You know how when you’re single, looking for someone to date—being on the proverbial “prowl,” if you will—and you get vibes from a person of the opposite sex (or the same sex if you’re gay; I am an equal-opportunity blogger), and you are SO sure that he or she is the person for you that you feel completely confident putting your neck on the line in order to jump start the relationship, only to find out the hard way that…

…he’s taken?

That’s the worst.

It happened to me one time. It was my first freshman semester at blog-awful ASU; I was stuck in the lamest Geology class of my life, and ended up sitting next to the same guy every day during class time. Over the course of the semester, we partnered up for many a group project (hate group work, by the way), and by December, we’d gotten a nice, friendly banter going on (I thought it was flirting…so sad that I was wrong). I was fairly certain that he would be asking me out soon. Of course I had checked for a ring, what girl on the prowl doesn’t? He was never wearing one, didn’t even have a tan line for one. He was totally available, and we were going to get married. As soon as he asked me out.

I worked tirelessly dropping hints that we should go to T. C. Eggington’s for french toast together to celebrate the end of the semester, but he never took the bait. By the last day of classes, I knew I had to get serious if I was ever going to make it work between us. I flat-out asked him when he was going to ask me out, just like that, as bold as could be, and guess what he said?

“I’m married.”

OH, REALLY? SO NICE OF YOU TO TIP ME OFF WHILE I’M PRACTICALLY BEGGING YOU FOR A DADGUM DATE.

My only consolation was that I never saw him again. What a relief.

Well, my friends, it’s happened again.

Don’t freak out; Kyle and I are still happily married. I wasn’t on the prowl for myself.

But I was certainly on the prowl.

See, I am on a quest to get my dear friend Chelsie married to a Canadian so she can move up here and be my next-door-neighbor and loan me a cup of sugar Splenda™ when I run out in the middle of making cookies. I have made a lot of nice acquaintances here in Canada, but all of them are mothers with kids and busy lives, and thus far, I don’t have a real friend in Canada (besides my husband and my mother-in-law) who I can call up twenty minutes before a movie starts and say, “Hey, are you free?”

Nothing against the Canadians…they just all have lives, see.

So I’ve decided that rather than trying to make new friends who can go to a movie with me at a moment’s notice (no small feat in a tiny town predominantly full of retirees and young families), I have decided that I shall simply import my former (childless) friends instead.

It’s just easier.

So this semester, I started looking for a man for Chelsie to marry. My requirements (note these are MY requirements, not Chelsie’s—she remains innocent to this day) are:

1. LDS in good standing
2. Nice
3. Wealth or wealth potential (easier to go on friend-y retreats if they’re rich, you know)

That’s basically it. I’m picky, but not unreasonable.

Enter Freg*.

Freg was in two of my classes this semester, and I never really noticed him (except for observing that he had strange, shaggy hair reminiscent of Scar from The Lion King) until the last few weeks of the semester, when we formed a common bond over our tiresome professor and course material.

Honestly, I never thought much about Freg until the last two classes of the semester, when I noticed he was wearing a CTR ring, suggesting he was a member of my (and Chelsie’s) much-beloved faith. And just like that, it hit me:

FREG IS THE PERFECT GUY TO MARRY MY FRIEND.

See, I had come to look past his crazy Scar hair and instead begun to appreciate his quick wit and easygoing attitude. That he was LDS was the final nail in his and Chelsie’s marital coffin: they were destined for each other, I just knew it.

On the last day of classes (RINGING ANY BELLS, PEOPLE?) I decided to make sure Chelsie would be willing to form a relationship with Freg, so I asked her in a quick phone conversation: Would you go out with this guy I found for you?

Sure, she said. And that was the extent of Chelsie’s compliance with the fated event.

So I, being the drama-ridden diva that I am, couldn’t simply email Freg and ask if he’d like to date my friend. No…that would be too easy. Too simple. Instead, I had to EXPLAIN myself.

And friends, let me tell you: no action I take will ever go well if I have to explain it beforehand. This is a hard truth I have come to learn in years lately. A hard, hard truth.

