[Quick aside: I am craving hot dogs. No, no dirty jokes please. I'm serious. I'm going to die if I don't eat a hot dog, and soon. Reading this website definitely does not help.]

So I lied again. When I wrote "THE END" after the wedding post, it wasn't really the end. I have another story. Did you really think that the wedding was all sappy love? HAH! If you have been reading this page for any length of time, you know that I cannot live without drama. As much as I profess to loving to live a calm and peaceful life, that quite simply never happens. I manage to get myself entangled in all sorts of situations.

Obviously, at the rehearsal, I scanned the groomsmen to see if any were a viable candidate for perhaps some flirtation. Unfortunately, two were already married, one had a serious girlfriend, two were single yet unattractive, one was Brooke's brother (who while HOT, is just off-limits because there's no way I want to be entangled in that family). And one of them was Mark's brother, so he was rather off-limits too (as they are regretfully very much alike). So if you can do the math, knowing that there were eight groomsmen - well, that left a measly one. ONE. One who was decent-looking and eligible and tall enough for me (coming in at a lovely 6'3, or thereabouts). But he seemed rather quirky. I remember him asking Mark's grandfather if he had been to many weddings. And then there was some debate over the different types of Episcopalianism. I'm sorry. Wha'?

So I gave up. I wasn't going to be finding me any action the night of the wedding.

Au contraire.

As previously mentioned, Brooke and Mark had assigned seating for the bridal party. I was sandwiched in between Mark's brother and said eligible yet quirky guy. Let's hereby refer to them Mark's brother and.. hm. What would be a good name for the other? Glib Guy. It doesn't roll off the tongue quite so easily, but he was glib. A charmer. Witty comments rolled off his tongue with such ease, it quite took my breath away.

Now me being me, I was my normal self. That is, mouthy and acerbic. It's very good for bantering back and forth, which I enjoy a lot. I think this is why I tend to attract guys who are into standup comedy of any sort - they have to think quick on their feet, which is enormously helpful when you're talking to me. Not that non-comedy guys don't have this, but it's rarer. It's surprisingly hard to find witty quick-thinking people. So I tend to talk to these guys, and you know that when you talk to a guy it means you obviously want him. Stupid men.

And Glib Guy, as I described, was great to debate with. (And yes, he was part of an improv group in college. Thankfully, he was not Jewish nor Harvard-educated.) Except for the France-bashing. What the hell was Brooke thinking, sandwiching me in between two people who hate France? Hellllooooo, that is such a recipe for potential disaster. Apparently I would not receive security clearance to work in the US government because I had an internship in - gasp! - the French government while I studied abroad. Zut alors! I was such a security threat as a lowly American intern at the Ministry of Culture. I was also told I was a traitor many time over. Brooke better thank her lucky stars I was in a good mood (and by good mood, I mean I had consumed a lot of champagne) that night. That, and anytime Glib Guy brought up France in a negative light, I just had to mention the law school at which he is waitlisted for things to go my way again.

I did mention that there was dancing at the wedding, right? And yes, Glib Guy and I danced up quite a storm. I think it was over some cheesy slow dance that the heavy flirting began. Gosh, someone who's good at bantering and is willing to dance! Did I mention the golden platitudes? At the dinner table and on the dance floor, in hushed tones, he told me I was sublime, delectable, sexy, adorable, did he mention sublime?, darling, charming.. over and over, until my head was quite swollen with all the attention. Is the world coming to an end?! All guys should be like this, even if the words are but false flattery. They're just so goshdarn nice to hear sometimes. Sublime, darlings. Sublime.

It is just so hard when you sit two such charming people next to each other. How could sparks not fly?

So after the wedding, we rounded up the troops and went to a bar. After we shut that place down, we went to Glib Guy's hotel room, because he wanted to catch up with some friends. Since by this point he was actually physically not letting go of me - his arm was wrapped rather nicely around me - I had to listen to two hours of college reminiscences, which while interesting in the beginning, quickly got boring especially as it got later and later and had nothing to do with my beloved alma mater. It got to the point where it was more interesting to see how many pins were holding up my hairdo (33! And my hair was only half up!) than it was listening to them talk. So I said I had to go home. It was 4AM after all! Way past bedtime! And since Glib Guy was sharing a hotel room with his brother, it wasn't very likely we'd get any privacy for any fooling around. After a rather sweet and drawn-out goodnight kiss, we parted ways, said we'd keep in touch (hah!) and I caught a ride back to my house.

Walking up the driveway, I was hit with a brilliant revelation. There was an empty room, back at where the wedding was held. The groomsmen had all shared a hotel room there so that they could change into their tuxes for the wedding ceremony, and nobody was using it at night. And Glib Guy had the only key to the room for some reason. So in perhaps the boldest and most impetuous move I've ever executed, I called Glib Guy up at his hotel room.

Me: Is the room at the wedding site unoccupied?
Him: Yeah..
Me: What are you doing now? I have my car now..
Him: Well, my plans seem like they're changing..
Me: I'll pick you up in ten minutes.

At 4:15AM, the freeways in Los Angeles are surprisingly empty. I zipped over to where he was staying and we backtracked to the wedding site, where yes, the hotel room the guys had been using was rather conveniently empty.

I must've been more out of it than I thought, because I do remember telling him that normally I wouldn't do this, but he was leaving town tomorrow anyways, and what were the odds that we were really going to stay in touch and that I was so never dating a law student again. I don't really remember what he said in response to this. And I wasn't even drunk at all.

Anyway. We didn't actually get to bed 'til well-past 6AM. I'll leave the rest to your imagination. Suffice it to say the lovely platitudes continued. A girl could get used to this.

The best part - after running into someone from Mark's family that Glib Guy knew while leaving the room the next morning - was the post-wedding brunch, where it was fairly clear that All The Groomsmen somehow knew what we had been up to. (Glib Guy was not there, as he had left for the airport by that time.) At least, I'm assuming they knew based on the judgemental sideways glances I got. Even Mark asked, with a very big and knowing smile, if I had had a good night last night. I so would have replied, "As good as yours, I'm sure," if other people hadn't been listening in.

Brooke and Mark are on their honeymoon now, so at least I have a week before I get a phone call from her asking me Why in the HELL didn't I tell her I hooked up with Glib Guy. (Brooke was too focused on Katie potentially hooking up with Glib Guy's twin brother, and I wasn't really looking at drawing attention to myself aside from the close dancing, hee.)

We said we'd keep in touch. He was rather cute about getting my last name straight so that he could email me. Will he actually email me? I'm not holding my breath. I'll be in NY in a couple of weeks, so perhaps I'll drop him a note then to let him know I'm around.

Ah, but what's a proper wedding without at least one bridesmaid and groomsman hooking up? I mean, I was only doing my duty after all. There was such a divide between high school friends and college friends, that we were doing our best to bridge the gap and be good-will ambassadors, if you will.