Learning the Ways of an "Ohhh THAT Guy" Guy

"Nothing is more deceitful," said Darcy, "than the appearance of humility. It is often only carelessness of opinion, and sometimes an indirect boast." - Jane Austen 

Yes, I'm starting this next post out with a quote from Jane Austen's Pride & Prejudice.  Oh hush hush.  You know you've read it.  In fact, you know you probably LOVED it so seriously, stop any little voice in your head going "really? Austen? ALREADY?"  Just silence that squeaky, little objection for the sake of a few more minutes of (what I hope you consider) pleasure reading.  It's far more rewarding to just appreciate the truth in the statement above. 

I'm sure we've all liked/loved someone who's suffered from the self-inflicted curse of false humility.  And don't get me wrong, women are just as guilty of possessing this horrible curse as men are.  I have to say, though, that I know part of the reason I only endured a mere three years of dating (well, trying to date) in the heavily actor-populated Los Angeles was my strong aversion to this "type" of dude.  In college, I had dated someone who shared only the dream of achieving fame in common with the rest of these Hollywood men.  His eyes were on the prize.  Bullied and tortured as a kid (and, for that matter, as a young, college-aged adult as well) for being someone he never felt he was, he believed that achieving what seemed like the impossible would silence all opposition.  He saw the achievement of celebrity fame as the only way others would ever take him seriously in a world that was obviously not quite ready for who he actually was.  There's a lot more to his story - that's for sure - but his is not a story I feel I can tell.  Not yet.  He will tell that story some day, perhaps to the world in detailed day-by-day notes or perhaps only to his future kids - but his is a story of such determination and belief in one's true self against all odds.  I hope he finds happiness.  I think of him often and again, well...it's just not my place to speak his truths now.  

These Hollywood men on the other hand?  *flails arms helplessly* *looks around for a gosh darn save* WELL DANG.  They all seemed to be on the hunt for recognition and you, you courteous, unassuming, noticeably attractive and yet un-intimidating and almost too easily approachable young female, well you, depending on where you were in life, were either a stepping stone for them, perhaps a confidence booster or a suddenly necessary distraction that they felt they neeeeeeeeded.  If you've ever felt you filled the role, through no choice of your own, of "confidence booster" then my heart goes out to you but just make sure that next time, you find a way to be their distraction.  Every once in awhile, it feels good to be the girl who knows she's being used so you can accept the challenge at hand and find a way to USE HIM RIGHT BACK. 

I spent a great deal of time writing while I lived in LA and almost all of my journal entries from 2008 to early 2011 paint a detailed picture of these tan Patrick Bateman types, which I think we can all agree is perhaps the scariest of all types. You know the type and if you don't, may I suggest a 2 to 3 week trip to LA for research purposes. This is "that guy" (or for the purposes of this blog post - the "ohhh THAT guy" that guy)...

He is the absurdly handsome type who strangely enough compares his looks to those of a troll. He's dashingly charming and old school clever but insists, while in the presence of women, not men, that he can barely send a reply email let alone conjure up a witty remark. He will ask you how you're doing, only to quickly follow up with a reminder that he can't talk for long. He always has an important rehearsal soon (feel free to replace 'rehearsal' with 'meeting' or 'appointment' if such substitutions make for a more accurate representation in your eyes. Last thing I'd like to do is leave you feeling limited here). He's that guy who says he likes a strong woman who knows what she wants but always insists on ordering one extra of whatever he's drinking so you can try "a real drink". 
Ah-hem, not that these traits are now being recollected from the memories of one specific male specimen...or anything.  

(By the way, I pretended to love straight Jack Daniels (no ice, no soda, no nothing) when around this man. For a girl like me who has always preferred dark rum cocktails with a jolt of something killer sweet? That's sacrifice.)

(That's also what you should consider stupid.) And that was obviously not the worst of it.  I pretended to be ok with SO MUCH. And what's funny to me now is how I bet he would say he also tried to be ok with so much...for me.  But in the beginning, he sought me out. He needed to talk. He, hilariously enough, needed to see me. He needed to kiss me. He needed to see me again. Need need need. He made it feel like such a neeeeeeed. I couldn't tell which would have seemed more alarming at the time - his feelings as necessities or his feelings as pure desires. And then there's the bigger question: He needed to do all of this...to find out...what???

I wasn't sure then.  I know now.