Two weeks.

Exactly how I managed to live, let alone breathe, without my precious, my prized possession, my best friend (with all due respect to the girlfriend, of course), my iPhone, is way beyond me. How I even convinced myself into thinking I could get by in its absence well enough for me to hand it to a total stranger standing behind a shiny counter, wearing a Globe Telecom ID, casually clicking on her mouse beside a laptop bearing the label "iTunes Ready," promising to give me a call in two weeks to tell me that my precious, my prized possession, my best friend, my now sorely missed iPhone is back from Apple limbo and ready to be tapped again, swiped again, flicked again, pinched, tilted and shaken again by the hands that ever so carefully, er, took care of it--I realized this could very well be the longest sentence I've ever come up with in my entire writing career, if any--is a greater mystery.

But still, let me give you the 411 on this little 404 of mine.

But not now. Perhaps on my next post. 'Cause right now I just want to go to sleep and wake up (my pathetic attempt at an oxymoron) from make-believing that this cheap Motorola W-whatchamacallit I'm holding has multi-touch features, a tilt sensor and room for at least a hundred apps. It also doesn't help knowing that Ian just scored a Nokia 5800 XpressMusic, even though I was never taken by anything that has the word Nokia in its name.

Oh well. It's been two weeks and still no call from the stranger with the Globe Telecom ID. What's another two weeks, right?