"Tiene usted una tarjeta de llamada por New Zealand?"

That was me this afternoon stopping in a couple of Hispanic food stores, looking for one of those pre-paid calling cards. With Adria in New Zealand, and me not in charge of my phone plan (my BlackBerry account is controlled through work), a pre-paid calling card is my only option for speaking with her.

Tip: If you need to call New Zealand, don't stop into a Hispanic food store - all of their calling cards are good for Central and South America - not New Zealand.

7-11 had one for New Zealand, as well as a pint of Ben 'n Jerry's Strawberry Shortcake, so I grabbed one of each.

I was hustling home, excited to talk to Adria, and had a middle-aged woman in a Lincoln Navigator roll down her passenger window and holler "You jam!" when she caught up with me at a stop sign (I was on my fixed gear bike, and yeah, I do jam on that. When it's time for a paint job, I'm going to have it powder-coated all white with script "Fast as F*ck" on the top-tube.); also saw my friend Nick and his little daughter on East Cliff, just coming off the beach from tide-pooling in the reefs at low tide. I walked with them up the street, trying to coordinate with Nick our next surf session while answering a bajillion questions from his daughter. :)

Made it inside, kicked off my shoes, pee'd, put the ice cream in the freezer, read the instructions for the calling card, booted up my computer to get the number of the cell phone Adria rented in NZ, and called. I got the universal three-tone-ring and operator's voice saying this is not a working number. Dang it!

So now I'm sitting at the computer, typing this.

Adria...are you there?! Is that you?

I miss that girl.