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Why You Should Never Get Involved With Crazy

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There are some implied social constructs that define the nature of a hookup. For one, there’s some understood confidentiality. Sharing the details of your encounter is a sure way to dissuade other girls from hooking up with you. Another important implied facet of hooking up is respecting its mutually casual nature. It’s expected that both parties understand that hookups don’t necessarily lead to a higher tier of romance, but we proceed regardless.

Despite the clear understanding that hookups are casual and transient, so many girls still have greater expectations. Every girl has a bag of tricks she pulls from to save face when she’s on the short end of a romantic encounter. Say a guy doesn’t let her stay over or doesn’t reach out to her for awhile (or, at all) after said encounter. She’ll give the encounter such a spin that the guy comes across as some lascivious neanderthal. It can be as benign as calling him an asshole. It can be as severe as crying assault. But, we’re usually OK with the contempt. Doesn’t matter, you know the rest.

These girls don’t get “used.” The spin stops here.

Earlier this year, I entered into such a relation with a girl I’d known for almost a year. We had admitted once before that some feelings existed outside the realm of a platonic friendship. At the outset, I refused her advances until she promised me she had no expectation for relationship advancement. I knew her and I covered my bases. I was a newly-minted bachelor and the waters of the single pool were just beginning to warm. In essence, I had zero interest in being locked down again. She was just out of a similar relationship (albeit, her’s was much more serious) and agreed to my cavalier terms.

So, we cut the sexual tension and hooked up in the back of a car. If you’re first encounter with a guy is in the back of a vehicle, and he’s not a teamster, there’s no feasible chance that the relationship will progress. Rip that bandaid off now.

Much to her chagrin — in the days following — I wasn’t much for texting and even shot down the prospect of talking on the phone the moment she brought it up. She offered to do favors for me (like drive me places when my car was on the mend) and I always declined. She wanted to go out after work on the weekends. At one point, I had to remind her that she wasn’t my girlfriend and she was under no obligation to do anything for me. I held her in similar (and possibly lesser) esteem as my other friends.

Against my better judgement, I returned for seconds and thirds. After each encounter, her expectations swelled. And as they swelled, my patience and interest shrank. To my credit, I was upfront from the beginning. But she grew unappreciative of the my no-strings-attached attitude.

One day, I wised up and sought to end it — to switch back to being friends.

“So, you just used me?”

I beg your pardon.

“You used me. You used me for sex. That’s all you wanted. And you got what you wanted and just threw me to the side. You’re a worthless piece of shit, Kramer. You know that? Fuck you.”

Whoa. Let’s take a step back here and ponder this.

This girl read the terms and conditions. She signed on the dotted line and initialed the corner. She lied when she said she was fine with keeping things casual and tried turning it on me at the end, as crazy girls tend to do.

Can a “friends-with-benefits” relationship exist in a vacuum? In my experience, one party (the one with two X chromosomes) always uses the relation as a means to an end: the end game being a relationship.

What was her thinking? So, he was very clear in conveying his aversion for relationships. Maybe I’ll make him change his mind by giving him the only thing he likes about being tied down. I’ll give him the milk and expect him to buy the cow.

That’s not how this works. That’s not how any of this works. We had sex a few times. She was cool with it, then. There was no indication I wanted to date, therefore no way I could have possibly used her.

She can stuff that little chirp back in her back of man-hating tricks. All of this hearkens back to what all of our dads and cool uncles taught us when we hit puberty: Don’t fuck crazy.

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Kramer Smash

Unabashed Pitt alum with an affinity for brown girls and Manhattans. Send lovelies to

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