I made Rita’s list. What a bitch.
Here goes:
In the 8th grade I dated Randy Calhoun and felt up her shirt. It was pretty dope and eventually we broke up because I was scared of girls. Hot damn, they were crazy back then.
Not soon after I was madly in love with an older girl in high school. Still probably half afraid of girls. She went to college. We broke up. (a few years later I threatened her boyfriend, fell down a flight of stairs, then punched a tree. I broke two bones.)
I had a more serious high school girlfriend but she didn’t like that I smoked weed, so I dumped her over the phone...on her birthday.
And then I dated a girl for a bit who’s mom died, so we stayed together three weeks longer than I wanted. When I told her it was over she said:
“You’re dumping me right when my mom died?”
To which I replied: “It was three weeks ago!”
I’d do that one over if I could.
Micki Plunkett was too hard to get. Sarah Nash was too easy.
Betty Roberts tried to hit me with her car after I did the double flip-off-crisscross. If I could, I absolutely would not do that over.
I slept with Laura Yorn’s sister and best friend.
Becca Sandoval loved me. So naturally she never stood a chance.
Erica Stephens, great body, absolute sweetheart, didnt like that I watched football. I fucking dumped her...bam!
And then there’s Rita, who kicked me out because she found out I was a dickweed.
I’ve had about a dozen girlfriends that I can remember.
I’ve had countless phone and text message girlfriends as well as email, and more recently Facebook girlfriends. Those are always full of promises and dreams but don’t amount to shit, but nothing really does.
And Rita told me I should make this list to see if I can see a pattern. Mostly what it tells me is this:
I am astounded by the number of women I’ve gotten to sleep with me.
I’ve got a problem with commitment.
Steve Wilson needs to start being nicer to the women in his life.
And you know, I may try. I really want to try...but if it’s anything like college, cooking classes, learning spanish, learning the bass guitar, screenwriting, rock climbing, or (most pathetically) jogging, the trying won’t go too far.
