Friday, January 3, 2014

Watching out

I intended to write last night, but I was falling asleep by 10PM... so that didn't happen.

My week in Mexico (well, week in San Miguel. I'm not counting my days in Mexico City for now) was fun.
I know I actually killed it by complaining that one day... but that was posted under severe stress... that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Anyway, the day of the wedding was incredible.
The wedding itself was amazing... something I had never seen, much less experienced.
I had been upset BEFORE heading out to Mexico, under the impression that I was going to be paired off with that impossibly gorgeous/intelligent/successful guy... who attended my dream school. This stressed me out because... well, I have difficulty speaking to "normal" people, you know, people like me... so the idea of speaking to anyone who is wildly successful makes me panic.
My biggest fear was that this guy was going to WANT to get to know me... ask ME questions. The thought was gag-inducing.

Originally, the week in San Miguel was going to be spent doing "team building" activities... to get to know each other and bond and whatnot. There were seventeen couples in the wedding, we sure as fuck had to try to get to know each other.
For the most part, we all bonded... all but the elusive group of five frat brothers of the groom. These frat brothers happened to include the Columbia boy.
Most activities were Christmas related, initially... because it just so happened to be CHRISTMAS TIME. The reason the frat bros weren't joining was because three are Jewish, one Muslim, the other Buddhist. Of course, we didn't know that... all we were told was "They're billionaires. So-and-so owns this and that. This other guy owns this..." so we all just assumed they were snooty and didn't like rubbing elbows with poor people.

For the week, we would sometimes bump into the boys... but since we never crossed a word, we'd just keep walking away... like a bunch of uncivilized... savages.

The day when we were supposed to REALLY bond, D and I spent the entire day out of town, since the rest of our family flew into Mexico. D and I were the only people missing form the group.

Fast forward to the wedding day, and the moment when we are coupled.
I finally met Columbia boy, and learned we had been switched out... because in my heels, he was down to my shoulder.
I was moved to the guy in front of him, an older gentleman, who was as tall as me. I had no objection, because the guy turned out to be very understanding and cool.
Fast forward to the reception.
No one was paying attention to the frat bros, so the poor guys had to entertain themselves. That was during the eternal cocktail hourS.
At the banquet hall, D, Betty (girl I had sworn I'd never forgive), and I sat with all the frat bros.
Well... guess we're gonna have to talk to them now...
That seemed to be the sentiment in at the table... the mutual sentiment.

These boys were FUN.
So fun.
Well, one, the older one, was a dick. We'd smile at him when we'd make eye contact, but he'd straight SCOWL at any one who'd do it.
Well fuck you too, bitter bitch!
But the other guys were a riot.
A good hour was spent playing the guessing game, where the guys had us guessing their ethnicity.
Another hour was spent talking about life in Las Vegas.
The entire night was spent trying to ignore the fact that they have more money than they will ever be able to spend...
It was terrifying, intimidating, exhilarating, hilarious, and fun.
The best thing was that we had no internet connection... so we were unable to google them and see HOW MUCH they actually own.

I came home and googled them.
I proceeded to hold in my gagging.
They. Are. RIDICULOUSLY rich.
Yet so normal.

It must suck to have to hear that all the time.
I'm NOWHERE near as rich as they are, yet I often have to deal with guys referring to me as being "loaded" and only approaching me in hopes of somehow scraping some money off me.
I can't even being to imagine what life must be like for these boys.
I'm sure it was a relief to go somewhere, and sit with a couple of girls whose main concern was figuring out which one of them was Russian, which one was Lebanese, and which one was "normal" (that's what he claimed). We treated them like we would any other cool dude... and I hope they appreciated it... which it seemed as though they did... since SOMEONE was finally speaking to them.
This was such a bizarre event... a bizarre dream sequence. A once in a lifetime opportunity.
I'm glad I lived it.

While waiting for the dollar dance to begin, Columbia boy started a conversation with me about what I did for a living. I told him about my Bio degree. He was all about the Rebels... which took me for a loop. I never would have imagined him even knowing about the Rebels.
I told him where I lived-- streets-- and he knew exactly what I was talking about, since apparently he visits the city once a month for work. He asked me if I was a teacher. I told him no, that I was looking into schools for writing.
Him: You write?
His eyes got huge (bigger than they normally are-- which are pretty big. His eyes were OH so pretty... huge brown eyes one could stare at for hours), a large grin crossed his face.
Me: Yep. I sure do.
Him: What do you write?
Me: Fiction. Short stories.
Him: Of what?
Me: Umm... I guess they tend to be... dark comedies.
He was smiling... this pretty smile... of like... it's that look of intrigue dudes tend to give me when they think I do some cool, unexpected shit. I don't know how to explain it beyond that. It's a look of entertainment-- like telling someone you wrangle Komodo dragons for a living or some shit.
Him: Dark comedies? ::sweet smile:: I'm definitely going to look out for you then ::holds eye contact as I smile from ear to ear::
Me: Ha... are you?
Him: No, really, I am. Watch. ::smile::

Guys, I swear my knees got weak, and had I not been about to enter the ballroom for the dollar dance, I would have excused myself to the bathroom and fist pumped the fucking air the moment I entered the privacy of a stall... jumping as high as possible in my three inch heels.

He made my fucking life with that three minute exchange.
Sweet, sweet guy.

No comments: