(I’m on vacation on the east coast for the next week and a bit, in case you didn’t know.)
So this morning I staggered off my flight from California to New York (on Virgin America: Putting the “red” in red-eye) and got myself ready to go to my friend Lisa’s apartment, because she is kindly putting me up for the duration. It occured to me that I knew generally where she lived, but not exactly, because I had neglected to write down the address. That’s okay, I thought, I’ll just call… Oh.
You know what you need for calling people? A phone. Like, for example, my phone, which is in my purse. Which is on my bed. Which is in San Mateo.
Fortunately, as a modern girl of the twenty-first century, I did bring my wi-fi enabled iPod, and even in New York it is still possible to find an unprotected connection, so disaster has been, for the moment, averted. Stay tuned.