The Other Guy

The Other Guy - The guy that is not the main one. An unserious diversion from the real interest. synonym-guy on the side, tool of jealousy, one night stand, mistake, me.

As I think back upon my brief yet scarring romantic history I seem to continue coming to the same conclusion. That other guy was me. Here's a brief chronological synopsis to explain:

5th grade - Crush on Maria in Mexico City seems to be reciprocated until Ariel's bday party where she spends the whole night trying to dance with my best friend Mario.

9th grade- Stephanie from English class entices with seductive eyes and random phone calls to my house, perhaps giving the first glimmer of hope to my worried parents that I'm not gay. With double Cs she inevitably ends up dating the JV football team and stops returning my calls.

11th grade-Ashley from art class always talks about hanging out and even proposes getting together on valentines day. Ditches me at last moment to get back with her ex boyfriend while I spent valentines day playing video games to the bemusement of my parents who I'd already told I had a date.

College-Well if you don't know this one by now you haven't read this blog. Girl dates guy while trying to get back with ex guy or get with new guy... either way I'm the other guy.

After examining this undeniable pattern of mistrust and misperception it's hard to believe I was surprised after another recent event. Booze flowed freely (I didn't have to pay for any of it) from 6pm on. My night began in a relaxed setting at a coworkers home as I drank dangerous combinations of beer and sangria. Treating them interchangeably until 1030 when i departed back to the city. The nap on the ride home energized me and I headed downtown more awake at midnight than I had been in some time. A roaring welcome to the party only served to enhance my mood and I immediately targeted a defenseless bottle of Jim Beam, pouring its contents straight into a plastic cup with ice. After, drunken dialogue with a certain female counterpart showed signs of potential. The drink fell to my thirst and I filled the cup yet again with a massive pour, finishing what had once been a half full bottle of bourbon. Teasing comments were made about my past transgressions while I employed inebriated charm to combat false perceptions. Making further use of my drunk faculties I conceived an overly complimentary letter to said female. This succeeded in unlocking her lips but not unweaving the webs of deception of which I was already ensnared. Being kicked out of a room without warning at 430 in the morning is not a good sign kids. After a make out session to a degree I can't honestly remember I journeyed home. The next day I stayed true to my word as a man interested in more than just a drunk mistake and asked her to hang out in my sober company. After I'm sure hours of avoiding a response she curtly texted back that it wasn't a good idea because she was, of course, "dating someone."

That other guy was me.