Spring 2003

There was a girl I was OBSESSED with my freshman year of college. She was a fucking psycho, an Irish Cali girl with no brains and the brawn of a wildcat. We will call her "She-Ro". She had a couple of superpowers: the first being the ability to magically change phone numbers: in the years I was in contact with her she must have used about 15 to 20 different phone numbers, probably because of the disproportionate number of guys she had in her phonebook to the amount of numbers her phone allowed her to store.

Her second superpower was the ability to magically switch boyfriends from one day to the next. During the time I knew her, there were about 25 different guys who she introduced me to, and I firmly shook hands with, who she was either "dating" or she claimed to be her boyfriend at the time.

EVERY guy in my massive dorm complex (second biggest non-military dorm in the country) had some kind of story about this girl by the end of freshman year. I would start conversations at parties like this:

Me: Hey, you know (She-Ro)?

Felix: Are you kidding me? How can I not know her?

Mike: She slept with 2 guys on my floor.

Me: REALLY?

Joe: I made out with that bitch at a club during orientation. In a bathroom. You hit that, Scotty Boy?

Felix: It's like "Hello". You really can't see anything but those boobs.

I didn't believe them. It was well known that I had a thing for this girl, my whole floor thought I wouldn't shut the fuck up about her, and my friends from back home started to gossip. But it was clear that I was chasing the classroom slut. And it was hard to tell from the start.

During freshman orientation, I had danced with her at some "break the ice" event with a dancefloor. Among thousands of people, She-ro found me and started a dance, unlike any of which I had experienced before. It was almost like 2 minutes of captivity, pulling me over with a massive masculine grip, and basically took full control of my upper body. Apparently she recognized me from the previous summer at Georgetown. After the next song came on, she immediately released me, stopped the dance, and basically disappeared out of thin air. I wouldn't see her again until the fall. I was transfixed.

First week of class, she made it a point to ask me for notes repeatedly, and during the second month of school, October 2002, which was a hellish month for me for other reasons, she really brightened one of my dark days with an old-school note-passing exchange during a boring lecture.

She-ro was sitting 3 seats away from me, with no one in between. When the professor started speaking, droning on and on about pre-Cold War Russia or post-nuclear physics or some such bullshit, this girl began smiling, giving me seductive looks. This girl was very, very masculine and so were all the guys she knew, but not to the point that I couldn't get a major, raging hard-on in the middle of the lecture hall. I tried to cover it up with my notebook, but she saw what I was doing.

Then, she tore out half a page in her notebook, wrote something on it, and motioned a couple guys sitting behind us to pass it over to me. The note read as follows: "I want you :)" Enough even to get me to smile. This was my response, which I wrote "Sure thing babe, that's awesome yo"

Not sure what I was thinking with that one, but it definitely elicited a giggle. Then the professor ended his lecture, and everyone went their separate ways, so I couldn't catch her again next day. That Thursday, I did manage to find her after one of my classes in the hall.

Me: Hey there, what are you doing this weekend?

Her: I don't know yet. Probably going to Rain Thursdays, then Luxe on Friday and The Roxy Saturday.

Me: Alright, well I'll give you a call and maybe we can meet up.

Her: Alrighty then. Maybe kid.

At the time, this was unthinkable to my 18-year old brain. How could a girl who seemed to like me so much be unable to spend even a fraction of her weekend with me? I actually ended up going to the Roxy Saturday night, paying a 20 dollar cover to get into the club and walking around asking everybody if they had seen a fiery redhead tearing up the dancefloor. She was nowhere to be found. I went outside and called her number, or the first of the many numbers she gave me.

Me: Hello

(Picks up phone, loud music and crowd noise)

She-ro: Who is this?

Me: It's Scotty. From class. I'm at the Roxy, just wondering if you're here.

Her (more loud music and crowd noise): Who is this?

Me: Scotty. Scotty Dukes.

Her (shouting above the crowd noise): Gotta go. Bye (click)

I saw her the next Monday after class and cornered her.

Me: Hey, I was at the Roxy Saturday night. I looked all over, where were you?

Her: The Roxy? We went to Swirl Saturday night.

Me: I thought you said we were going to meet up at the Roxy.

Her: When did I ever say that?

Me: On Thursday, remember?

Her: I don't think so. anyway I got class. Gotta go.

What an bitch. The girl was ICE cold. Yet I chased it. Every weekend I would call asking where she is. Sometimes I got loud music and crowd noise (Note: NO ONE should ever pick up their fucking phone at a club. Maybe a dive bar, where conversation can be audible. But a CLUB? Only the worst of the worst have ever done that to me). Sometimes I would get the immediately recognizable "This is no longer a working number" tone.