And now for your reading pleasure, I present to you, in real time, the downfall of my very existence:

Exhibit A in the case of Camille vs. Normal Human Beings:

From: Camille <camille[at]archiveslives[dot]com>
Date: Thu, 15 Apr 2010 22:40:11 -0600
To: <redacted>
Subject: Tremendously Random and Potentially Mortifying Question

Hi Freg,

I realise this is random, inasmuch as we aren’t really friends at all (though I do consider you my class buddy, if that makes it any less creepy), but I have to ask this one question (and depending on the answer, a lot of follow-up questions):

Do you have a girlfriend or a fiance or a wife?

I’ve been trying to figure it out for awhile now, but I just can’t be certain. […] You seem kind of like a Lone Wolf-ish guy (then again, that could be just the Wolverine hair).

Either way, it is of the utmost importance that I ask this awkward question, because if you are single, I would like you to marry my best friend, Chelsie.

(Incidentally, if you are not single, or if you are but you want to STAY single, go ahead and disregard this email.)

–ENTER THE EXPLANATION–

See, it’s like this: I am from Arizona, as you may or may not have gathered, and I don’t have any friends in Canada. But instead of making new ones (girl friends are hard to make after kindergarten; you basically get one shot at the age of five and that’s the end of it), I’ve decided I would rather import my old ones. Or at least, ONE old one: Chelsie. She’s been the greatest friend I’ve had in my life who isn’t also family, totally loyal and genuine and altogether awesome, and her presence is invaluable to me. If I could just get her to marry a Canadian and move up here (preferably as my next-door neighbor, if you wouldn’t mind), my life would be complete. So I’ve made it my quest to achieve just that.

And I think you might be just the fellow to help me out.

Why, you ask?

—AND I CONTINUE TO EXPLAIN, BECAUSE I CANNOT LET IT REST—

Allow me to explain in list form:

1. You are LDS (at least by the looks of your CTR ring). That is a must for Chelsie. Whether or not you are a “Good Mormon Boy” remains to be seen, but I’ll let you and Chelsie figure that out. Incidentally, I suppose there may be a level of rebellion we could tolerate, such as (minor) cussing, or grumbling about Sunday School (don’t we all), but if you’re addicted to drugs, beer, or porn…well, forget it. (And get help.)

(But not from Chelsie—she doesn’t need a project.)

2. You seem like a nice guy. (Although I can’t know for certain. But my instincts are rarely wrong.)

—BUT MY INSTINCTS ARE RARELY WRONG? WHO EVEN SAYS THAT? IT’S JUST ASKING TO BE DISPROVED.—

3. You seem funny. That is a must for me (when you marry Chelsie, you basically marry me; we’re a package deal). (Although Chelsie appreciates humour, too.)

4. The guitar-playing is a nice bonus (in case you couldn’t tell by the rest of this email, I’ve done my research), provided you’re any good (I’ll be the judge of that).

Those are just some of the basic reasons why I want you to marry Chelsie. I could go on, but you might already have had a stroke, and I can’t have your death on my conscience.

In conclusion, Freg, I would like to set you up with my friend Chelsie if you are not currently a) Dating b) Married (My gosh, that would make this embarrassing), or c) a creep.

If you decide you are interested, of course there will be a few more precursory questions that you’ll need to answer, but we’ll deal with those when they come. (By the way, in case you’re thinking Chelsie is a total snob, don’t worry: she’s not. All these questions are of my own asking, and I only ask because I want the very best for my friend. If you are not or cannot become in short measure the very best, then you’re just not good enough for Chels.) (However, I did ask her if she would mind me setting her up with you, and she gave me the go-ahead. So she’s not being forced against her will or anything.  She just has no idea the grilling I’m giving you.)

—SERIOUSLY? WHY IS THIS EMAIL STILL GOING?—

The good thing about this is that even if you agree, there’s really no commitment: I will probably never see you again (unless you marry Chelsie, that is), so you don’t have to answer to me. I’ll just send you her email address and let your svelte do the rest. If you have svelte. I hope you do.

And, as I always make it my habit to do, I’m leaving a very easy out for you: if you’re not interested but you don’t want to hurt my feelings, just tell me you’re engaged or gay.

So…whaddya say?

—Camille From Class

p.s. I hope you know who I am. Otherwise this email would seem very odd to
you.

p.p.s. As if it wasn’t already very odd in and of itself…

On Apr 15, 2010, at 10:19 PM, <Freg> wrote:

Camille,

Put your mind at ease. I am neither creeped out nor offended by your e-mail. In fact, I am quite flattered that you would ask something like that of me for someone who is clearly so dear to your heart.

