College: Little Bitch
*Author’s Note: I, once again, intended for this to be the final chapter in Girls, but it looks like I’ve done it again. I have far too much material for part 4. So it looks like there will be at least one more part (possibly two) to this saga. This part only focuses on one girl and her bat shit crazy behavior. Enjoy.
The summer before my senior year I got a job at the campus bookstore. I worked in the clothing department where I was the only guy. It was a pretty sweet gig. Besides working with a myriad of girls, I hardly had to do any actual work. About three weeks after I started, a new girl was hired. Her name was “Mandy.” She was a petite girl, barely over 5 feet, with long blonde hair and a tight body. Mandy was, to put it simply, outgoing. And hot. Very hot.
She had no problem voicing her opinion, which she did often. During the college orientation period she would often talk to incoming students and their parents for a half hour or more. But there was also a mischievous side to her gregariousness. She made as many, if not more, inappropriate innuendos as I did. Mandy was also very open about sex. One day I was stocking t-shirts with her, and I had a conversation I never expected to have.
I forget how exactly the conversation started but I think it was when I made an off color joke about the word “loose.” I nearly hit my head on a display table when she said, “actually I’m tight, you know, down there.” If I had been drinking a glass of water I probably would have spit that shit out. Besides being surprised by the subject itself, I was also perplexed by her tone. She said it matter-of-factly, like I asked what she had for lunch. I was taken aback so I just muttered, “uhhh?” But she just kept going. “You know because I’m so small, but guys like that right?” “Uhhh, I guess.” “Because it feels better right? That’s why guys like to have sex with virgins, right?” “Sure.” What the fuck? In what world is that an appropriate workplace conversation?
Vaginal elasticity was not on the list of things I expected to talk about when I got up for work. That wasn’t the only example either. She would frequently tell me that she, “loved sex.” She also let me know when she lost her virginity and that her parents didn’t know she was fucking more than a rabbit. On top of that, she was a shameless flirt. She set her sights on a cashier, “Nick,” right after she was hired. Eventually, she sunk her claws into him, the poor bastard.
Now, I have no problem with outgoing people; I can get along with most people. I liked Mandy, but it didn’t take a genius to see what fueled Mandy’s personality. She was an attention whore. A big one. She had to be the focus of a room. Like many girls, although they would never admit it, she liked to create drama where there was none. She overreacted to something minor almost daily. And god forbid if something or someone drew the spotlight away from her. I remember coming into the store one summer day after my class, and everyone on the sales floor greeted me warmly. Unfortunately, Mandy had been in the middle of a story when everyone stopped to say hi to me. She started pouting because people stopped paying attention to her. Low maintenance she was not. Right now, you might be wondering how I ever got involved with this girl. Well, I’ll tell you dear readers.
Like I said, Mandy started dating a cashier soon after she started. After about a month and a half they broke up. I assume it was because Nick couldn’t stand her constant berating and generally dramatic behavior. Around the same time, I had just moved from a one bedroom apartment outside of town to a huge four bedroom house just off campus with three of my friends. It was and old house, complete with dining room and spiral staircase. It was far too classy for four schmoes like us, but it did have excellent potential for parties. And believe me, we partied. Actually, by the end of our lease we ended up trashing the place, but I don’t feel bad about it because our landlords were more like slumlords.
At work I let it be known that we would be having many a party. When I moved in at the end of July I was the only one in the house for a couple weeks. I had a few small get-togethers and attempts at parties, which I invited my co-workers to. None of them showed, though. However, by the middle of August my roommates (“DF,” “Dump Mcstump” henceforth referred to as “D-Stump” and “Seal”) turned up and we began planning some serious parties. Mandy, for some reason, seemed to be extremely interested in attending one of our parties. It got to the point where she would ask me daily if I would invite her to one. I pointed out that she already had a few chances, and she responded by telling me that I didn’t give her enough notice. I assured her that next time we had a party I would invite her with plenty of notice.
About a week before school started my roommates and I were sitting around doing jack shit when we decided get sauced. In the interest of not seeming like such raging alcoholics, we decided to call some friends. We all got on the horn and started inviting everyone we knew. It was only around 5 p.m. so we had plenty of time to organize a grade-A hootenanny. I called Mandy first. She didn’t answer. I left her a message and then sent her a text, satisfied that I had covered all my bases. By 10 people started showing up, lots of people. But Mandy wasn’t one of them. I gave her one more call and then I started hitting the hooch. I was having so much fun that I didn’t really notice Mandy wasn’t there.