Yet still, I chased this crazy, unpredictable dragoness. Then one weekend, I got a random phone call from her at 2 in the morning. Caught me off-guard, I thought I must be seeing things on my cell phone. All my friends from home were there visiting me at the time, and they knew what it was.

Me: Hey what's up?

She-Ro: Just got back from the club. I'm exhausted. You wanna grab breakfast in the morning? West campus cafeteria

Me: Umm, sure. My friends are here though.

Her: Bring them.

Wow. Holy shit. Didn't see that one coming. My friends were all intrigued as to who this person was whom they'd heard of so much. So they agreed upon my friend "Kadavir" as the breakfast guest.

So we show up there, and amazingly she is there, giving me among the most ackward half-handshake half-hugs I've ever gotten. We get food, sit down, and as soon as we sit down, Kadavir runs away from the table, leaving me and her alone. We chat, and she tells me she has a "very exciting project" coming up, which is why she called this meeting. Nearly half an hour later, Kadavir returns, panting and sweating hard.

She-Ro: Well, that was kind of a long time to be going to the bathroom. Where did you go?

Kadavir: Oh, well I had to take a call from this producer we're gonna be working with.

(I had told her the fake story that we were an independent rap duo trying to get a record deal. She bought it.)

Her: Oh, that's awesome!

Five minutes later, she had to "go run", and pulled one of her familiar diaappearing acts. Apparently, she had just come from an early morning run. Fake story. I asked Kadavir what that was really about.

Me: Dude, where the fuck did you go? I was supposed to tell her this story about our rap career, you were supposed to be the color commentary.

Kadavir: I just took the biggest diahrrhea shit in human history.

Me: For half an hour? Damn dude.

Kadavir: I dunno. I saw this girl, took a good look at her, saw how much of an ice queen she was and she made me nervous, made me queasy. I immediately lost my appetite. Icy cold.

If that isn't a sign that girl is bad news, I don't know what is. For the next month she vanished. She was not in class, not around the dorms, absolutely nowhere to be found. I wondered if she had failed out or got kicked out or transferred to another school, none of which was uncommon for freshman year. Maybe that's the "project" she referred to.

Then, sometime around early April She-ro suddenly resurfaced, in the most shocking way imaginable. Freshman year I had a dorm-mate named EuroBaller, who was a cool guy. He was the first guy to send me the leaked version of Eminem's "Lose Yourself", the first person on the floor to hear Radiohead's new album, discovered Homestar Runner years before everyone else. He obviously had his ear to the street.

Euroballer came into my room one Saturday afternoon.

EuroBaller: Yo Scotty. Remember that girl She-Ro who you used to be obsessed with?

Me: Yeah. What about her.

EuroBaller: You... you gotta check out this website man

Me: Oh no. Was she in a porno? That wouldn't surprise me.

EuroBaller: It's pretty freakin' close man.

He then took charge of my computer and directed me to a certain website. All the guys on our floor would pass around pornos and stuff to each other, so nothing really could have shocked me. But this did. My reaction to this website would have to be equivalent in nature to anyone reacting to "Two Girls One Cup" for the first time.

Euroballer: She has a nice ass, doesn't she? The girl, front and center. You recognize that hair?

Me: Oh... OH god! NO way. That's her! Holy shit!

Euroballer: Comes out next month. You might want to check that out.

Euroballer went on to call the other guys from our floor into my room to tell them of his discovery:

C-Rock: OH SNAP! Scotty's girl is in a porno movie. OH SNAP! (this was C-Rock's famed expression whenever something crazy went down on our floor)

Famguy: Jesus Almighty. What section is she in?

Me: 301.

Famguy: Mind if I sit in on your next class?

BillBrassky: Boobs have got to be Double-Ds at least. Ass is definitely a bedonkadonk.

Jada: That is a hell of an ass. I would kill to touch that in da cluub.

Basically, She-Ro was chosen out of millions of girls to take part in this movie produced by MTV which showed normal girls turned into viscious sluts when placed into a promiscuous situation: Spring Break. Basically it took a group of like 20 people, 10 guys 10 girls, and put them on a Spring Break trip together with cameras everywhere at all times and documented every raunchy detail of what happened, who had sex. what fights broke out, etc. High-quality entertainment for my dollar. And HER ASS in a tiny bikini was chosen as the cover shot of all the movie's posters, website, promotional flyers, everywhere. The hair was recognizable. It was definitely her.

I would MUCH rather she be in a porno. Then, it would only be a small and select people who see her open up. Here, her promiscuous spring break exploits would be shown on a big screen in every theater in the country!

