Wednesday, November 16, 2011

iPhone Home

And now for your entertainment, I will blog about a little incident I've come to refer to as The Saturday Night I Got Hammered And Lost My Phone.  My mates Robbie, Madi and Julia and Jordan probably have their own version of this story locked away for the grandkids: The Saturday Night I Got Hammered And Lost Jacki.  Whatever.  All I can give you is the clearest account from a brain soaked in Jim Beam and Red Bull...

This actually happened about 2 weeks ago, and I can't believe I haven't posted about it yet.  One of the reasons is that I am an idiot.  Another is that I don't actually have a computer or internet connection of my own, so the chances I actually get to blog are few and far between.  Yes, that is a hint that I would like you to give me a laptop for Christmas.  Lets get back to the story though, because it's a good one.  It was Saturday night and Alex had plans with Richie, so I decided to meet Madi and Robbie for a couple of drinks at the Longy.  Of course, it was SATURDAY night, and it was Madi and Robbie, so what I really mean by 'a couple of drinks' is 'how does my liver still function?'.  I think I got to the pub at about 8pm.  At around 10:30, we decided to catch a cab over to Mega for a bit of dancing.  Here is a visual representation of my behavior during those two-and-a-half hours:
A few drinks later...
And eventually Jordan arrived to find this:
Actually what I think I had said was 'LET'S GET TATTOOS!', but since nobody else was keen for that, we decided on dancing as a consolation activity.  In hindsight, that was probably a good call.
So we left and headed to Mega.  Here's what happened when we got there:
Bouncer: (peering into my face) How many drinks have you had?
Me: (pausing for like 8 minutes to gather my thoughts) Um.  Like, four.
Bouncer:  Okay, you're in.

...What?  I have no idea.  There are only two possible reasons I can think of that this guy actually let me into Mega that night:
1) He was high as a kite
2) One of my boobs was showing.
I really don't wanna think about which one of those is more likely.  Nor do I want to think too much about Mega, where I'm pretty sure I did nothing but drink tequila and make an idiot out of myself on the dancefloor.  Luckily this was Mega, so pretty much everyone was drinking tequila and making an idiot out of themselves on the dancefloor, but still.  I think I was there for about two hours before I (along with the bar staff) decided enough was enough and jumped in a cab.

Here's where the story gets interesting.

My memory of the night from here is pretty average.  I got in the cab and gave the driver my Mum's address.  Why?  I have no idea.  I think maybe that last shot of tequila had caused me to forget that I don't actually live there anymore.  I got to my Mum's house, dropped all my shit in the kitchen, ate a piece of toast and texted Madi that I was drunk as a skunk and decided to go home.  I think that was the point that I looked around myself and realised that I was in the wrong house.  I called another cab, got them to drop me at the apartment, crawled up the stairs and went to bed.  Boring, right?
Now here is the night according to everyone else:
After kindly being asked by the doorman at Mega to make my way home, I was snatched off the street by a Peruvian murderer who somehow stole my phone and texted all my friends that I was 'fine', when really he was taking me back to his house to make me his love slave.  After that, I didn't answer my phone despite being repeatedly called by everyone for the next 3 hours, and was almost officially considered 'missing', until finally I rang everyone back the next morning (from the LANDLINE in my PARENTS house), to inform them that yes I was fine, no I was not being held captive, yes I felt like an idiot, and no I did not know the current location of my mobile phone.
After trying all the obvious stuff (calling it, calling Mum, calling the cab company, crawling around the apartment carpark on my hands and knees), I finally succumbed to the realisation that my beloved phone was gone, and I was going to have to get myself up to Chatswood and purchase a new one.  Talk about an inconvenience.  I mean on the plus side, my previous contract was up anyway, and Optus had promised to give me one of those fancy new iPhones if I chose to renew with them.  But then on the minus side, fuck that!  I lost all my music and photos and contacts, and if you know anything about me, you'd know that I'm certainly not the kind of girl who could give two frozen fucks about a fancy new iPhone.  Sorry for swearing, but it sucked.  I'm over it now, of course.  Have you actually used one of those iPhones?  That Siri thing?  Where you can just hold a button and ask it any question, and it talks back to you?  I swear to God, being able to (jokingly) ask my phone for oral pleasure almost makes up for this whole mess.

So that's the story of how I got hammered and lost my phone.  I hope you enjoyed it.  And just so you know, yes, I am still holding onto the hope that my original phone is out there somewhere.  It's an iPhone 3 with a bright purple cover that answers to the name 'Jacki's original phone', so if you find it, please bring it back to me.  As a reward, I will ask the Siri on my new phone to give you oral pleasure.

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