I am a Frickin' Champion

Anyone who knows me knows that I lose things all the time; peoples' numbers, money, common sense - I'm known to misplace all this shit from time to time, mainly because I'm a bit of an idiot sometimes. Last night, though, I broke a personal record by managing to misplace my cell phone approximately 30 hours after I got it. Yes, that's right, if I've given you that number, you can stop calling it; even if it did ring, you wouldn't be calling me. Instead, you'd be calling either:

a) Some godforsaken drawer which, at the moment seemed a very clever place to put my phone, but for obvious reasons, turned out to be a not so clever place to lose my phone.



b) Some unknown cab driver, or some cab's back seat, or the handbag of some whore who fortuitously picked up my phone, and very graciously decided NOT to return it.

c) Mutant cats who ate my goddamn phone as I dropped it somewhere



d) A strange hybrid of all of the above.

Damn it, cell phones are like little fish, trying to escape from my pockets all the time. It doesn't help that I hate jeans. I always wear loose pants, which my devious phones wriggle out of. Also, I blame alcohol. It's a well known rule that cheap drinks contribute directly to losing cell phones. After spending most of the morning searching for it (I went through my phone operating SOP - called my phone, which was off, went through my pants, which smelled of smoke, but had no phone, tried to retrace my steps after coming home, most of which i couldn't remember), I have finally concluded that the stupid thing is lost.

Fucking cheebye. At this rate, I should start welding cell phones to my head.