Let me assure you that I am LDS, I have never smoked, drank, done drugs, or cussed and I used to teach Sunday School ;).  Aside from the long (“wolverine”) hair — that made me laugh :) , leather wristbands, and overall “rock star” image, I think I am a pretty decent person (but you are still free to have the final word on if I am any good at guiutar/singing).

—THIS IS GOING SWIMMINGLY.—

However, I am married to a girl named Camilla.

—OR NOT.—

I do sympathise with the fact that friends are extremely difficult to come by and truly wish that I could do more for the fact that you are missing your best friend. That is certainly not an easy thing. What I can do (though it is small consolation) is offer my friendship. Certainly not as any type of replacement for Chelsie, but as an additional friend as I have a tough time too. I have enjoyed our snippets of classroom buddy conversations and think that I am a good, loyal friend.

—WELL AT LEAST HE DOES SEEM SINCERELY NICE. TOO BAD IT CAN NEVER BE, ON ACCOUNT OF I’VE DIED FROM HUMILIATION AND CORPSES DO NOT THE GREATEST FRIENDS MAKE.—

I know that this does not help much, and for that I am sorry. However, thank you again for the extreme compliment in trusting me enough to ask.

I hope to hear from you soon.

Freg

On April 15, 2010, at 10:35 PM, <Camille> wrote:

Freg,

AAAAAACK.

Worst-case scenario.  I’m so sorry (and if your wife is anything like I am as a wife, I apologise to her, too, because I would be tremendously annoyed if some hussy emailed my husband and told him he should marry her best friend).

I will pass on your offer at friendship, obviously, because I am far too embarrassed ever to look at you again let alone to be your friend. Plus, despite the desperate plea I so stupidly sent you, I’m really not so pathetic (though importing Chelsie is still a high priority for me). I just thought you might be a good candidate for my friend, and I was trying to sell the idea.  But thanks anyway for the offer.

I hope I never bump into you on campus, either, because I don’t handle social stress very well at all, in case you couldn’t tell. This whole thing is just a complete disaster. I’d move back to Arizona if I could afford to transfer any more credits and still graduate.  My only consolation is that I was asking for Chelsie and not me. (OH MY GOSH. Do you secretly think I was asking for myself? Like, “I have this friend…” I PROMISE I WASN’T!)

Anyway, I apologise, and I hope I never see you again (but I do mean that in the best of ways).

—cpsf

p.s. Although my opinion means nothing, —BECAUSE I AM AN ENORMOUS IDIOT AND WHO CARES WHAT I SAY? I DON’T EVEN CARE ABOUT MY OWN OPINION!— I nevertheless applaud you for picking a wife with a lovely name.

On April 15, 2010, at 11:01 PM, <Freg> wrote:

Camille,

Let me completely assure you that I 100% believe your story about Chelsie. And I don’t know if it helps in any way, but I guarantee you that you have no need to be embarrassed or apologetic. From my point of view, the quality of who you are sky rocketed because you were so willing to go out on a limb for your friend. That is a rare and precious quality.

—AGAIN, NICE GUY. TOO BAD HE CAN’T MARRY CHELSIE.—

I understand your hesitancy to accept my offer of friendship, but please know that the offer remains open and I hope that at minimum we still greet each other in the hallways with smiles and hellos. Please do not be ashamed or worried, I am not one to be creeped out in any way. As I said, I am extremely impressed with you as I hold ‘true fiends’ in great regard. I hope that (perhaps in time) you reconsider my offer.

-Freg

Sorry to say, Freg, but it can never be. Not for you and Chelsie as husband and wife, and not for you and me as friend and friend.

And so now, dear blog readers, you have seen firsthand just how foolhardy I really am. This is easily the most embarrassing experience of my lifetime; I can think of hundreds of awkward things I’ve done during my 23 years on this earth, but none more atrocious than this. I am not exaggerating when I say that as I read through Freg’s emails, I was literally in tears, the part-laughing-but-mostly-self-loathing kind that render me oxygen-deficient and incapable of coherent speech or thought.

I was in hysterics, in other words.

So you’ll understand why I have actually died from humiliation and am writing this post from the Macbook I got in Heaven (or the PC in Hell).

*Names have been changed to protect the innocent victims of my reckless bull-in-a-china-shop matchmaking approach.

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