Later that night D-Stump and DF asked me where Mandy was. They probably assumed that I made her up to boost my self esteem. But their questions did make me wonder where the fuck she was after all her badgering. At about 2 a.m. I sent a very ill advised text, while I was bombed out of my goddamn skull. It said something along the lines of, “I invited you to our party tonight but you didn’t show. I guess I just won’t invite you from now on.”
Clearly I was being sarcastic and making light of the situation. I forgot that sometimes sarcasm doesn’t translate well via text message, well that, and sarcasm isn’t usually the preferred currency of language for most women. I thought I was making a joke; In reality I was lighting the fuse to a ticking time bomb. A couple days later I went to the bookstore to buy some school supplies. I stood in an aisle contemplating whether or not to spend the extra 30 cents on a more durable notebook, when Hurricane Raging Bitch hit.
“Chesterfield? Hey! I got a really rude text message at two in the morning the other day!” she said bitchily. I don’t think the exclamation points really convey what a scene she was making. She was having full fledged tantrum in middle of a crowded store. I tried to explain that it was joke and that I was really drunk at the time, but she just kept bitching. People were starting to look, and I was starting to get embarrassed. I finally gave in so she would shut her scone hole. “Alright, alright. I promise next time there’s a party I’ll let you know, just shut up.” Mandy, seemingly appeased, left. After that little episode some of you might be wondering why I would continue to hang out with a diva like Mandy. I’ll tell you why, because she was hot and she wanted to hang out with me. And when a hot girl wants to hang with you, you either do it, or you trade your balls in for a nice set of frilly, white panties and package of sanitary napkins.
The Saturday before Labor Day there was a big football game. Dean decided to throw a barbecue/party at his house. D-Stump, Rigolega and I headed over to Dean’s around 2 p.m. Dean and his roommate, “SP,” were already hitting the bottle pretty hard, and I wasn’t completely sure it was safe for them to be around a flaming grill. I tried to take it easy at first because I actually wanted to remember part of the game. But, even if you take it easy, when you start drinking at midday you’ll be walking like you have Lou Gehrig’s Disease by the end of the night. I, along with everyone else, was absolutely shitfaced by game time. So forgive me if a few events are a little fuzzy.
Shortly after the game ended I received a text from Mandy asking what I was doing. Holding up my end of the bargain, I invited her and her friend, “Leigh” to Dean’s party. It was a stupid move because she was completely sober, and I was on the verge of blacking out. Mandy showed up with her friend, and I showed them around Dean’s. I don’t remember exactly what happened next. In my mind everything from that part of the night is fuzzy and in slow motion, kind of like a Zac Synder film (an incredibly lame one). All I know is that there was drinking and talking and dancing and kissing.
I don’t know how it happened, but all of a sudden I was making out with Mandy on the couch in Dean’s garage. I also made out with her in Dean’s driveway and probably a couple other places too. I have no recollection of the initiation of the kiss; all I have are a few snapshots in my mind of us in an embrace. While we were standing in the driveway, Mandy pulled her tongue out of my mouth and asked where Leigh was.
I had no fucking clue. I wouldn’t have had clue even if I hadn’t had 15 beers. Plus, I didn’t really care about her friend; I was mostly thinking about how to get to second base without getting thrown out. Mandy’s den mother instinct (more commonly known as the cock block instinct) kicked in and she insisted on finding Leigh. Apparently, I had to come along on this wild fucking goose chase too. To make things even more difficult, Leigh wasn’t answering her phone.
Not knowing where to start, Mandy just crashed every other party in sight; It wasn’t the best way to find a friend or make one for that matter. She walked into complete strangers’ houses and interrogated everyone in sight. And I was stumbling along right behind her like her pussy-ass, personal whipping boy. She explained that she was just worried about her friend and said please and thank you in all the right spots, but she was still acting like a bitch. I was on the verge of passing out and even I could see that. The things I’ll do for a chance at some tang.
Finally, we figured out where Leigh was. She was with some bro down the street. Mandy stormed up to the door and started banging on it and raising all sorts of hell. Nobody answered. She called Leigh. She didn’t answer. Mandy continued to bang on the door, while I stayed back because I was embarrassed. Eventually, “Broham McDouche” answered the door. I realized why he couldn’t hear Mandy; he was playing some unbearable frat rock as loud as his shitty stereo would go (O.A.R totally rules brooooo!).
