Wednesday, May 28, 2008

If She's A Freak In Between The Sheets, I No Longer Stick Around To See If It's An Isolated Incident

It all begins with a midnight rendezvous with a chick who casually checks me out a few years ago while I'm working at a cafe in Rochester, NY. As it happens, I'm on break from a long time GF and view this as an excellent opportunity to get laid. So we do the dirty deed and I walk out as if I had just slept with Jenna Jamison (in her prime); I mean it was without a doubt the greatest sex I have ever had.

Fast forward two years and I begin to date the girl because of her prowess in the bedroom, as well as a few other redeemable qualities such as my belief that she was a pretty cool chick. I live in Milwaukee; she lives in NYC and after a year of dating I decide to plug my nose, take the plunge and move in with her. Sure she had her issues, but honestly what girl doesn't?

All is gravy for quite a while and then thing begin to slip. It starts with calling her every night before bed which I detest but decide to go along with because I thought I genuinely liked the girl (notice I didn't say love). Next, as we begin to live together, the cuddling that was previously intermittent because of the distance between us becomes a mandatory nightly affair. This becomes a sore spot for us both, as I enjoy being comfortable and she craves the affection her parents never gave, which I am now required to provide.

The last phase begins with her occasionally "flipping her shit" at home, and of course leads to more chaos between us both. She decided to see a psychiatrist to deal with that and other things she had been dealing with (her grandma had just died). She comes home to tell me that the diagnosis indicates that she's Bi-Polar (fucking wonderful). I tell her to consult another doctor for another opinion, concluding perhaps the stress of our relationship coupled with her grandma's death might be the cause for her recent instability. She doesn't want to hear it.

After a month of dealing with this new and exciting condition I decide after she has a complete meltdown in Crate & Barrel (on 59th St. in NYC) over my comment that the store was over priced (she defended its cost effectiveness as if her family owned the company and loudly exclaimed I "didn't know what the fuck I was talking about" in front of a minimum of 500 people). I decided it was best to get the hell out of the relationship.

She doesn't take it well and the next few months of my life are enveloped by a psychopath who calls in excess of 100 times a day, shows up at my office and even goes as far to tell me I got her pregnant. (The funniest part about this is she also faked a miscarriage and when we were at the hospital the doctor told us both that her pregnancy test came up negative. Her response was that her last test had also come up negative and that a blood test would clear things up. The doctor then told us that urine tests are just as accurate as blood tests, much to her chagrin).

Furthermore she tries to extort money from me, which is hilarious because much like other 20-somethings in Manhattan I am living hand to mouth, and threatens to ruin & humiliate me at any cost. The finale is when she calls and tells me that she thinks she's going to kill herself. I decided to take one out of the page of Seinfeld and told her to go ahead and do it. That way I would never hear from her again. What can I say....I'm a pretty insensitive cat when people try and fuck me over on near historic levels. She insisted that I come to her place and stop her, which was luckily followed by a call from her aunt indicating that if she ever contacted me again her family would endorse a restraining order.

The point of this experience is quite simple. If you happen to sleep with someone who blows your mind and is everything you would expect in a porn star, consider a brief yet effective psychiatric evaluation. It could just save you from making the stupidest decision you'll ever make in your life.


Serial Monogamist said...

This sounds eerily like an ex-friend of mine.

But I think I can one up you: Did your Bi-Polar honey ever fake her own death? Like sending text messages from her mother's phone saying, "Bi-Po is dead. Please do not come to the funeral, it would be too difficult."

I weep for every man who ever fell for the hypnosis of her giant, giant tits.

Cainmutiny said...

Yeah the giant tits had me like a deer in the headlights as well; ever date a chick from Rochester, NY? LOL

itinerantwoman said...
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