Some day I’m going to forget my ex girlfriend’s phone number. I’m just going to wake up one morning and hit the alarm and in that moment realize that I’m not sure whether the last four digits were 7062 or 3062. This will be such an achievement, the only instance in my life where being forgetful actually helps me out.
Thanks to my iPhone, I never have to remember a goddamn thing. I only know four other peoples’ numbers off the top of my head: My mom, dad, brother, and sister. She’s the fifth. Not even family! We’re talking about some coveted brain space here which she has no right to occupy. I mean I deleted that girl off my phone over three years ago to make a statement – I want that coveted brain space back – a new number for that fifth spot. There are so many better numbers for me to have memorized: my license plate, my buddy Matt, 20 digits of pi, that bomb Ramen restaurant for takeout or how about ANY of my credit cards! I’d even settle for that stupid three digit security code on the back of my visa card that I can never ever ever trust myself to get right.
Her phone number isn’t even easy to remember! It’s got no flow, no repetition, no character, no gravitas. It’s fucking boring, obnoxious really. As opposed to my number, which has a double repeat and closes with double zeros. My number rocks, tons of people know it. And yeah I know it’s sounding like I’m not over this girl, I know it appears to be leaning that way but I am. It’s just some of my brain synapses apparently aren’t and it’s pissing me off.
Seriously I can’t wait for that forgetful morning, and also for those dreams to go away. The dreams where I’m supposed to meet her *and* my current girlfriend in a restaurant then I start panicking because they’re going to know that I double booked them and then I wake up. Grow up brain! You’re supposed to help me out here, not offer up dreams with clear interpretations for my life. Stop pulling this crap.
Last week I was filling out forms for my car insurance company – I had to walk all the way downstairs and out to my garage to double-check my license plate number. It was really hot outside. Look I don’t want to forget we were ever together, it’s just there’s more useful things for my brain to be focusing on. I know I can’t potentially fuck my credit card number when we both run into each other at a mutual friend’s birthday, but it’d be nice not to have to pull out my wallet to read off my security code every time I order delivery from Silverlake ramen.
Very Serious Barista 