Damn You Brenna

“I think Brenna is going to dump me.” I said taking our attention off the TV.
“Ha, why you say that and where did that come from?”
“There was just an ad saying. ‘If you’re single and want some excitement, call this number.’”
“Okay, but why do you think she is going to dump you? You guys been together for like two years.”
“Yeah, but I feel I’ve been doing too much stupid shit.”
“Give me an example.”
“Ever had phone sex?”
“Nah, I don’t need to, but continue.”
“Well, I never really done it either, well once back in high school. So I got really shitfaced one night and decided to call Brenna, thinking it would be interesting. She went home for the weekend and I was horny.”
“Fair enough.”
“Well, I fucked up because, I guess you should never try phone sex with someone who doesn’t want to do it.”
“Haha, I continue.”
“So I called her, and was like ‘heeeeeey baby, what’s going ooonnn.’ Keep in mind this is at 3 am. She woke up and was like ‘hello? What do you want Nick, it’s 4am here.’ I was plastered and didn’t give a fuck, so I continued: ‘hey sweetie, man you’re hot, what are you wearing?’ She was like ‘mesh shorts and a tank top.’ ‘MMMMMMM, that’s soooo hot, you’re soooo hot, I love the feeling of your tiiits.’ She started getting pissed saying to me ‘ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW! How drunk are you?’ ‘Drunk enough to know I’m having sex with you…IN MY MIND.’ She got even more pissed: ‘Holy shit, you are trying to have phone sex, Jesus Christ Nick, come on it’s 4 am.’ I replied, ‘I am trying to CUM ON.’ Next thing I remember was waking up to my phone beeping with a new voicemail.”
“HAHAHAHA, Bro, you’re an idiot. Who does that? Was she pissed?”
“The voicemail was from her and it said, “What the fuck is the matter with you, stop blacking out, and being retarded. We have to talk at some point.”
“Damn, bro. Stop drinking so much.”
“But it’s fun.” That was my only logical response. “I mean, personally, I’m getting sick of her politically correct bullshit and being so uptight. I’m the opposite of that; it’s driving both of us nuts. I want to have fun, you can’t understand, cause Jackie adores you. I feel mad confined with Brenna.”
“Nah, I see what you’re saying.”

My relationship with Brenna was on thin ice. Everything I do seems to make it worse and worse. But my stupid ass finally messed it up for good two weeks later:

