Mission: Groomsman. Part One, of what I am Sure will be Many

I called Groomsman. Yes, I did.
I needed a safe plan for attack so I decided to call him during lunch. First, I may need to mention that I didn't have his number, since I erased it when all that drama went down? I was too proud to call AP for it. I looked all up and down my emails--get this I erased all of that too. Gee, I must've been really mad back then and really can't remember it being so bad. Huh.
So, I called T-Mobile. They love me.
Last year when Incredible swore up and down he called me (when I said he didn't) and I was so asleep talking to him on the phone (wtf?), I called T-Mobile to figure that one out. I apparently erased his number the night before that too. Yeah--don't cross me or you'll get erased, like that!
The T-Mobile guy solved the mystery and yes, I spoke to him. Oy.
This time it was a woman. She was very understanding. The only for sure date that I knew, me and Groomsman spoke on the phone was the night of AP's wedding. That's all I knew; oh and the area code to his number. Since it was a (210) code, we, me and T-Mobile girl Janine (What up?) had a problem.
Most of the people I call have 210 numbers. Oh boy. Janine told me she could just mail me my phone record so I can go through them all. That would take way too long. I asked her to fax it. T-Mobile don't do that. Then I swallowed my pride and told her half the story and how this was one of those carpe diem deals. She must've been a hopeless romantic like me.
We went through all the numbers. Boy, was that hard work. Since I don't even know how to remember a phone number anymore (thank you cell phone); she had to go repeating numbers to me while I was frantically scrolling my address book on my Nokia. All the while, my co-workers are witnessing this bullshit.
Finally, we got to 12:35 AM (meaning we went through the whole day of the wedding) and several incoming calls all came from the same (210) number. It was him. What can I say? He was wanting a second go round.
Voila, I had the number. Whoo. Then came the nerves. Vey.
I already get nervous when calling boys that have no reason to hate me. So you can imagine what this was like. I was mentally preparing myself for a second scream-a-thon.
I got voicemail. Voicemail sucks ass. I know you can be busy and all that, but voicemail leaves the door right open for rejection. I'd rather be rejected face to face than not returning my call.
I slumped back to work. Coincidentally with McDonald's---the first McDonald's I've had in over 2 months, thank you very much. And it tasted so good. Some people need Vodka, I need a Big Mac.
I cannot deal with rejection well. I kept my phone on silence and left it out so I could see if the blinking incoming call light came on. It didn't.
A text message did, twenty minutes after my phone call---uh huh.
Before I opened it, I saw it was from him. To open or not to open? Was I prepared to see his hate text for me? I took a deep breath and opened it:
"At the airport. Got your message, call you later"
Whew. No "bitch, I hate you"; "why are you calling me, whore?"; "What the fuck do you want?". Seriously, that's what I expected because that's what I would say to me.
I replied: "coming back to Dallas?" Did I just sound like some desperate girlfriend? I knew he was in Seattle.
He replied: "Park City"
Still no "bitch", "whore", "skank"---we're doing good so far.
I went back to working. At 5:30 I noticed a missed call from him---dang it, why do I have this phone on silent? His message was simple, calm, and reassuring: "Hey, it's me. I'm in Utah just got here and will be here until Sunday (what the fuck, why?) and will give you a call when I get back to Dallas. Have a good week"
Have a good week? That may as well been "take care"---why do guys end calls like that? Without a glimmer of hope that you may speak to them again. Take care, my ass.
So, now I wait for Sunday. Waiting sucks. I'll let you guys know how it goes, should make for interesting blogging and more interesting e-mails.