked, then passed out. I woke up the next morning strangely calm and OH-SO hungover. So much so that when I tried to get up and get pancakes for us - since my roommate was having a brunch and (hey! free pancakes!) - that I had to immediately lie down on my hardwood floor because it was cold and I appeared to be something like dying. So then we ate pancakes in bed – which seemed to help nullify all the crazy I had put him through the night before: His smirk was priceless.  (Easy enough. ::slaps hands together::) We then took a nap. (If you know anything about me, it is not at all normal that I didn’t want to IMMEDIATELY run to wherever it said my phone was still hanging out via MobileMe, and instead chose sleep first.) After our nap – and at about 2pm – we finally got up to find my phone. Using his phone, tether, and my netbook, I drove to where he told me to go (based on where it told him to go) and ended up in Northern Virginia.

On the way down he asked me if I actually thought we were going to find it. Logically, I shouldn’t have: But I had a good feeling about it and said “Yes, I think we are”. He didn’t. When we  pulled up to nearing the blue dot on the GPS, we both looked over to a housing complex and said “No shit”. Of the entire development (we were dreading having to scour), in the driveway of the first row of townhouses (viewable from the main road) was a cab. Our cab. Baffled and utterly speechless, we stopped in front of the house where a toddler was standing in front of the storm door – staring at us. Begging him to go knock, he refused and while we discussed who would go to the door, a woman came up behind the girl, so I had to get out. The woman was wary, but opened the door to me. I told her the story of how I thought my phone was in the cab, we tracked it to here, etc. She stared at me for a moment before she said “No English”. Perfect. So I did the international hand symbol for phone and pointed to the cab. She nodded and went to get her husband.

While this transpired, HG had since exited my car and inspected the cab. He saw this:

We laughed. Then the cab driver came out, at first, confused. As I began to explain, he remembered us. He laughed. And asked how on earth we found him. I explained and he went to get his keys so that we could get my phone out. He apologized for not bringing it back to me or calling someone on it, as we were the last fare and he didn’t notice it. Of course that was unnecessary; he unlocked the doors and I grabbed my phone back. We made sweet, passionate technology reunited love for a moment before the driver invited us (HG and I, not my phone and I) in for a drink (of water or tea, I presume). We declined, had a laugh again and left – but not before the driver invited us in again. The photo above is what HG took and the text that came with it read only: Unbelievable.

believe it.
While chatting earlier in the week, I had tried to tell him I have stories. I guess sometimes you have to be part of one of mine to really get it. We laughed the whole way home and I was just pleased as punch to have my phone back. I asked HG if the whole crazy, drunk girl the night before was worth it now. “Absolutely,” he replied. Good, I thought: If ever there was a test, that was it … and he passed. Now we could go on that date.

So I dropped him off at home. And we both changed and whatnot, then reconvened at our original set date time, hours later. We went to get sushi. He slept over again and we spent Sunday together as well. All of it very PG-13; all of it very comfortable: Just a couple of stories, a three-day long first date and my lost and found iPhone.

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