“We haven’t had sex in like four weeks, what’s up with that?” I finally asked her as we drank at a bar with T.J. and his girl Jackie.
“Are you seriously bringing this up now?”
“Oh wow.” T.J. laughingly said.
“I mean we never talk anymore about what’s going on. You just constantly seem pissed.”
“Wanna know why I’m constantly pissed. Do you really wanna know why?” T.J. and Jackie were slowly getting up to leave, but Brenna pulled them both down. “T.J. and Jackie, I want you to hear this. Listen to what Nick did the weekend I got back from home. He wanted to ‘Spice up our sex lives.’ So one night he gets really drunk and stumbles into my room and thinks he has the greatest idea ever to spice it up. He says to me, ‘Brenna Babe, we should try role playing.’ And I thought it wasn’t the worst idea, so I said what characters should we be? He didn’t suggest being a nurse and a doctor, or a maid. No. He suggested I be Anne Frank and he dresses up as a SS Nazi soldier and I hide in my room and he comes up the stairs and tries to find me.”
“HAHAHAHAH, are you serious? That’s the funniest thing I ever heard.” T.J. laughs, and Jackie quickly slaps him.
“T.J., my grandma was a holocaust survivor.” Brenna snaps.
“I mean listen, the idea is amazing, I’m Jewish too, it’s awesome,” I replied.
“It’s so offensive on so many levels Nick.” Jackie responded.
“See, this is always how it is with you Nick, you’re a fucking child. You have no serious side and you are inappropriate every second of the day. I can’t deal with your idiocy and more.” She started to tear.
“Whoa, whoa, are you saying what I think you’re saying? Are you trying to dump me?”
She slowly nods.
“You’re crazy. Dump me over the idea to role play Anne Frank!”
“It’s not just that. It’s the fact you constantly make drunken calls to me with nothing to say but bullshit.”
“THAT’S WHY THEY ARE DRUNKEN CALLS!
“It’s the fact you can’t go anywhere without making a stupid stereotype or laughing only at Cartman from South Park or at people like Lisa Lampora or whatever her fatass name is.”
“Lampanelli. And she’s hilarious.”
“I can’t even bring you around my friends or parents without you making some degrading joke.”
“But they are funny. Whatever, you are psychotic. You’re the little PETA activist and human rights freak who owns a mink gloves. You eat lobster, steak, and fish, but won’t eat rabbit or pig cause they are cute. You’re absurd. So fuck you, I am OUT.”
“Oh snap.” T.J. said in amazement.
I took her drink from her chugged it down, went to the bar and ordered four Jagerbombs. Brenna left the bar in tears. Time to start a new life for Nick Rosensteinbergman.
Six weeks later and I’m a fucking mess. The first three weeks of being single were sweet. I was going to clubs, blacking out, taking home random girls. Not giving a fuck. I’m bringing home the widest range of girls ever. For every really hot girl I bring home I bring home like five busted, and I mean busted girls. But that’s the problem with living in a very cold weather area. It’s always freezing in Madison. So girls bundle up like crazy. With all the padding you can’t tell exactly what a girls body size is. So I’ve been fooled on multiple occasions thinking they were size 4s when really they were size 40s. But when I leave the bar it’s cool cause my boys can’t tell either, so they think I’m going home with a cutie. Hah. Things were going great at the beginning. But since then, it’s been down hill. I fell out of routine and motivation. I haven’t gone to the gym once. I signed up for this new boxing gym to try to get this new attitude and be jacked. But I realized cardio was involved so I decided to smoke pot and play Fight Night on Xbox instead. I’ve lost all motivation. Pretty much my day consists of me waking up, jerking off, watching cartoons, eating old pizza, jerking off, smoking pot, watching more cartoons, jerking off, and then going to bed. My hair is longer and I got a beard growing in. I look like Grizzly Adams, its scary. T.J. keeps trying to get me out more, but it’s useless. I’m fat now, laying on my couch, watching reruns of old Scooby-Doo episodes. You know, the ones where the Globe Trotters are on. That was the shit. Like oh, jeez we need the Globe Trotters to solve crimes. Fuck, CSI or the FBI, the Globe Trotters will get it done. I love that stuff. They tried so hard not to make it look racist it was awesome.

“Man, you are freaking me out.” T.J. said as he came through my front door. He looked at me with disgust. “Bro, look at you, its 5pm, and you’re in your boxers eating cereal, most of which is on your shirt, watching Scooby Doo. You gotta get yourself together.”
“What’s the use? Brenna’s gone, I’m fat, and I enjoy Scooby Doo.”
“What? You’re still hung up on Brenna, man forget that bitch. She’s psycho.”
“Yeah, but she had such an ass and titties like whoooah. I still jerk off to old photos of her”
“What the fuck, your pathetic. Bro, you’re ridiculous. You need to get out of her and get back into the rhythm.”
“Dude you know I’m Jewish, it’s impossible for me to have rhythem.”
“Shut up, no it’s not. And first off we are talking about two different rhythms. Yes it’s true you’re Jewish and you can’t dance for shit, I know you wish your skin color was as black as mine, but its not. Wait, I am not even talking about that. I’m talking about you getting back into a routine and a new mode, one where you are not smoking pot all day, watching retarded TV shows—“
“—Hey, don’t knock the Scoob.”
“Fine, whatever, all I am saying is let’s get your ass off the couch and outside for fresh air. And get you positive again. Bro, I used to brag to my boys about how much ass you get. Now I see your room and it’s covered in tissue paper, and I know you don’t have a cold. So get your ass up and lets do something.”
“But what can we do?” I said grumpily.
“We can get you in the gym, a good shave, a hair cut, new clothes, and at the very least a shower. Shit—” He says as he makes a disgusted face,” when was the last time you changed your clothes or even showered?”
“I don’t know, listen stop bitching at me, first off my clothes are comfortable all worn in, second I haven’t had time to shower constantly.”
“You lay around and smoke pot all day, what could possibly be more time consuming then showering?”
“Laying around and smoking pot all day.”
“Touchée.” We both laughed.
“Alright, your very motivated and smart for a—“
—Don’t you say black guy, you jackass. And now that you mention it, we do got to change your thought process, I know you’re not racist, but you have to know when to tone it down. Brenna dumped you over that shit bro. I don’t care when you say your racist bullshit around me because we’ve been friends since we was in high school and I do love making Jewish and white jokes around you. But not in front of girls all the time, they don’t want to hear that shit.”
“Really?”
“Yes really, now lets go.”

