I was so dumbfounded when she said this that I didn’t even have the sense to say, “I’d never cheat on you, don’t worry.” All I said was, “OF COURSE they wouldn’t! Why would they!?!?!”
Why would my friends, my brothers, sell me down the river for some girl that has a 99% chance of being dumped at some point anyway? In fact let’s set aside the obvious, that they have infinitely more loyalty to me than to her. Truthfully they had more loyalty to Gumby’s Pizza than to her. I mean, not even I would have chosen her over Pokey Stix. The sex was pretty plain, but there’s nothing plain about that perfect balance of garlic and cheesy bread.
(*runs to car, speeds to San Marcos, picks up Gumby’s, ruins pants, passes out*)
But assuming someone was a big enough twat to inform my then girlfriend of an infidelity, there’s still the ever-present mutually assured destruction that exists between all fraternity brothers.
“Oh you felt like telling my girlfriend that I got an OTPHJ at Monmouth? Refresh my memory; the other day was that your girlfriend you violated like she was the Geneva Convention and you were a Bosnian war criminal? Because I’m pretty sure you buried your dick in her mud like it was a group of villagers being dumped into a shallow grave. I should ask her, I can’t remember.”
A fraternity is like one big Mexican standoff of horrible secrets, often times about things that happened in Mexico. “STEVE WAS AT THE DONKEY SHOW TOO! HE PUT FORTY PESOS RIGHT IN THAT HOOKER’S MOUTH!”
So knowing that you have a nuclear deterrent in the form of their dark, twisted sexual secrets so shameful that the acts have stained not only a random fraternity couch, but also their very souls, it’s doubtful a brother would rat you out.
Regardless, all of that is unnecessary, because no one would say anything anyway. I get that any girl would hate that, but why on Earth would a girl think her boyfriend’s fraternity brothers have an obligation to tell her anything? She might as well have said, “I really wish you had shitty friends.”
I’m not paying attention to you because you’re sewing some stupid t-shirt dress for gameday and I’m trying to watch the team I’ve lived and died for all season long fight for their lives in a short playoff series. Do you not understand that A) I’m too drunk and consumed with sports rage (Atlanta was losing at the time, and down 1-0 in the series) to care about your dress right now and B) I’ll be too drunk at the tailgate to care about your dress then. Tiger stripe a fucking potato sack for all I care, and cut a deep enough V into said potato sack to show some cleavage. Are we going to eventually have sex that day? Great. Then I don’t care.
Those questions, combined with A LOT of drinking, led to one of the worst fights I’ve ever gotten in with any girlfriend. She was doing it for attention though. Convenient that the one time my opinion on clothes actually matters happens to be the time I’m at her apartment, paying zero attention to her because I have totally super important things to attend to. I don’t have time for games when there’s a game on. I’m guessing you won’t be asking me a million questions when “Kim and Khloe Fuck Every Professional Athlete in New York” is on.
Yeah sure sweetie, even though the economy just crashed, we’re seniors (though I still had an extra year), and my main financial concern at this point in time is making sure I have enough money to blackout Thursday through Saturday, I’m going to go ahead and drop a few grand on you for an engagement ring and then we can start looking for places to live, even though I don’t have a degree or a job yet. That makes a TON of sense. Oh and I almost forgot, I in no way want to marry you. At.all.
This one is especially hilarious in retrospect because this engagement demand was based on the fact that one of her close friends had recently gotten engaged and would be married shortly after she graduated. That friend is now divorced. Don’t get married at 22 kids. Just don’t. Getting engaged in college is the new getting engaged in high school.
Well, for starters, a lot.
This exchange occurred as I had just finished taking a shower, and found my girlfriend rifling through my text messages as I walked back into my room.
To further answer her question, she ALSO can’t look through my phone because it’s what crazy people do, and while I appreciated her insanity when she was riding me harder than one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse on its fiery steed of death, it was far less enjoyable when her crazy eyes shot their evil gaze into my skull and she asked “WHO IS SARAH AND WHAT DOES IT MEAN WHEN SHE SAYS ‘GOOD TO SEE YOU!!!!!!!’ ”
Sorry babe, I didn’t catch that last part, your head had rotated 180 degrees on your neck and you were shouting at the wall behind you.
No, you can’t tell when I’m lying because you’re kind of dumb.
I had a game I liked to play with this girlfriend that involved me telling her random lies about random things, just to see if she would believe them. For example, this real life exchange:
Me: Sweetie, did you know that Denzel Washington died of West Nile Virus?
Her: NO! Seriously?
Me: Yeah, he contracted it in some swamp while filming Glory 2.
Her: Oh my God!
Also the “acting” she was referring to was my ability to play random, reimagined Disney characters in Homecoming and Greek Week skits. Didn’t exactly take an impressive acting pedigree to fool that one. Pretty sure Tom Hanks could have convinced her he was literally Jesus Christ.
Her: You’re not Jesus. You’re Tom Hanks.
Tom Hanks: Yeah, Tom JESUS Hanks.
Her: Oh my God!
It’s sports time. You should probably stop talking.
This, unsurprisingly, was the same girl as the baseball game debacle. I think she was uncomfortable with how packed the stadium was and the fact that once again, I was paying attention to the hugely important game in front of me and not her. If we had left at the end of the 3rd quarter and tried to walk to Harpo’s we probably would have gotten there with about five minutes left in the game. Oh, and we would have missed this.
Yeah, that’s fucking stupid.
Maybe I should blame this one on the fact that she was blackout drunk. Maybe I should blame it on my apparently forgettable penis. Let’s be real, it’s my forgettable penis. Still, the names were OUTRAGEOUS. They were completely out of left field. I know for a fact she didn’t know anyone named Trenton. If I had shame or principles I would have ended that sex right then and there. But I don’t, so I didn’t, and Trenton fucked the shit out of her for the rest of the night.