Ultimately, after much deliberation I just decided to see the movie. I bought a late-night Sunday ticket the weekend it came out, and asked my friends Linzo and Madrid to go with me as "moral and emotional support". And with that kind of movie, I would need all the support I can get. We walk in, the theater is practically empty except for the three of us. Good sign.

So the movie starts, everyone gets off the plane looking all conservative. Then the second day there, they all have a wet t-shirt contest, and this conservative dude breaks out of his shell, goes apeshit and wins. Next scene, it's a hotel pool late at night, and it's the wet t-shirt winner alone, with my friend She-Ro, on the big screen. They are in the pool, naked, making out and fooling around. Next scene, they are in a bedroom, a nightvision camera capturing them having sex.

This is when I start freaking out. Not really, but mentally i did. Let's say I had hooked up with her after that note-passing exchange? Does that make me automatically eligible for contracting an STD? The shock of it all was too much to handle for my poor young brain. If it was any redemption to me, the movie was an absolute bomb and MTV wasted millions of dollars on advertising for it. Very cool. On the other hand, she came out a winner with a free Spring Break trip and her 15 minutes of fame, neither of which she and her friends would shut up about for a very long time. Not cool.

I was "friends" with She-Ro for the rest of the time we were in college. Sometimes I saw her, sometimes I didn't. Sometimes she had another dude on her arm, very rarely she didn't. But I never looked at her the same way again. Never chased her again. Even had an opportunity to make out with her at a party, the following fall. Possibly. Either way I turned it down and it never happened. And for my long-term health, it's probably better that it never did. She was "that MTV girl". Those thoughts had long been filed into foreclosure.

Even a few weeks ago, I got a random IM from She-Ro (not sure how she still had my IM)

She-Ro: Hey there.

Me: Umm, hey. I thought you moved to Iraq or something after we graduated.

Her: Yeah, I was in Iraq with my soldier boyfriend, then I lived in Egypt for a year. Now I'm back in the states and I'm moving to NYC (doesn't everyone eventually?).

Me: Oh. Well that's great.

Her: You know, I really could use some help getting around. Can you show me around maybe, how to use the subway?

Me: Oh sure. Maybe. I'll give you a call.

Her: I changed my number again. It's (number). Just making sure you had it.

Me: OK sure I'll call.

That Saturday night I called her 5 times, no answer. The following Saturday, called 5 more, just for the heck of it. No answer each time. The next week, I got a new phone, and did not bother giving her MY number. She can chase now, because I'm done. Good riddance.

November 2007

I met “Pearl” at a hole-in-the wall grungy dive bar in the East Village one Saturday night in October of 07’. She was old. Mid-30s, Well beyond the age range of any girl that I would consider talking to. But she was cool. And I would talk to a 40-year old bull if it exuded a kind of cool that only comes along once in a blue moon. And this woman had that kind of cool in spades. No matter what the age, she was the first chick in months to actually have a decent conversation with me at a bar in Manhattan, without being repulsed, disgusted, or just plain being turned off whatsoever.

So something great happened. I got her number. I sent her a text message the next Thursday to confirm if she remembered who the hell I was. Her reply: “I met a lot of guys on Saturday, and I was drunk. Can I have a little reminder?”

I provided her that reminder in the form of my colored shirt and my unusually laid-back demeanor. Amazingly, the bitch remembered me. I called her several times the next Saturday to see what she was doing, before she actually responded. Her plans: “I might head into the city (she lived in Brooklyn) to see my friend’s band. “ I asked her what venue it was at, and agreed to meet up with her. I headed over there, and I looked around. I looked in every nook and cranny of the venue, but Pearl was nowhere to be found. Even worse, there was a mandatory 10 dollar cover upon entrance, and I had no idea who the hell her friend’s band was. In fact, all the bands playing there sucked. Way to get my money, you hipster-drone pieces of shit.

I called Pearl several times, and left several increasingly irate messages on her machine. Then finally, she called back:
SD: “Where the fuck are you? Where the fuck were you? What the FUCK Pearl? I been waiting here at this venue for at least an hour” Pearl: “I got kinda tired man, I’m here at home in Brooklyn. Sorry. I gotta go” (click) Meanwhile, I could clearly hear a lot of conversation in the background, and some music. She clearly was not at home. I had been stood up.

Several friends of mine tell me that my attitude around women needs to change if I stand any chance of success with one of them. Well in this case, being stood up is a valid excuse to use any kind of “attitude” I want to Pearl. She deserved a fresh verbal thrashing. I don’t care if she just met me, or who the hell she is. NO ONE stands me up.

I just forgot about her for a week. Then, she called me randomly on a Wednesday night and asked me to come downtown to a party she was at. Bored out of my mind, I obliged. I got to the bar, and I realized that Pearl was surrounded by like 5 guys, and she was the only woman among them. This got awkward really fast.