Mandy explained the situation and demanded to see Leigh. McDouche was a little confused, but he let us in. I hung back again because, like I said, I was embarrassed as shit. Mandy collected Leigh and informed her and McDouche that we were going home. McDouche said it was okay and that he understood, but I could tell he was pissed about getting cock blocked. I almost felt bad that his plans for non-consensual sex were disrupted, so I apologized to him on the way out.
Outside, I found out he would have been out of luck anyway. Leigh was on the rag. I got a hardy chuckle out of that. We walked back to Mandy’s car, and she asked what I wanted to do. Remember this next part because it will become important later. Being on the verge of passing out, I asked her to take me home. I didn’t have some nefarious plan to get her back to my room. She said, “What do you want to do?” and I said, “Drop me off at my house.” That’s it. Mandy obliged and gave me a ride. I kissed her goodnight and said I would talk to her tomorrow.
Later, I found out a few interesting things about that night that I was too drunk to remember. Apparently, Mandy and I had a long, heart-to-heart talk at some point. I wasn’t really surprised, as I’m prone to do things I wouldn’t normally do when I’m sloshed. Other examples include: dancing, singing and hitting on fat chicks. I guess some guy stole something from Dean’s house, too. Dean went to confront him and Mandy told me to go back him up. Well I went, but I slipped and fell on my ass on the way. Then I started laughing my bruised ass off, and then I only backed him up in the sense that I stood behind him and did absolutely nothing. As for events that didn’t directly involve me, Dean and his girlfriend, “Cougs,” informed me that every time that I was more than a foot away from Mandy she came to them and asked where I was and why I wasn’t paying attention to her. That’s not an exaggeration. Also, DF hitchhiked home rather than crash at Dean’s.
The next day I woke up at the crack of 1 p.m. D-Stump was MIA and DF was sitting shirtless in all of his hairy glory on one of our filthy couches. He kindly recounted his hitchhiking adventure for me while I attempted to defeat my hangover. D-Stump showed up a while later with his high school girlfriend (read: she was in high school, not that they had been dating since high school) “Chloe” in tow. I can’t remember where the fuck Seal was. We sat around and bullshitted while discussing our plans for the night.
We decided to go to a house party some of my buddies were throwing. I called Mandy and invited her and Leigh to the party. My buddies’ house was relatively close, so I told her to come over around 9 and then we would walk to the party. This is when things start to go bananas. It’s also when I started to doubt how much I actually liked Mandy. Her behavior the previous night didn’t seem all that strange because I was hammered-ass drunk, but over the next two days I started to realize what a clingy psychopath she was.
Mandy and Leigh showed up around 9:30. I let them in and formally introduced them to DF, D-Stump and Chloe. Again, I can’t remember where the fuck Seal was. They asked if we were pre-gaming. What the fuck kind of question was that? What kind of dog and pony show did they think we were running? Of course we were pre-gaming. I told them that they had a choice of cheap whiskey, Everclear or Milwaukee’s Best. I could see by the looks on their faces that they didn’t ascribe to the cheap=more hooch=more drunk=more fun, school of partying. It’s always something with women. I don’t like grain alcohol; why are your couches covered in beer and semen?; quit downloading porn when I’m hanging out with you. Geez. Who am I? The Pope?
Being underage, Mandy asked if I would buy them some booze. I reluctantly agreed and asked what they wanted. Without skipping a beat they said, “Bud Light With Lime.” Great, not only did I have to go on a pain-in-the-ass errand instead of getting drunk, but I had to look like a faggot while doing it. Mandy and Leigh wanted to come with me, so we hopped in my car and left.
After driving one block, not even half way to the booze-porium, Mandy decided she was tired of my music. She had the audacity to eject my CD and put on some bullshit top 40 radio station. You don’t change the music in my fucking car, especially if I’m going out of my way to do a favor for you. But it wasn’t just that she changed the music, it was that she turned off Guns N’ Roses’ Appetite For Destruction in favor of Rihanna or Katy Perry or some other bullshit. I know women usually have suspect musical tastes, but come on. She turned off an album that rocks so fucking hard it once melted Satan’s balls off. I wanted to say something but I didn’t. I didn’t want to ruin my chances that night. I just sat there and cringed the entire way to the store.
