2006-05-05

You are the WORST Wingman EVER

"Someone just called my phone and didn't leave a message.
Hey!
Call them and call me back!"

It was a bad day, and my best friend had been humiliated at work which is, as she will learn over the next couple of years, par for the workin' man's course.
Eventually, you learn how to get chewed out, embarrassed, and even storm out for the day but still come in the next day and have a good laugh with the asshat who chewed you out.
Tensions run high and pride is powerful.
It's not compromising anything to learn to not take work-fights personally.
They're not personal.
They're just stress and bad timing.
But I digress.

She was having a bad day, as bad as any pop song, and I was weirdly not busy and hanging out on the phone with her while I sorted and archived emails because I'm a Corporate 'Ho like that. She’s been calling me every morning and I love it – it reminds me of when she first moved to Chicago and I was still in Springfield. We had lived together for the previous two years and in the same building for the first year of our friendship. When she moved, it was the first time in three years that she didn’t wake up to my grouchy morning mood and I didn’t wake up to her mad coffee skills.
Even in a beat-up drip machine, Chelsea D. rocks the beans.
While I don’t have a crush on her like my precious wunderkind, Coffee Man, I do have a lasting and deep respect for what she does to coffee.

So she’s been calling me every morning and she was having a bad day and I wasn’t that busy and I’ve been told off by two ex-boyfriends this week, so I was admittedly having a High School Moment.
When she asked me to call a strange number and find out who it was, I immediately put her on hold and dialed up the stranger on my second line.

“Hello?”
“Hi! Did you just call my phone?”
“Uhhhh… 520…?”
“Oh wait! No. I’m in Tucson. I mean, yes that’s my number but I didn’t mean MY phone.
Do you know Chelsea because your number just came up on her phone while I was talking to her and now she’s on hold and I called you to find out who you are.”
“I’m Matt?”
“Huh.
I don’t think I know you. I’m Chelsea’s best friend - in Tucson. How do you know Chelsea?”
“I’m Lauren’s boyfriend? I called Chelsea’s phone last weekend – maybe there was like, a delay on the system or something?”
“Huh. That’s so weird!
Well, sorry to bug you! I hope you have an awesome day!”

Luckily, we were both laughing during this exchange and laughing still when I cut back over to Chelsea.

“So who was it?”
“This guy Matt – he’s Lauren’s boyfriend. I asked him who he was and how he knew you.
Oh!
And why he called. He said it must have been a weird system thing because he hasn’t called you since last weekend when he needed directions to the bar.”
“...
..."
You are the worst wingman EVER! you can't tell them that you're calling because of me! You have to be subtle to be a wingman! Where is your tact? What happened to you? you used to be the Queen of the Bar! You KNOW how to do this! How did you go from being the BEST to being the WORST?
How?”

Awww, Chippsie, I am still the BEST wingman ever because I always leave a story.

This weekend is Folk Festival, which is one of my favorite things in Tucson. I’m going to make a Nalgene of vodka tonics, get my dog and my cowboy hat for too much sun on Saturday; then I’m going to spend Sunday in the shade, listening to the brilliant Namoli B. and probably crying a little because of being so damn happy to be the person who I always wanted to be.

And I'm totally going to make out with Coffee Man, even though he does not yet know that.
This part of my weekend might totally be in my imagination but that's fine with me.
He will be mine.
Oh, yes.
He will
be mine.

arizonasarah at 9:04 a.m.

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