I tried to break the ice amongst her friends by talking about the DJ and the selection of music. That got old quick. Then, I just went up to Pearl at an opportune moment and began to dance with her. That was fun for about 30 seconds, until a member of her douchebag entourage tapped me on the shoulder: “Excuse me, can you please go away. It’s my turn”

Oh, so we’re taking TURNS buddy? Is that how it’s gonna work? Is that the case? I don’t think I can ever play that kind of game. This ain’t elementary school no more.

Reluctantly, I backed away from Pearl and watched as this douche took my place, with Pearl grinding on him more fervently, with the recognition of someone she has known much longer than me. I gave this douche an “I’m going to fucking kill you” look and just left, double-fisting a couple vodka cranberry drinks from the open bar on my way out.

The following Saturday, I decided to give Pearl one final shot of legitimacy. Of course, she did not pick up her phone, so I left a detailed message telling her to meet me at the same hole-in-the-wall dive we met at. I told her to come early, and come alone. She called me back several hours later to confirm, but I still did not trust her word. So this time, I came with reinforcements. I brought my friends C-Town and Panic along with me so alternative plans could be made if I was stood up again.

But amazingly, according to her word Pearl was there alone. My friends quickly left for another bar, giving me a pat on the back and wishin me luck. They were intrigued by this rare spectacle of me actually isolating a woman. I talked to her for a couple of hours and tried to determine why, at her age, she still walks around like a promiscuous tramp and seduces every single able-bodied man in the New York area.

I talked with her about her job for a little bit, about her lifestyle for a little bit. Then the subject of family came up, when I told her I still lived with mine. And there I found my answer. She immediately started tearing up and said sobbing: “There’s just some things that you really shouldn’t think about. I really can’t handle the pain”

OK- so this woman finds solace in a busted up childhood and family issues by whoring herself out to every guy in New York City who is 18 and older. There are two developments since this night which confirmed to me that this girl had a strong case of the Michael Jackson syndrome: growth stunted in a certain age in your life. But instead of a stunted childhood, Pearl has a stunted college slut-hood.

1. I saw this girl out a month later with HER MOM. Her mom could not have been any more than 20 years older than her, and Mama Pearl acted and dressed every bit as promiscuous as she.

2. She is now “BFFs” with a girl in my old neighborhood who is 2 years YOUNGER than me.

Back to this night: After a couple hours alone talking to me, as girls usually do Pearl got bored, and befriended 2 random British guys at the bar. She then proceeded to lead myself and these two strangers to this hole-in-the wall bar behind a garbage dump for last call.

Having had several rounds of drinks before, I did not mind the bar’s haphazard location. There was loud rock music playing, and me and Pearl began to dance. A few songs later, I went in for the kill. I kissed her on the cheek first, as customary, and then went for her lips. She strongly objected: “No, this isn’t gonna work. You need to come in from another angle, because something’s not working”

Are you fucking KIDDING ME bitch? WHAT girl says that? OK, so I tried kissing her from another angle. “Too sloppy”, she insisted. Then I tried another angle. No good. Then another. She put a stop to it. She put her hands up to me and gave me a motion to “back off”. I did, a couple steps, then she said: “I’m sorry, but you’re too drunk man. This is not gonna work”. Wait a second, wait. So I just wasted my ENTIRE NIGHT?

I guess I did. Last call could not come soon enough. I led this girl, along with her new British BFs, out the door, and tried to direct them towards a cab, so I could split it with Pearl and at least get some kind of use out of her. So we got into the cab, and then she surprisingly invited me to come to some after-party at one of the random British guys’ houses.

So I got out of the cab, came up to this British stranger’s ghetto apartment, had about 4 or 5 more beers, and passed out on his sofa. When I woke up, it was another one of the true where-the-fuck-am-I moments I have had. I woke up in an unfamiliar shithole, and I glanced across the room to see two men and two girls in a bed. One of those girls was Pearl, with her top exposed. She obviously had found her replacement. Another one was a random girl whom I did not remember from the night before. Maybe she was with us all along but I was too drunk to remember who the hell she was.

And the two guys were, of course, the two random British guys Pearl had befriended at the bar when she got tired of our conversation. Sensing a potentially awkward moment when everyone was to wake up and I would be the “odd man out” whom no one remembers about, I made a quiet exit at 8AM, when everyone was still asleep.

I have seen Pearl seldom since this night: one time when she was with another boy and I did one of the most awkward half-handshake half-hugs in recorded history, and another time, as we discussed earlier, when she was out on the prowl with her mom. But never again has my presence elicited any more than a brief “Hi”. In my mind she will always be remembered as the older one that got away, the one who I never could quite come at from the right angle.