When we got to the store I went in and prayed that no one would see me purchasing such a fruity beer. I got in and out as quick as humanly possible. When I got back to my car I was disappointed to find that my speakers were still spewing bubble gum, pop-crap. I handed Mandy her beer and started the car. “Did you get these from the cooler?” she asked. Did I get them from the cooler? What, did she think I was some Eurotrash surrender monkey that drank beer at room temperature? “Of course I bought it from the cooler. This isn’t my first time buying beer,” I replied. I started to get the feeling that it would be a long night.
When we got back to my house I started mixing my whiskey and Coke. Mixing a cocktail had seemingly become a two man operation because Mandy was attached to me at the hip. In fact, she wouldn’t leave me alone. She was all over me every step I took. Now, there’s nothing wrong with having a pretty girl on your arm. It’s actually quite nice sometimes but not when you can’t take a piss with out her following you to the bathroom. She was smothering me, and it wasn’t just following me around like a lost puppy.
In the kitchen she grabbed me by the front of my t-shirt, pulled me toward her and gave me a slow kiss. She followed it by saying, “Mmmmm, you’re special.” I found that extremely weird. I had worked with her a couple months and it was only the second time I had hung out with her. She shouldn’t have been saying shit like that yet. My own mother doesn’t tell me that and I’ve known her at least twice as long as Mandy.
Mandy and Leigh started in on their beer. It took less than 10 minutes for Mandy to start complaining. “This isn’t as good as it usually is. It’s not doing it for me.” First, my liquor wasn’t good enough, and then, the liquor I bought specifically for her wasn’t good enough. What a bunch of horseshit. What self respecting college student is so picky about their booze? I mean, if you told me there was alcohol in goat piss I’d probably drink it. Because Mandy imagined her beer tasted different than usual, she was not getting drunk, which she then complained about. DF, being a professional facilitator of bad decisions, offered to solve the problem and suggested Mandy and Leigh do shots of Everclear. This was not a good idea, nor has it ever been.
I’ve done Everclear shots, and any good night I’ve ever had has not included them. Once, D-Stump and DF took shots of Everclear, blacked out and wrestled in the hallway of our dorm for half an hour. Then DF threw up in my bathroom for half an hour and D-Stump passed out on my floor. Does that sound like a good night to you? Mandy and Leigh were unsure about the idea (for good reason). After a bit of convincing Mandy and Leigh both agreed to do some shots. After some sputtering, coughing and choking they finished their shots. To my surprise, 15 minutes later they were ready for round two. For two 100 lb. girls, two shots of Everclear is like getting hit by a Mac truck of drunkness. They were now sufficiently wasted.
The booze stopped Mandy from complaining, but now she was acting like giggling, infantile high school girl who just had her first wine cooler. I’m still not sure which was worse. Mandy’s pissing and moaning took up a good chunk of time so it had quickly gotten to be 11:30. I rounded up the crew and finally managed to get us out the door. Mandy viewed the walk to the party as another opportunity to complain about inconsequential bullshit and things I couldn’t control.
First, she criticized the way I held hands, which to be honest, I didn’t want to do in the first place. I’m no Llyod Dobbler. After that she asked, “how much farther,” every two fucking minutes. The party wasn’t that far away. It was maybe, a 15 to 20 minute walk. In other words, not far enough to justify driving to. Her constant nagging made it seem like the Bataan death march, though. Once we got half way, she started nagging me about having to pee. The party was another 5 to 10 minutes away, but she wouldn’t let it go. I put my foot down and told her to hold it, which she pouted about. By the time we got to the party alarms were going off in my head. I was starting to think that maybe this whole thing was a mistake.
We got to the party and it was in full swing. When we entered I had five different people calling my name. I showed Mandy where the bathroom was, and then I attended to my friends. When Mandy got out of the bathroom she found me immediately. “Come with me,” she said grabbing my arm. I didn’t know where the fuck she wanted me to go; she didn’t know anyone at the party and there was hardly an inch of free space. Besides that, I wanted to go talk to the hosts, who I hadn’t seen in months. “Uhh, actually I’m gonna go say hi to some people,” I said. “Oh, okay. Fine,” she said pouting, yet again. I’ve learned that it’s never a good thing when a girl says, “fine.” But I didn’t care. God forbid, I want to talk to my friends that I haven’t seen in months at their own party that I invited her to.
