Sometimes, it's hard to be me.

Soooo . . . last Thursday, I went to Old Lady Water Aerobics class, which starts at 9:00am, which is when I've been waking up recently [huh.  I could get used to Funemployment.].  I did manage to wake up a bit early, but then somehow ended up racing from the house carrying my Stephen Colbert tote bag [which is actually the husband's, but which I have appropriated to use as a purse, since my old bag was filled with water due to a water bottle mishap] and my Whole Foods bag that held my towel and water shoes. [Hi, I'm liberal! is what my bags say about me.  Also that I'm an old lady who can't be bothered to get a new purse, because these will do just fine.]

I can't find my lock key, and am too lazy/scattered to purchase a new lock [although, come to think of it, I don't know where the lock is, either], so I just put the bags on a chair in the pool area like I've done before and glided in with all the rest of the class, enjoying the camaraderie and realizing that I probably should move up a couple of class levels [As noted, I am lazy and also out of shape, but I can manage moving my fingers like I'm playing the piano with little to no soreness the next day].  Class finished, I got my stuff together, ran a couple of errands and headed home.

At home, I put everything away, showered, made lunch, and was finally greeted by the sleepy face of the girl, who has taken Extreme Sleeping to a whole new level this summer.  Teenager-dom has arrived.

I started doing some freelance work [and reading some blogs] and time passed.  After a while, I realized I needed to make a call, and that the number was on my iPhone.

Which I could not find.

I kept rechecking the Stephen Colbert tote bag.  I looked in the Whole Foods bag.  I looked on my desk, under the pile of papers, in the drawer, under the desk, on a shelf.  I tried to remember if I had thrown the phone in my bag before I left, because that's one of the last things I do before leaving the house [the other is to hum the theme from Rocky as I walk out the door].

I couldn't remember putting it in my bag, but I definitely did NOT remember being unable to find it this morning.

I panicked.  Everything was on that phone.

I lamented on Twitter.  @Hubbit and @MrsJenBardall, among others, were helpful and consoling.

I called the husband at work - which was not only unhelpful, but also unsatisfying with regard to quelling my panic [The husband:  I know you hate your phone, and you want a new one, but pretending to lose it so you'll get a new one?  Me: I LOVE MY PHONE!  I DON'T WANT A NEW ONE!!  SHUT UP!!! GOODBYE!!!].

I realized I'd lost all credibility with the girl, who we had harped on for losing her phone this past winter.  That, I think, was most painful.  How could I feel markedly superior to my child if I couldn't hold that over her head?

I called the rec center.  No phone turned in.

I went online with AT&T and chatted with a rep.  Not helpful.  No way for them to locate your phone.

I started pricing iPhones.  GAH!  HOW MUCH???

I called AT&T, hoping I'd get some help that way. A wonderful customer service rep patiently helped me, and told me to add the Family Map option, which would locate the phone for me if it was turned on. Then I could just get rid of the option when I found my phone. YAY!  OF COURSE I WOULD.

I hung up and signed up and then had to call back, because I didn't know how to set this up.


The other surprisingly nice AT&T rep helped me and then transferred me to tech support, where a nice guy walked me through the steps to set it up and then, I waited for the map to locate my phone.

All the reps had reminded me that the phone would only be located.  AT&T wouldn't go retrieve the phone.  I could contact the police to go with me to get it, but that was up to me.

I had images of me and the law, showing up at someone's house, and a fuzzy, close up montage of me being reunited with my beloved.

I also had images of us shooting our way in and reenacting a scene from COPS to retrieve the innocent victim.

This is now about 1 hour and 45 minutes into panic time.  I was despairing not only of never getting my phone back, but also of all the potentially productive time I'd lost.  So much writing and cleaning not being done!

And then, the map image cleared and focused and I saw the house that the phone was in and . . .

It was my house.

THE PHONE WAS IN THE HOUSE!!!

I was simultaneously mortified and thrilled.  Mortified, because how fucking dumb am I? And thrilled, because I at least knew that I would find the phone at some point.

The girl and I looked around, and she kept asking me if I had maybe left it in my pants from earlier, and I kept shaking my head and telling her, condescendingly, that my pants from earlier were sweatpants without pockets, no way were they holding my phone.

So she's standing in the bathroom, as I'm rechecking the office and my desk for the 8,000th time and she said, "Mom, I found your phone!"

Which was in the hamper.

In the pocket of a pair of pants I was wearing last night.

The last time I actually remember using my phone.

Yeah.

Not at ALL embarrassing.

I mean, thank god for Twitter and the internet, because otherwise my crazy would have been limited to the square footage of my house.  And we can't have that, can we?