867-5309

Last night, I spent roughly two hours on the phone with T-Mobile, trying to choose a new phone number. I know it seems petty, but I’ve become pretty attached to my ten digits over the years. The excessive texting to my girlfriends over the latest boy, updating my Facebook status 24-7, giving out wrong numbers to fist pumping guidos I’m just not that into. Yeah, we’ve had some good times together me and these digits.

Many a phone I have lost to death by drowning… be it a glass, a pool, or the ever disgusting toilet. Yeah, I left that one there. But the numbers, the “digits of my being” persevered. So when it came time to choosing a new number, a new number that would be the new ten digit code to “ME,” it proved to be a relatively difficult task. I mean, these would be the numbers that people would come to associate and memorize as me, and there is a reason I have had the same number since high school… IT’S AWESOME. Easy. Simple. Repetitive. It’s no 867-5309, but it is MINE.

Sure there is the argument of all the contacts I could possibly lose, but with all the new waves in technology, surely they are only a Facebook, Myspace, or email away. But what if a casting director or producer I had met along the road suddenly found a role of job I was perfect for? Most of them really don’t have the time to bother with Google searches on the internet. So… job opportunity lost.

Then again, there are all those bad numbers. You know the ones in your phone. They usually are like “John Rogue bar” or “Kelly Nail Place.” The ones you have to write where you met the person just to have the faintest CLUE who they are in your phone. My personal favorites are the DNA's — AKA, the Do Not Answers. There is usually a reason a person is labeled this is in your phone, thus the explicit instructions in their name registry. Those are the hanger-ons, the guy at the bar that insists he sees his number register in your phone even though you have made it pretty clear you are not interested (YEAH, that happens), and the occasional stalker or dreaded ex. To date, I have about 7 DNA’s in my phone, and probably another 10 that still retain their actual names, but should have those instructions next to them.

Stalkers and ex’s are by far the biggest reason to get a new number, because unless your phone is one of those with the convenient individual block feature, some people will keep calling and texting long after you have told them to stop. Then there is the coffee call, and the random drunk texts on Valentine’s Day, the… "Hey, just wanted to see how you were" text. “I’m fine, or I was five seconds before I got this text. “

Sometimes even when it says “DNA,” our hearts simply can’t hit the red button, the one I affectionately refer to as the @$$hole button. Instead, we open ourselves up to a barrage of nasty texts, confusing conversations, and heated arguments over things that are no longer relevant in our lives. A number doesn’t validate who I am, and besides, I have changed a lot since high school. The people that were so relevant and important to me back then… well, aside from my best friends, most have just become Facebook friends, and people on the list I send Christmas cards to.

So it was time for Jenny to get a new number, and a new life. For those that receive my new number, I hope they will be wise about passing it around. Because a great new number, is a terrible thing to waste.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go memorize my new digits... Tommy Tutone style.

Jenny, I got your number,
I need to make you mine.
Jenny, don't change your number,
8-6-7-5-3-0-9 (8-6-7-5-3-0-9)
8-6-7-5-3-0-9 (8-6-7-5-3-0-9)