A couple minutes later, I was talking to some friends when mid-sentence Mandy pulled me aside and started making out with me. I’ll admit the kiss was pretty hot, but for fuck’s sake, couldn’t this girl be by herself for more than a minute? Understandably, my friends were put off by the awkward situation. After that I was subject to continuous choruses of, “Why aren’t you paying attention to me?” and “You’re not giving me enough attention!” Thank god my veins were filled with equal parts blood and whiskey, otherwise I might not have been able to bear it. I was still a little annoyed, though. I pulled Mandy on to the dance floor (the living room) hoping it would shut her noise hole. It worked.
And holy shit did she dance skanky. Her ass was all over my junk and as an added bonus, she wasn’t complaining. It was great. Leigh also found a guy for some scandalous dancing. D-Stump and Chloe joined the action too. DF was probably off somewhere saying inappropriate things or taking his clothes off or both. But Mandy just had to open her fucking mouth again.
D-Stump and Chloe were dancing in front of us, and I said some innocuous comment about them. “I like Chloe. She’s a cute girl; nice too. But I think she could do a lot better than D-Stump,” Mandy said. Oh no she didn’t. Listen, there are a lot things that I’m not: tactful, tolerant of morons, tall, good with women, etc… But if I am one thing, it’s loyal. A slight on one of my friends is a slight on me. I wasn’t about to let Mandy bad mouth one of my best friends who she didn’t even know. “Don’t say that. Don’t you fucking say that. You don’t even know him.” That shut her yap pretty quickly.
The rest of the party went without incident, but that’s because it was cut short. As cops are wont to do in college, they broke up the party. I gathered the group up and then we started to walk home. On the walk home Mandy mentioned that I seemed distant, and I was. I was inside my head; I kept wondering whether or not I was making a mistake and how much I actually liked Mandy. It was a classic chess match between penis and brain. Mandy was smoking hot, but her behavior was suspect. My ding-dong begged me to give her a shot so that he might shake hands with her. My brain begged me to throw her to the curb so her complaining would cease to harm him. The resulting match wasn’t even close. It was like penis was Deep Blue and brain was a monkey with Down’s Syndrome.
When we got back to my place I plopped down on the couch. Mandy sat down too and put her legs over me (the ole’ legs over lap move from part 2. See, I told you it was a thing). I turned the TV on and passed one of Dane Cook’s stand up specials. Mandy told me to go back. Mentally, I marked another strike against her. Meanwhile, DF and D-Stump were doing their sacred duty as wingmen: entertaining Leigh and keeping her the fuck away from us. I have to hand it to them, they did a good job. But Mandy’s occasional glance toward the other room and Leigh’s frequent visits to the living room led me to believe that I would get cock blocked that evening, despite the best efforts of my wingmen, and brothers in poontang wrangling.
We were watching Dane Cook’s shitty stand up and he got to the joke in his act about “the first time you see the other person’s prizes and goodies.” First let me say, that joke sucks and so does Dane Cook. I didn’t say that because I didn’t want to start a fight, which would inevitably end with Mandy sulking and being a bitch. But I had to say something. “That’s not really true. You kind of know what you’re getting based on the person,” I said to Mandy. “What do you mean? Like, you can just tell by looking at someone,” she responded. “I don’t think it’s that simple but yeah, basically.” Yet again, she said something I was not expecting. “Okay, then what about me?”
I had to be very careful with this question. Insinuating either that she was hairier than a sheepdog or that she was shaved in some elaborate pattern like a porn star would send her off the deep end. “Uhhh, I don’t know, trimmed? But not completely shaved.” She paused and then she said, “Yeah, basically. You wanna see?” Mandy pulled her shirt up, unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans and pulled her underwear down a little bit. As if that wasn’t shocking enough for me, she took my hand and put it on her freshly mowed lawn.
I couldn’t believe it was happening and didn’t know how to react. I was in a catatonic state. I was also very drunk, which probably didn’t help. But seriously, who the fuck does that? I highly doubt that move is in the standard chick playbook. It seems more like a move out of the standard hooker’s playbook. I don’t just whip out my wang on a first or second date. Even I know you have to wait until the third date. I didn’t have time to think about it more because Leigh came into the living room a few minutes later and had a conference with Mandy.
