Day 668
I've dated my share of trainwrecks. And yours. And your cousin's. And the quota for the next 14 people you randomly see on the street. I'm a magnet for them. These emotionally damaged & generally broken people. And if you've ever dated me, well... what does that say about you? And maybe what does that say about me?
My track record runs the gamut from "stripper with daddy issues seeking validation from boys by taking her clothes off and getting us horny to make up for daddy not hugging her enough or telling her he was as proud of her as he was of her brother" broken to "how is this bitch not in a rubber padded room with her shoelaces taken away?" type crazy. Granted, there've been a handful of quite sane ones thrown in over the years, but I think they're just the exception that reminds me of the rule. Because total immersion in crazy makes you lose your perception of what not crazy looks like to date. The sane ones are the anchor to the not-crazier-then-a-badger-in-a-dress level dating world.
Fuck, I probably have enough crazy bitch stories to fill a book or 2. But I've always felt compelled to mostly keep them to myself or to tell short stories about them to close friends but never make it into a thing.
But I digress. I have been telling stories here recently and wanted to tell you one about one of the most generally creepy stalker crazy girls I've ever fucked.
Her name was Sonya. Or Angelina.
I'm not actually sure. No really. Not an "I don't remember"... I'm actually NOT sure which was her real name. She went by both. Even her parents called her by both. I have no idea how the interchangable-first-names thing works. Not nicknames or shortened versions like Joseph to Joe or Joey... but completely different fucking names. In everyday life. So I'm really not sure what the protocol was on this one and I'm still not.
So I just called her that goth slut.
Well, when a girl is perfectly OK with you calling her slut at any time, and in any situation, with anybody around, that should have been a huge fucking red fucking flag of the emotional bear trap you're sticking your dick in. It's one thing to be OK with it in bed or private, but when it's in the middle of a mall or when talking to random people, that should have really been a red flag. But like an alzheimers patient with sticking their finger in a lightsocket or a moth to a bug zapper, I stumbled into this one like a moron. I blame excess bloodflow to the poor-decision-making head and lackthereof bloodflow to the one designed to do those complicated processes of recognizing sociopaths when they're obviously acting like obvious sociopaths. But regardless, I still have a story to tell here.
I met this girl while I was living in Cleveland. I was 22. She was 19. And had not yet graduated highschool. Yes, remember when I mentioned huge red flags? Protip: This is one of them. But like all sociopaths, this one had learned how to present themselves as exactly what you want. Namely, anything but who they actually are. And this girl presented herself as just that. Entirely not who she was. You know... sane.
Well, I met her through a friend's girlfriend's friend's cousin or something. I don't exactly remember the details as vividly as I probably should. Too much blocking out of this chick in the last 10 years to forget about how scewy things got. I believe she met up with us at some bar one night and seemed marginally fun, somewhat funny, and kinda cute. However, in one very important way, she was totally my type: Whorish, in a pretty obvious way. That one trait caught my attention and I liked it. She and I hit it off ok, and started talking a little bit more before the end of the evening. I didn't really make any attempts with her, but I was still only about 21 or 22 or so at the time, and not really all that good at reading signals. I still suck with them, but I'm better than I was back then. Though apparently my ability to identify gigantic red flags is the only thing that has drastically improved in the past decade.
We exchanged contact info at the end of the evening and went our seperate ways. But the next day, I saw an e-mail from her and replied. We talked for a few days before losing track of one another and being unable to schedule something to get together.
Fast forward about 3 months and I get another e-mail from her. I was single and had been on a little bit of a dry spell since shortly after the last time she & I had spoken, so I replied and we made plans. Thankfully, it was the summer and I didn't have class and hadn't had much luck finding a part time summer gig so far. So I had the time to spare, if not the money to really do a lot.
Well, we decided to keep it simple and I invited her over for dinner.
The problem was that she didn't drive. This seems to be a weird recurring thing in my life with girls that don't drive. PlayboyBunny didn't drive. Nurse didn't drive. A lot of them didn't drive. I guess I did have a phase of codependent girls. Ugh.
Well, the other problem is she lived 45 minutes away. No big deal, really. But a minor inconvenience.
I picked her up and the first evening was pleasant. She was nice. Flirty. Nothing really raising the red flags or anything at least. And we ended up in bed.
Well, the downside was it was about 2:30 in the morning when we got done. And she lived 45 minutes away. So that's an hour and a half of driving that I didn't really want to do. But I gotta take this girl home, so I dragged my ass back up off the bed and told her to get dressed and took her home.
We talked in the intervening week and made plans for the following weekend.
When I arrived to pick her up, I told her she could crash at my place that night. Mostly because I kind of expected to nail her again and really didn't feel like driving her home and not getting back to my own bed before 4am again. Apparently, she took this to mean something else. Something else entirely.
Of course, we ended up fucking like rabbits again and then I passed out. Because that's what I do after I get off.
We woke up saturday morning and I took my morning shower. She followed after me and got herself cleaned up. Washing the cum out of her hair and all those other things that whores do, while I was getting myself dressed and cleaning up a little while preparing to take her home.
After she was done and dressed herself, she came out of the bedroom and said that she didn't feel like leaving yet. I wasn't in any gigantic hurry, so I showed her where things were in the kitchen and she offered to make some lunch. I wasn't going to complain. And any excuse for me to have someone else make me a sandwich was fine with me.
