Ace of Spades

Kids,

When I was in high school, I fancied myself a real sophisticate. In my own defense, I'll say that it's not hard to fancy yourself this way when you're living in a beautiful city on your parents dime, and working for fun.

Working for fun. The concept now is almost laughable in a weird bitter half-laugh, half-choking kind of way. But in high school, that's what I did. I worked so I would have money to go on school trips to Europe, so I would have money to buy swanky homecoming dresses, so I would have money to spend at the Lilley Pulitzer store.

But my most prized possession from those years of work was my Kate Spade wallet.

Can I even begin to outline the wonders of Kate Spade? So clean and classic and beautiful. I don't know that I've ever looked at a Kate Spade wallet or handbag and NOT wanted to run my fingertips over it, open the snaps, unzip the zippers, and take in every detail.

Back when I thought I was a sophisticate, the first thing I wanted to do with my cash was to buy a Kate Spade wallet in which I could store those babysitting bucks in style.

So I went for the classic pink nylon wallet. Not overly pretentious for a nerdy highschooler driving her parents old mini-van. But it matched my ambition: I wasn't gonna be a nerdy highschooler forever, after all...

(The original gangster looked a lot like this when I bought it.)

Fast forward eight years. I have gone from a nerdy teen to a nerdy adult. But I've traded in my polos and pearls for a more relaxed lifestyle. I haven't lost my ambition, but I think it's fair to say I've lost my delusions of grandeur.

And I am a-okay with that. I still love nice things. Oh baby, do I love nice things. But I work to live these days. I work because it pays my rent and keeps my electricity on and feeds my caffeine habit. I work because I am 24 years old and making it on my own, dammit! (Cue some cheesy life-affirming theme song here a la Mary Tyler Moore.)

But back to my Kate Spade wallet. I loved it. And I kept it. And it was dirty. So dirty and so dingy and I kept thinking, "Oh, I need a new wallet!"

But I never got one. Because I loved my original.

(My darling Kate toward the end of her life.)

Then came last Friday when my wallet was unceremoniously forced to part from its loving owner. To the lady who took it, I am not above throwing punches if I ever see you again... But I think I can rely on karma for now.

Just last night, I got a new credit card in the mail. Oh, the empowerment! I could order a new driver's license. I could access the funds collecting dust in my bank (that's what money does when you don't spend it, right?). I could buy a new wallet.

I think we all know where this is going. How could I not get a Kate Spade again? The last one was a part of me. I don't expect to spend eight years with my new wallet, but I wouldn't mind it.

To theft do us part, Kate the First. Thanks for being there through everything. I will miss you. But I trust your replacement will care for my cards and cash in a way befitting your shared name.

Let us usher in the reign of Kate II with much joy and merrymaking.

But Where's My Phone

Kids,

Maybe by the time you read this, we'll all realize that Apple was actually a cover for some Commie bastards and we were being tracked and followed the whole time. Or, more frighteningly, Apple was a cover for some Capitalist assholes and they just wanted to watch us spend our money over and over on shit that kept us all in line (this... is actually kind of scary).

WHATEVER.

What I'm here to say, kids, is that I've lost my phone. But I kind of haven't.

A few months ago, I lost my phone in the way that I couldn't find it for real. It happened to be hiding right between my bed and my wall on the floor.

As I freaked out about my phone's whereabouts, a simple (and most awful) trick was played on me.

I sat in the office flipping out and miraculously Radam pulled my phone out and said, "It's right here."

It wasn't my phone. It was his phone. We have the same phone. He chuckled. I cursed the heavens. But... he did tell me about the app that I was supposed to have. The one that would track your phone and tell you where it was.

Okay, I get it, guys, big brother is watching. Ummmmm, okay! Big brother can tell me where my frickin' phone is, if he's gonna be all up in my shit.

I signed up for big brother. I tested it out in the safety of my own apartment. Yes, it would actually play that noise for two minutes. Yes, it would actually displays texts to whomever had it. Cool.

Useless. Until today. Today I am watching my phone as it travels across the city.

This is karma. I have done something wrong.

It is now 5 in the morning and my phone is two blocks away from my house.

Thanks to Dave Ryan, I have the cabbie's number and he said to call him tomorrow. But really, dude? You're TWO BLOCKS AWAY!!!!

May I please have it? Now? Not tomorrow? Too much to ask? Okay. I'm gonna have to pay a fortune to get this shit back? Okay.

So sad.