Like Nostro-fucking-damus I had correctly predicted the blockage of my cock. I guess Leigh was mad that DF and D-Stump were trying to give me and Mandy some space. She didn’t like that, “she was being kept away from her friend.” Keep in mind she was on her period, so she was extra bitchy. Mandy relayed this information to me, and I told her that I didn’t ask them to do it; they just did it (like I would have done anything about it anyway). Mandy and Leigh left in a huff shortly after that.
The next day I awoke to three missed text messages, all from Mandy. What was with this girl? She either got too many hugs as kid or not enough. I’d also be willing to bet that her dad called/calls her “princess.” A word to the wise, always be cautious of a girl whose dad calls her princess. More often than not, she believes it. Anyway, The first one said, “Happy Labor Day!” The next one was in reference to something I had drunkenly promised her the night before, “So when are going for the drive in your Camero?” The cherry on top of the clingy sundae was the third message, “What, no response?
.” I had just gotten up and I had to deal with this shit? We weren’t even boyfriend/girlfriend (or even close to it) yet and she was already rolling out the guilt trips and trying to keep tabs on me. Fuck me sideways. I explained to her that I had just gotten up and since there were no classes I was using the day to catch up on my work. She reluctantly accepted my explanation, and I proceeded to go to the design lab and slave over a computer all day.
After I finished my work, Mandy called me and asked if I wanted to hang out at her apartment later. Alone. I suggested that we watch a movie. Mandy agreed and told me what time to come over. The way I saw it was that it would be the truest test of whether or not I wanted to continue the relationship. Neither of our friends would be there to distract us; we would both be sober; and we would be on her turf, not mine. I was still nervous, though. Based on Mandy’s constant talk of sex, her sexual innuendos and her willingness to shove her tongue down my throat, I was fairly certain that she might try to seduce me. And to be honest, I wasn’t sure I would know what to do after I rounded second base. From there it would just be asses, elbows and awkwardness.
Not only that, but the situation would most likely lead to another brain vs. penis chess match. I was afraid of the moral dilemma that could possibly ensue. This meeting could very well confirm the fact that Mandy was an insufferable brat that I was intellectually repulsed by. But that would all go out window if I was riding her like Seabiscuit. There’s no way I could pass that up even if it meant sacrificing my principles. In which case, I would be faced with yet another dilemma. If I did tax that ass and then split, I would be labeled an asshole, and I’d be living up to every negative stereotype women have of men. On the other hand, if I started a relationship, I would be living an unfulfilling lie. Of course, everything could go great and I would live happily ever after, but, come on, you know that’s not what’s coming.
Monday evening came, and I commenced operation 3-S: shower, shit and shave. I went downstairs and was greeted by hoots, elbow nudges and general razzing. Seal had resurfaced too. I started to sift through my movie collection with the help of all three roommates. I wanted to keep the mood light so I eliminated drama, action and horror flicks. And porno, I eliminated that too. We looked through my comedies and voted. I ended up with Wedding Crashers and Superbad. Armed with my movies and an incredible urge to vomit, I left.
I arrived at Mandy’s apartment, and she seemed genuinely excited to see me. I almost felt bad that I couldn’t match her enthusiasm. It’s tough being a cynic. I asked Mandy which movie she wanted to watch and she picked Superbad. Of course she would pick my #2 choice. She popped the movie in and went into her bedroom to change into a sweatpants and a sweatshirt even though it was 95 goddamn degrees outside. She was “freezing” because of her arctic grade air conditioning, but I was still sweating my nads off.
We started to watch the movie. She laughed. I laughed. We kissed. A lot. She switched positions about a thousand times, all the while keeping her hands all over me. I tried every trick in the book to turn my petrified wood into pulp. I thought about baseball statistics; I pictured a nursing home orgy; I even ran the prison rape scene from American History X in my mind. Nothing really worked. Then, as the movie was ending, Mandy took her hand and put in my short leg, slowly moving it toward my fun zone. Hello, Boner City; population me. The credits started to roll, and Mandy got up to turn the movie off.
She returned to the couch and promptly straddled me. Let’s stop the tape and break this down. She wanted me to come to her apartment. She came on to me (several times). She had been all over me the entire night, as well as the previous two nights. She had proven herself to be a very sexual being based on her actions and words. I think any reasonable guy would see these actions as a green light to do the no-pants dance. However, when dealing with women, it’s important to remember that they rarely use reason or logic. Alright, roll tape; let’s watch this fucking train wreck.