The day progressed and she seemed to be in no rush and showed no interest in going home. And with me being a 21 or 22 year old guy on a pussy dry spell, I wasn't really complaining after she blew me while I was watching tv that afternoon. Sadly, it was the summer and there wasn't anything GOOD on tv so that I could enjoy the "Sporting Event/Blowjob/Cigar" Trifecta-Of-Champions, but even with just some golf or a bad network movie on, I was getting head. It felt like a win. And I figured that even if she stayed, I was getting laid again that night, so it wasn't a major issue.
This was a huge mistake. I'm not going to get into the entire long-term consequences of this mistake, but I'll just leave it at "don't do this".
Well, she of course stayed the night. And of course, I got some good sex again. But, I wasn't nearly as much of a dick as I am now. I've since learned the lesson of knowing exactly when to say "get the fuck out". Even if I'm getting my dick wet by a girl being there. And when Sunday morning rolled around and it was a repeat of Saturday morning, I really should have seen all of the god damned warning signs.
But I was an idiot and got pussy-blind. It's something that happens to young men from time to time. Especially young-men on a dry spell. Like an oasis in the desert, or a man lost at sea that knows he shouldn't drink the sea water but is so parched, that he does. This was my lost at sea moment. And even vagina that had all of the signs of being problematic became OK when it really should not.
So Sunday night she stayed again. But as I said, it was summer, I had no job that summer and wasn't taking classes. So I didn't care. I was getting laid. I justified it as being OK because I was getting laid. And on monday morning, it was another repeat of Saturday and Sunday.
And then it was Tuesday.
And then Wednesday.
And then Thursday came.
This is when I realized I was over my head. Well, I actually realized it when she said something in passing on Wednesday night, but it wasn't until Thursday that I really realized it. She said something about the future the night before. It was on Thursday that she brought it up again, but I could tell that it wasn't just some off-handed comment like I had chalked it up to the night before. She was actually starting to plan our future. Holy fucking shit! I know I'm fucked now.
She started talking about getting a job in the area. Moving in. STARTING A FAMILY!
Oh my sweet jumping green christ on a pogo stick! What in the world do I do about this?
It wasn't until I got a luckily timed phone-call from my mother that I worked out a plan.
The goth slut was in the bathroom at the time when I got the call and my mother and I hung up from our conversation just before this girl came back out of the bathroom. Thankfully, I had my plan figured out pretty quickly. I needed this call. And I knew she had heard the beginnings of the call right before she went into the bathroom.
I took the cowards way out. Mostly because I didn't know any other way to do it that didn't leave me at risk of her going insane. And I lied.
I told her that my mother was coming to visit. Like... today. As in she was going to be leaving her house in about a half hour or so and it would take her about 3 hours to get there. Which gave us 3 1/2 hours or so before my mother got there. This meant that I'd have to talk her home before my mother got there. She obviously got deflated when I told her that she couldn't be there when my mother got here. I think she somehow managed to forget that, even if she had been there for 6 days now, it was still simply Day 6 of DATE #2!!!! And yeah, it would be really weird to explain that. So she got bummed for a few moments, but within about 10 minutes she was OK with the situation.
Well, because I had given a 3 1/2 hour window, she wanted to wait until the last possible moment before I took her home. So about an hour and a half or 2 hours before we left for me to take her home. This window would also become an issue. So let this be a lesson to anyone else that ends up with a crazy girl trying to move in on the second date... Don't give them a window where they can stay one second longer than when you make the move to get them the fuck out. You make it clear that we have to leave now. Like right the fuck now. Like there's-a-team-of-killers-on-the-way-to-the-house-to-torture-and-kill-her-in-order-to-get-me-to-talk-about-where-the-microchip-is-hidden kinda now. 5 minutes ago kinda now.
You get the idea.
Well, this window was something that I was ignorantly OK with. And it gave me a good opportunity to do some badly-needed cleaning, under the auspices that I was cleaning the apartment for my mom's visit. It was a good enough excuse. So I got to it.
Well, long story short... I cleaned, she fucked around on my computer and left me some really nasty letter (as well as a few other surprises that I didn't find out about until much later) with threats about how I'm going to get what I deserve and blah blah blah simply because I was taking her home. Wow. Yeah. She was a piece of work.
She was pleasant on the way back to her house, but was obviously bummed that she was leaving. I was relieved, but still tense. I was hoping this was going to work.
Well, when we arrived at her parents house (she lived with them), apparently she didn't have a key. And they weren't home. How the fuck do you not have a key to your own house? How does that even happen?
Well, I was trying to be nice and not leave her just sitting there, looking around for the hidden spare key, when I got another call. This time, it was PlayboyBunny. She was my ex, but we were still friendly. And appreantly she wanted to know what the fuck was up with some e-mail she got from my address but with some girl warning her to stay away from me. I told her I'd call her back. I had put 2 and 2 together in my head and was now officially tired of this bitches shit. So I hung up as she was walking back to the car with this "I don't know what to do?" expression on her face.
I think this might have been one of my earlier asshole moments were I just stopped giving a fuck about being nice. And I told her "Hope you get in, but I gotta go. Bye" and simply threw the thing in reverse and pulled out.
I left her sitting on her porch. I have no idea if she ever got in, or what happened to her. I just know that she, intentionally or otherwise, caused a lot of problems for me in the following years. Not thru active means, but in the form of repercussions from that one week. I'm not getting into them all here. But it's just fucked up enough that "unbelievable" almost barely covers it.
But fuck it. That's enough writing. I just know that I never want to see that bitch again. And don't wanna know about her. I've never even tried to find where she ended up. I don't want any part of that crazy back anywhere near my life.
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