Didn't I tell you, I never quit?

First, thank you, Internets. Everyone with their kind thoughts and words--heck even my mom threatening gather up my aunts and beat the guy up--really makes a girl feel loved.

After I finished my rant-filled post the other night, I went off and wrote the DJ for the radio station a little e-mail. That one is for my dad, who always asked me what I was going to do with an English degree; well, Dad, someday I will have a blog and I'll also send very eloquent flame mails. Thank you, private education.

It just so happens that DJ has a little schtick called "Injustice Man," and if ever an injustice occurs, Injustice Man is on the case to right the wrong. Could there be any greater injustice than that which was done unto me? I took the angle that I was shocked and dismayed that this had happened so blatantly and that he needed to be held accountable (or in the event that it was an honest mistake, have a shot at that missed opportunity).

The next morning, I flipped on that radio station and heard a few people calling in and talking about their experience, which got me thinking. Rather than vilify the guy through Injustice Man, maybe I could soften the blow by calling in directly and either, a.) getting the sympathy of the early morning Seattle listening public, or b.) give him the chance to call in and clear up the mistake that I'm so hoping this was. Never one to shy away from calling radio stations, I dialed the number.

One of the on-air personalities answered, off-air, and I began to tell him my plight. He had been at the event and was shocked about the situation too (I was starting to collect people in my corner). I told him what didn't add up for me was the fact that he gave me his number and then told me to call it, right there, with him standing in front of me. Why even do that if your doling out fake digits? He agreed and then asked me his name and what fake number he gave me. I was a little suspicious that he was going to do some crazy antic on the show, but instead he told me that the number he gave me was really close to his real number (you see, in order to go to this party, you had to provide the station with a lot of information--phone number included).

Then our conversation became very serious and very hushed. I'm not going to incriminate anyone, but let's just say, I hung up the phone with the guy's actual phone number.

Dah-dah-daaaaaaaaaaah.

And I sat on that puppy all weekend.

Note to self: It's not really psycho if you are just using the resources available to you, right?

I went back and forth on what I should do. Ultimately it came down to my intent--I needed closure on this. Just writing him off wouldn't satiate my need to know if he was rude to my face, or if it was an honest mistake and opportunity is just sitting right out there.

So I called tonight; it was definitely the right number. It went to voicemail--as I suspected it would. I think I left a cute, fun, unassuming message, but if he really did give me a fake number, there was probably nothing cute or fun about me randomly popping up in his voicemail. At any rate, I'm not worried what he thinks--either he's thankful I finally called and someday we'll laugh about how I went to such lengths to track him down, or he's sitting at home soiling himself because how the heck did I do that (hello? Once a Singing Detective, always a Singing Detective!).

I've thrown it out to the universe and we'll see what comes back. Either way, I'm going to bed tonight knowing that I've done all that I can, or ever need to. I'm still holding out hope that he's a good guy, but if he's not, now I'll know definitively.

Now I can completely channel my emotional energy into good things... or maybe just finishing my kitchen.