Mandy was on top of me and we were going at it. She was really getting into it. I had to make a move soon. By this point in my dating career (or lack there of), I realized that I lost many opportunities because I played things to conservatively and didn’t take chances. Doctors believe this is a symptom related to chronic pussy-itis. I took my hands and started sliding her sweatshirt up. To my surprise, she was okay with it and even raised her arms over her head to expedite the process. We continued to make out for a while, and I decided to take another chance. I put both my hands above Mandy’s hips and started moving her tank top up. She didn’t stop me. She didn’t say anything either. Holy shit! She really did want a hot beef injection, and luckily for her, the doctor was in.
I got her shirt up to her ribs and then the proverbial train jumped the goddamn tracks. She pulled away from me and with a shocked expression said, “what did you think was gonna happen tonight?” Was this bitch serious? She was the one that climbed on top of me. She was the one that was all over me for the entire weekend. She was the one who talked about sex every time I worked with her. Did she think this was sending out any other message but “I want some dick”?
“Did you think you were going to have sex with me tonight?” There was so much disdain in the way she hissed sex that it made me shudder. I was so confused that I didn’t know what to do or say. Eventually, my brain unfroze, and I tried to defuse the situation the only way I know how: humor. “I don’t really expect anyone to have sex with me.” She didn’t laugh like I thought she would. She repeated herself again, and I told her that I did not in fact expect to have sex with her. Okay, so I thought there was a chance we might do it, but I certainly didn’t expect to. But can you blame me after the way she acted? And I certainly wouldn’t have pressured her or forced her to. I’m not that guy, and I thought she would be perceptive enough to see that. I was wrong.
“Did you bring a condom? Do you have a condom in your wallet?” Uh, oh. I did have one in my wallet, but it wasn’t mine. And I hadn’t intended on bringing one at all. Right as I was about to leave for Mandy’s, DF asked me the very same question Mandy did. All three of my roommates insisted (and by insisted I mean yelled and demanded) that I bring a condom. DF grabbed me and literally wouldn’t let me leave until I took the Trojan he had in his hand. But to diffuse the situation I told Mandy I didn’t have one.
“Come on really, what were you expecting?” “I was expecting to hang out with you; I came over here for you!” Jesus-tap-dancing-Christ, I couldn’t believe this fucking girl. When a girl climbs on top of you, what are you supposed to do? Have some fucking tea and a nice chat? “I just feel like after Dean’s party you just trying to get me back to your house to sleep with me.” WHAT!?!?! If you’ll remember (which I told you to) I simply asked Mandy to drop me off at home that night. I didn’t even make an attempt to get her inside. Even if I did manage to get her inside, nothing was going to happen. I was shithoused drunk by 9 p.m. Nothing short of a fistful of Viagra and Shyla Stylez lying in my bed was getting me up that night.
“What? I just asked you to take me home.” Mandy didn’t seem to have a reply to that. Funny how the truth has that effect. Confounded by my stone cold reason Mandy kept going on about what I “expected to happen” that night, while I started to get seriously irritated. Then she went into a self-righteous speech about how sex was “really special” to her, which I found hard to believe. Maybe sex was special to her but all evidence pointed to the contrary. She lost her virginity at 16 and had been fucking ever since. She never went more than a couple of months without a boyfriend. She was boning Nick the cashier after a couple weeks of dating. Not to mention, how much she talked about sex during the course of a regular workday. She was literally addicted to dick, but, somehow, saw herself as a virtuous romantic; an angelic ladylike character out of a Victorian Era novel. Yeah right. I wasn’t the buying the bullshit she was selling.
The other thing that bothered me about her spiel, besides self righteous attitude, was the condescension. Mandy was up on her moral high horse looking down on me. She thought just because I was guy, sex didn’t mean anything to me. It doesn’t mean so much to me that I’d abstain from it until marriage; that’s fucking stupid. But, unlike some of my friends who were at school to complete their doctorate in hoodrat slaying, I wasn’t trying to screw every booze slut in sight of the beer pong table. I actually want to know and like and connect with the girls I have (or try to have?) sex with. I brought this point up to Mandy, and she started backpedaling.
