Today was going well. And then I dropped my iPhone in the toilet.
After I’d peed in it.
In the stall next to the president/owner of the company I work for.
In the bathroom of a new client, whose office we were touring.
And yes, I’ve heard about the put-your-phone-in-a-bag-of-rice trick. But when you’re with a new client, on their turf, and still have a lot of work to complete that afternoon, a quick trip to the local grocer isn’t always an option. And not to mention the fact that you have to keep said phone in said rice bag for a minimum of three days. Three days. Not really an option when your landline is in storage. Or, you know, when you haven’t had one since 2006 when you lived at home.
So after I fished my freshly urinated-on phone out of the toilet, blotted it off with some paper towels (yes, I know. Germs galore.) and gathered what was left of my dignity (this didn’t take long – there wasn’t much left), I had to finish the meeting with my client while trying desperately not to think whatever was now swimming around in my pocket.
I think I could have drank a bottle of hand sanitizer and still would have felt dirty.
Anyway, upon my arrival back at the office, I backed up my phone on iTunes like a good little girl before taking off for AT&T, the magical land where all peed-on iPhones become right again. Sales rep Aaron, with his freshly-pressed embroidered button-down, kind eyes and crooked front teeth, did his job assuring me that I’d done everything right (minus putting it into a bag of rice. Ahem.), and that I wouldn’t have a problem restoring all of my content to my new Siri’d phone once I got home and plugged ‘er in.
Huge sigh of relief.
Since that issue was resolved (much more quickly than I would have imagined – things tend to not go right for me in the technology department), it was time to once again singe off my leg and vagina hair.
Laser hair removal, session two.
As previously mentioned, I’m currently a patient (client?) of Ideal Image, a prestigious (read: pays for lots of advertising claiming to be the best in the business) laser hair removal place here in Indy.
Quick summary if you’re in the dark (ahem. Read the previous post.): Permanent hair removal, per Ideal Image, requires nine sessions, each one eight weeks apart. I’m removing the hair from my lower legs and bikini region, and today was my second session. You’re caught up now.
So I get into the room with Holly, my RN/BSN/laser hair removal expert, who looks at my chart and happily declares, “Great, your tan has faded, so we can up the laser this time.”
Me: What does that mean, exactly?
Holly: Well, I’ll be able to singe off more hair this time.
Me: Does that mean it will hurt more in the process?
Note: In the world of healthcare (or at least laser hair removal care), “um” clearly means “I don’t want to tell you this outright, but yes.”
Holly: *Cranks up laser strength to what I can only imagine is the laser level cavemen would use to successfully tase pesky brontosauruses, and quickly applies it to my bikini area.*
Me: Um, ow. Ow. Ouccccccch. *Immediately understanding the purpose of the supplied stress balls and squeezing the hell out of them.*
Holly: Are you breathing?
Holly: Man, you’re taking this like a champ.
Oh, gosh, how kind of you, stranger-slash-lady who’s singeing the hair off my va-jay-jay.
But here’s what I learned.
1. Obviously, this session hurt significantly more than session numero uno. And it’s my understanding that session number three is going to be even worse. So to the saleswoman who told me she could “fall asleep while her legs were being treated”? You. Are. A. LIAR.
2. It was my understanding that my hair would start to “molt” in the 7-21 days after my first treatment. I’ve noticed it falling out in some regions but have still had to shave my legs every few days to avoid resembling a wildebeest-slash-my-ten-year-old-self. Maybe I misunderstood; maybe the saleswoman was super misleading. However, Holly told me this time that the hair would reduce after each treatment, so it looks like I won’t be completely hair-free for another seven sessions.
And now back to the iPhone saga.
Once my hair was successfully burned off, I came home, all excited to plug in my new shiny iPhone and sync up my content.
I really should have known it couldn’t possibly be that easy.
As you might have suspected, I wasn’t able to sync anything from my previous phone, sans my list of contacts that AT&T Aaron switched over for me. As in, no music, no photos, no videos, no apps, nada. Two hours on the phone with three different Apple reps later, still no transferable information.
So much for taking the time to back up my phone.
So much for giving you a lovely, much more detailed photo montage of my second hair removal session.
So much for ever being able to look back at the 452 photos of my dog to see how much he still looks the same after a year.
Gosh, I’m pissed. Pun intended.