The Mark of a Good Friend

Things are looking on the up and up, folks. I have not had a Ratty McRat Rat sighting for about a week now, so I'm going to assume that he's scurrying around in a wall (hopefully around my downstairs neighbors') somewhere. So this week has been pretty stellar.  My insomnia has gotten worse, and I find myself shuffling around my apartment well after 2 a.m. and watching episodes of Intervention, Wicked Attraction, and Obsessed.  Last night, I dozed off at 2:00 a.m., only to wake up and realize that I had positioned myself  on the floor in a sort of horizontal Deposition of Christ-like painting from the 17th century. My arms were splayed out to either side of me, my knees were bent in a 90-degree angle, and my feet were resting on the couch.  No seriously.  All I needed were some nails and a cross, and I would have been good to go.  Luckily, I awoke and dumped myself in my bed.  

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In a bit of unrelated news, I realized that the mark of a good friend is someone who will push you into celebrities you are dying to stand next to.  Wingette, one of my good friends from college (BREWERS RULE!), invited me to go to a Ryan Starr concert.  After the concert was over, Wingette and I decided to wait around and see if Ryan was going to come out and greet his fans.  I, however, was waiting for his beautiful god of a drummer, Elias Logothetis (this guy), to exit so I could stare at him shamelessly...because he's very handsome and has the most amazing hair I have ever seen in my life. 

So Wingette and I wait about a good thirty minutes for Ryan.  No Ryan, but various members of the band exit the concert venue.  Guitarist...keyboardist...bassist...no drummer.  Wingette is a good friend, because she listened to me bitch and moan and ask, "WHERE IS THE DRUMMER?!" about fifty-million times.

And then I heard the sound of trumpets and the pounding of hooves on the ground.  That's when the cherubs and angels parted the night sky, and Elias Logothetis walked out the front doors.  It was around that time that I peed my pants and wanted to die with his face as the last thing I ever saw in my entire life.

And that's when a million and one other girls - all under the legal age of consent in New York - started squealing and rushing up to Elias to get his John Hancock on any and everything they owned.

That's when Wingette said, "But why don't you get a picture with him?"  I guffawed in her face. 

"Nah.  I just want to see him, that's all. I'm  okay."

It was around the tenth "I'm okay," that my friend decided to appease me. 

"Okay, so if you're not going to take a picture with him, I'll take a picture with him instead." 
"Deal!"

All of a sudden, Wingette's voice rang out loud and clear.  "Excuse me?  I just wanted to know if you would take a picture with my friend because she's too shy to ask you."

My first reaction was to hide behind Wingette, because actually? I'm quite shy.  Yes.  You read it.  Shy.  I don't know why it happens, but my shyness can be a little overwhelming.  So I did hide behind Wingette, and what did she do?  She pushed me into Elias so we could take a photo - TOGETHER.

I saw the photo the other day, and Elias looks like he's going to be sick, and I look like the goofiest girl in the world.  It's not a photo that I would be proud of, but at least I got to stand next to him for all of 25 seconds.  So Dear Wingette:  I heart you.  You are not only smarter than I am, but you are a great friend.  I'll get you back the next time we go to a Ryan Starr concert.