Tuesday, October 7, 2008
at 3:15 PM Posted by GHABB,Y~!
Some Bostonians may look at the upcoming Sox/Rays series with a sense of disappointment. I mean, the Rays? They weren't even a team when most of us were born. Besides, Tampa's not like New York or L.A. or some city that we can cite a historical grudge against. How can we possibly build up a hatred of Tampa freaking Bay?
I, however, don't have that problem. For, you see, Tampa is the home of the worst girlfriend I've ever had. Though it is shameful and not wildly legal, I now shall regale you with the tale of Skelewhore, my first college girlfriend.
It began, as many college relationships do, out of proximity and convenience. She lived in the hall adjacent to mine and was in a few of my classes, and our just-forming social circles overlapped quite nicely. She was incredibly intelligent and wildly opinionated, two turn-ons for a loudmouth asshole from Boston out of his Northern element. We were both perfectionists with a penchant for always being right. It should also be noted that she was about 5-10 and 93 pounds (seriously), as compared to my 6-3 265 frame. Yes, we looked pretty fucking ridiculous together.
I at first felt lucky to have found my intellectual equal in a cesspool of fake tans and even faker tits (I know, I'm weird, but I can't stand fake tits). Sure, we argued like Sid and Nancy on a regular basis, but that's what opinionated people do! Maybe my friends hated her and called her "Skelewhore", but hey, they just didn't get her! So what if she liked to throw her cellphone and alarm clock at my head after getting a bad test grade, that just means she's driven to succeed! Perhaps she'd go out clubbing with her friends and return at all hours of the night, but that's just her being a free spirit! Looking back, there were giant flashing red warning signs that this was an unhealthy relationship, but the chick had a weird power over me that I couldn't understand (it probably had something to do with the fact that her hair smelled nice), and worse, couldn't break free from.
In my defense (sort of), every time she'd fuck up or present me with one of those giant warning signs, she'd make up for it just as quickly by doing something else that made me think she really was "completely in love" with me, like introducing me to her family (more on that later), giving me some bullshit story about how she was finally ready to settle down or eventually, losing her virginity to me.
Oh yeah, her family. Like I said, she lived in Tampa, and I made the three-hour trek there once, during the same week that my best friend from Boston was visiting. My friend described the scene as something out of "Children of the Corn," but all I saw was her 300-pound mother, loafing on the couch, chain-smoking Newports with screaming children crawling around in literal inches of filth. A wedding picture on the mantle revealed that Mama Smokesalot was once a 90-pound waif like her daughter, but had since turned into the female Augustus Gloop. Suffice it to say, Skelewhore was probably not going to remain skeletal for many more years.
Anyways, it was soon after meeting her family that the cheating started. First she was subtle about it, like sneaking away for nights with "the girls" or phone calls from "her sister," but it became pretty brazen after a while. I broke up with her, only to get back with her again when she gave me another "I'm ready to change, I love you" speeches, and we got back together, only to repeat this cycle three or four times. Like I said, the chick had a power over me that I can't explain, nor am I proud of. She was like the David Koresh of my penis. You know how everyone knows that guy/girl who is with someone so completely and utterly wrong for them that literally everyone except for the person involved can see it? I was that friend.
Now I'd like to say that I eventually stood up for myself and freed myself from Skelewhore's wrath, but instead, after a year and a half, she broke up with me (SHE broke up with ME!) for some Army asshole who is probably the dressing on an Iraqi salad right now. I was obviously a wreck at the time, but eventually much better off for it, and endured only three or four more wildly unhealthy relationships (and thousands of dollars of therapy) before dating a girl who was not destructive to my psyche.
But when I think of Tampa, I'll always think of Skelewhore, and her cell phone-throwing, boyfriend-cheating, fat mom-having, 93-pound bony ass, and how she fucked with my head for a year and a half. Then, I'll remember that, a year after we broke up, I got a blowjob from her 17-year-old sister while she was visiting Big Sis at college.
Go Red Sox. Beat Tampa.