Mandy was on the ropes. She realized that she was acting like a silly little bitch. She started backpedaling and trying to apologize. “I’m sorry I ruined the mood; how can I fix things?” The part of my brain that constantly fucks with me, and makes everyday life as difficult as possible, offered an answer to her query: a blow job. While that would have a been hilarious and made for a great story, it also would have endangered me physically. I answered honestly, ” I don’t know.” After that we sat on the couch in a strained, awkward silence that seemed like hours, but in reality was only minutes. Realizing that the situation wasn’t going to get any better and not wanting to make it any worse, I grabbed my movie and left.
I hopped in my car, cranked Guns N’ Roses and sped home. I got home and busted through the front door, still seething. DF, D-Stump and Seal were congregated in the living room, awaiting my return. Three variations of, “how’d it go?” were spoken simultaneously. Rather than answer them and recount my story, I unleashed the anger that had been building since I left Mandy’s apartment. “GOD DAMMIT!!!,” I shouted as I threw my keys at the wall.
After retrieving my keys (and newly broken automatic opener), I recounted Mandy’s bat shit crazy behavior to my roommates. They agreed that she was indeed fucking nuts, and I did the right thing. Although it was a given that they would take my side. As I was sitting on the couch and cooling down, my phone rang. It was Mandy. I looked at my phone for several seconds and decided not to answer. I was still pretty pissed off and insulted, and I really didn’t want to yell at her or say something I might regret.
About five minutes later I got a text. It was from Mandy. I read the text and listened to the voice mail she left earlier. They both basically said the same thing; she was sorry and wanted to talk to me about a second chance. About 30 minutes later I got another text saying the same goddamn thing. I wondered if she was actually remorseful or just upset about the possibility of losing such a promising source of attention for her insatiable need.
I went to sleep that night without responding to Mandy. Over the next few days I got more calls and more texts from her. I got cornered one day when I answered my phone without looking, because I was stressed and in a rush on campus, and it was Mandy. I told her we would talk about things when I had some time. This was not lie. I actually happened to be very busy and stressed that week between school and work, without her horseshit on top of everything.
Sitting on our front porch the next day, smoking and drinking, my friends asked what I was going to do. “I think I’m gonna just gonna end it. Get rid of her,” I said. “She’s an attention whore; it would just be constant drama. Plus, I realized I don’t really like her that much, and I’m not going be with her if I don’t feel the same way. I’m not gonna do that to her.” The reaction to my decision was mixed. Rigolega and Seal were on my side, but DF, D-Stump and Dean weren’t as supportive. D-Stump, being a paragon of virtue, offered his assessment, “you don’t have to like someone to get some puss.” Dean was less sleazy but was basically thinking the same thing as D-Stump. But he could only muster, “No, no, come on!”
I called Mandy and we talked about the situation, well, she did most of the talking. I just listened and said, “yeah” or “uh huh” in the right spots. When she was done, I told her what I thought. “Well, do you want to give me a second chance?” Mandy asked hopefully. “Ahhhhhh, to be honest, not really. I’d rather not.” Mandy was shocked. I don’t think anyone had ever said no to little miss princess. “Wow, that’s not what I was expecting.” “Yeah, well, sorry.” I hung up and literally never saw her again.
To this day, I don’t regret the decision I made. I don’t think I ever really liked Mandy. I convinced my self that I did, though. For once an attractive girl liked me and my excitement over that fact blinded me. I had never been on that side of the equation. I was always the one doing the chasing, but this time I was the object of attraction. And it fucked with my head. I ignored her dramatic behavior and attention whore tendencies. I kept making excuses to look past the fact that we clearly weren’t compatible. The truth is, she would have constantly been trying to stuff me into a box I would never fit in, and I would have been miserable.
Oh, and if you’re wondering how I never saw her again even though she worked with me, I’ll tell you. Right before our little debacle, she switched to a different department. Then she left school and went home the next semester because she was too stupid to get into the nursing program. And a couple weeks ago I found out she defriended me on Facebook. So I have no problem writing the next sentence.
Fuck that whore.
The Mandy situation kind of set the tone for the rest of my year. It seemed to be constantly raining shit on me. I was struggling with my school workload, while trying to work part time. Around Christmas my Crohn’s disease flared up and I felt like shit for months (basically my entire final semester at college). I even had to spend most of my spring break in the hospital. Now, one would think, that after all that something would finally go my way. Well, guess a-fucking-gain.
Stay tuned for part 5, which involves two shorter, but equally fucked up, stories.


