That Guy

by Jane Moneypenny

7 months into 2009, I would say I’ve kept to my resolutions fairly well +/- a few steps back and forth.

Except one.

I seem to have a weakness for making out and hooking out with drunk guys. Perhaps it’s because I’m sober and in control or maybe it’s because I just can’t seem to stop being a floozy with hot men.

After all, I’m young and single and when a very attractive man is flirting with you, it’s easy to throw caution to the wind. In the last year, I’ve walked the blurry line between just having fun and getting emotionally involved. Half my friends want me to date more and to just have fun; the other half warn me to be cautious because no matter how hard to be casual, I always get hurt.

After a weekend of drama and angst over July 4th, I firmly decided to stay away from men altogether. If I felt a tug of attraction, I would clamp it down. If I had the itching to email/text/facebook him, I would ignore.

Then I met hot guy. Let’s call him Mr. That Guy. Yes, he’s THAT guy. I was  at a beautiful wedding this past weekend in the mountains of southern CA, meeting a lot of new people since I only knew the bride and her immediate family. It was one of those perfect weather weekends filled with endless fun, laugher, joking and everything summer should be.

I’ll spare the details of everything that led up to Mr. That Guy except to say, if I continue this process of “just having fun” (this does not mean sleeping around), I’m going to give myself a few days to gossip and giggle and obsess over it and then move on. I’ll never be at the point where I’ll feel nothing so I have to find that medium ground where I can do both.

So I’m going to squeal about Mr. That Guy for a second and then move on!

The moment I met him, I knew it would be trouble. Not only was he incredibly attractive, he was that guy that I get along with easily: lots of flirting, joking and teasing. He’s that guy who’s a ladies man, who loves women, the life of the party and the one with the stories. When we were introduced, everyone looked as if i I was supposed to have heard of him except until that moment, I never knew he existed. And off we went. I spent the weekend ribbing him for his womanizer ways and the rest of the cousins all laughed in agreement. He was almost surprised how well I could describe him without barely knowing anything.

In his defense, his cousin (the bride) swore that he really was a nice guy and a softie. I laughed and didn’t believe her, but in truth, watching him interact with his family did tug at my heartstrings. When his grandfather wandered in, he automatically went over to help and spoke rapid Spanish (he looks German so I was surprised) to greet him. He helped string the lights and lanterns, built the stage and centerpieces for the wedding and took turns twirling his little cousins on the dance floor. Family man? Check. Good looks? Check. Grad school? Check.

Good kisser? Check check check.

When standing on a balcony at 3am under a blanket of stars over looking a lake with a hot man, there is really only one option: seize the day and let him kiss you the way a girl’s supposed to be kissed. Maybe it’s because he’s older and more experienced, but whatever it is, he kissed me like he had all the time in the world, as if he was perfectly happy just holding me and kissing me slowly and softly. And yes, he was wasted and giggling but it was fun and a hilarious memory as people kept popping up out of the darkness and interrupting us.

So we didn’t talk the next morning as I rushed to pack and catch a ride (we were sharing a room with another girl; he slept on the floor, so nothing happened). We still haven’t spoken and despite the tiny hurt in my chest, I think I’m handling it okay. I’m never seeing him again, after all. Sigh. Okay, I lie. I need to stay away from hot guys.

The end. Next!