Lost in Emoji-lation

Today in things that happen with a BlackBerry that people with iPhones don’t understand:

One of the [very] few [and very far between] flaws with the BlackBerry is that emojis don’t turn up as super cute, full-color, emotion-laden graphics. They show up like this:

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Not a huge deal, right? Hopefully most conversations amongst late 20/early 30 year olds don’t rely heavily on illustrations?

…Sure.

A few years ago, I was texting with a guy I was seeing* at the time. We shall call him Chad**. Chad liked to make fun of me for the always long and generally meandering stories I like to tell. After one such story, he sent me three emojis, knowing I would be unable to decipher them.

Me: Those better be ponies.

His nickname for me was Pony. I don't remember exactly why, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't for whatever reason you're thinking it was.  

Chad: Two ponies and a princess.

Adorable, right?

Fast-forward two days. One of my nearest and dearest takes pity on my lost-in-translation soul and offers up a piece of advice:

N&D: “You know you can see those on your iPad, right?”

Me: “What do you mean?”

N&D: “If you email yourself any of these texts, you’ll be able to see the emoijs.”

How glorious! Also effort-consuming, but, you know, worth it? (I used to have a lot of extra time/energy on my hands.) 

We decide to start with Chad's "two ponies and a princess": 

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…

Chad and I didn't last very long. 

...

My Mom: Whatever happened with Chad? Why didn't things work out with him?
Me: We, uh, just didn't really connect on a, um, deeper emotional level. 
My Mom: Well, that's surprisingly mature.

...

Isn't it though?

*Sharing meals, movies, and beds with. So, you know, whatever that means to you.
**Not his real name

I'm a Grown Man, Girl. I Can Take a No.

I received a text yesterday from a Pasadena number. Message: Hello

I racked my brain. Yes, I sometimes give my number to strangers because it’s easier than not giving them my number, but I haven’t done that in months.  I reply: Who is this?

Is this Stacey????

Annoying.  Can you please answer the question and also never spell my name like that again? Thanks. Still unsure of the sender’s identity, I decide I should play nice. Ish. Yes. I apparently don’t have your number in my phone. Who is this?

Brace yourself.

We small talked when we met u gave me the number I called two or three times u never picked up…u was fine as ever once again hope ya doing well

Oh joy of joys. He has returned. A YEAR LATER. In case you don’t remember this fine fellow, here is my previous post, extracted from ironyisalifestyle's blogspot archives:

Girl meets boy. Girl is so not into boy. Boy asks for girl’s number. Girl debates path of least resistance.

"Do you have a card?"

This way, not only does she avoid giving him her number, but she can also make it seem a little more business-y.  She doesn’t want any curious onlookers to think she’s actually into this dude.  She has a reputation to uphold.  Or would like to think she does.  Or at least would like these complete strangers to think she does.

"Not on me. Here, just take down my number and give me a call."

Phew. That was easy.

"Ok, it was nice to meet you. Have a great evening."

She turns to get into her car.  He grabs her arm.  Gently, yes, but that’s still a not-so-distant cousin of domestic abuse. She pulls her arm away and gives him a look of the please don’t ever touch me again variety.

"Call me now, so I’ll have your number."

UGH. Should have taken the basically engaged route. This is getting messy. And taking entirely too long.  Girl did not plan on spending her Saturday night talking to some random dude.  She has matzo ball soup to eat. And 30 Rock on DVR.

She calls.

"805 huh?"

Ok. Conversation is over. She is done talking.  She needs to get in her car and debate whether to spend the $4.99 AT&T charges to block a number. Not that she has that piece of information at her fingertips.

"Yup. Ok bye. I gotta run. Great meeting you."

Lies. All lies.

"Ok, girl. I’ll call you."

Pause. Head tilt. Did he just say, ok, girl?? Sigh. Yes. Yes he did.

Boy sends text message the next day, citing himself as the handsome fellow you met last night. Girl debates whether or not to clarify that they met in the late afternoon, possibly even early evening, but definitely not at night.  She decides against it and ignores the text.

Two days later, boy sends another text message: Hope u ok„, ya know u could have said not intrested and not go thru the motions of takin the number ya know, I’m a grown man girl I can take a no. Followed quickly by: I hope this doesn’t happen to you being intrested in someone and they ignore or go thru the motions.

Yes, he used commas as ellipses.  He left the ‘e’ out of interested (twice) and, seemingly purposefully, dropped the g from taking.  And I’m a grown man girl I can take a no?? I mean…wow. That would have been spectacular, were it not annoyingly semi-colon deprived.

She ignores these texts as well.  She assumes this is the last she will hear from him.

She assumes wrong.

One month later: Hey girl how yo fine a** doin’?

Needless to say, that did not garner a reply.

Girl hopes she never runs into boy again.

A Nice Little Sunday

There are probably three questions tumbling through your head right now:

1. “Hey Stace, how was the 30th Annual Venice Canals Holiday Boat Parade?!

2. “Omg. Stace. How much are you loving your new Blackberry?!”

3. “Dude. When was the last time you, like, officially skinned your knee? Like, 2nd grade style?”

Oh, wow! Guess what?! I can answer all three of those questions in a single story. How convenient.

The 30th Annual Venice Canals Holiday Boat Parade was spectacular.  Barry Manilow references, small children tossing Now & Laters to the onlookers (I got both Grape & Strawberry. Score.), a gay snowflake singing karaoke and frolicking in front of his Christmas tree back-up dancers… How can that be anything but a rollicking good time?

Apparently, I took that as a challenge.

As the sun set on the few remaining sparkle-fied dinghies, we attempted to venture from one side of the canals to the other.  We were halfway to our next destination, when we stumbled upon an unexpected curb.  My friend pointed it out to me. I stepped over it.  Great success.  A few feet later, we came to another curb.  I spotted it, and once again cleared the vertical pavement with inches to spare.  The ground below was a bit lower than originally anticipated, but thanks to my excellent balance (Seriously, ask Equinox.  I rock the sh*t out of balance tests.), I regained my footing and did a little quick step to join the rest of the group on the sidewalk.

What I did not spot, was yet another curb.  Another curb I came at with a quick step full of momentum.  My super-cozy loafers caught the top edge of the curb, and I went down. With entirely too much velocity for my own personal comfort.

I have a lot of experience in falling.  I am actually one of the most graceful fallers you will ever meet.  I land softly and quietly, legs crossed demurely.  I am not accustomed to full on face-planting.  Luckily, my instincts led me to catch myself with my hands, so as to protect my face.  Unluckily, one of these hands was holding a plastic cup full of red wine, which splashed against the left side of my face - and directly into my open eye.  (Thank you, old couple in the home adjacent to my personal disaster zone, for the paper towels to clean myself up.  Also, thank God for eye shadow primer.) My other hand happened to be holding my brand new Blackberry.  It now looks like this:           

My left knee managed to get in on the action as well.  I think the damage would have been greater, if it weren’t for my opaque tights and knit OTK socks.  Fun fact: I had purchased the tights the day before, as a replacement for another pair that I somehow managed to destroy in one clumsy moment or another.  Stop judging.  Gawky limbs.  Impossible to control. Anyway, here’s a photo of my knee, in all its skinned-up glory:       

I think I won this round.