This was the start of intense training. Picture the Rocky montage, the Wet Hot American Summer montage, and the South Park montage; you know the one where Stan needs to learn to ski, all in one. I made a playlist on my Ipod of songs like “Eye of the Tiger” and “You’re The Best Around,” so when I worked out, I felt like I was in a real montage, a cheesy 80s montage. The beginning was brutal. We started out running everyday. T.J. would make me run a minimum of two miles everyday. At first I would bring my pack of stoges with me, T.J. would call me a retard or hit me whenever I smoked on our runs. I got off to a slow start, wheezing and longing for cartoons and pot. But as the weeks progressed something changed. I don’t know how it happened, all of a sudden I got intense motivation, I felt like I was Stallone or Norris. I was actually consistently working out and being productive. I did my best to cut out shit like smoking cigarettes, not pot. I couldn’t do that to myself, that’s too fucked up. I cut down drinking heavily and noticed my beer gut was going from a keg to a six-pack. Well ok, not a six-pack, but I could finally see my dick a lot better. See that’s what I need, I need motivation. T.J. got me motivated. I can’t do shit without someone forcing me too. Maybe I should buy a Tony Robbins book. He’s great at motivating people. Nah, that’s too weird. I’m not going to bullshit and say that it was an easy change in my life and I stuck with it til the end. There were several times during the weeks of restructuring my life I went back to how I was, laying around or blacking out at bars, but it was getting more rare as time went on. After two and a half months of getting in shape I was ready to mate. HAHA.
“Alright young grasshopper,” T.J. jokes as he bows towards me, “Your time has come, lets get you some good ass and possibly a wifey.”
“Alright, let me put something on and we will go to Terry’s Tavern. My game plan tonight is to be Don Juan, actually I am going to be Don “Magic” Juan. Biggest pimp ever.”
“Alright white boy lets go.”

Terry’s Tavern is a great bar. Great music, like the Stones or Guns & Roses constantly. Lots of drunk girls, and lots of Jagerbombs.

“Wow, tonight is poppin, so many people are here.”
“Yeah, I’m gonna get a pitcher I’ll be right back.” I walked to the bar and got the attention of Sarah, my favorite bartender, always hooks me up with drinks, but no matter how hard I try I never am able to seal the deal. “Oh Fuck.” There she was, across the bar, Brenna. I haven’t talked to her in mad long, but haven’t stopped thinking about her. But fuck it, I’m changed now, my life is in order, maybe we can fix shit up.
“Sarah, send the brunette over there a Stoli-7.” Sarah brings Brenna the drink and points to me. I gave the cheesiest wave ever. Shit, she’s coming over.
“Hey you, wow, I didn’t even recognize you, you look great.”
Yeaaaaaah, she so wants me.
“Yea, I’ve been at the gym a few times.”
“Well, you look great, and I hope you been good.”
“Yeah, I’ve been doing good.” Good stuff, play distant, and make her want it. “I don’t see any of your girlfriends, you come here alone?”
“Nah, I came here with Steve.”
Who the fuck is Steve? “Who the fuck is Steve?”
“Um, he’s kinda my boyfriend.” There goes that, it felt like she kicked my square in the balls. “There he is, coming out of the bathroom.”
What a fag this guy is. I could easily fuck him up, even though he is jacked beyond belief. He walks over and all I do is grill him. “Hey, you must be Steve, nice to meet you, but hey, I gotta run, oh and F.Y.I, Brenna has Chlamydia.” That ought to make things awkward between them. I turn around and walk away. Fuck her, who the fuck is ‘Steve?’ She’s a whore. I go straight to the bar without looking and order four Jagerbombs. I know that usually in these stories, the good guy does through a rough patch, then he gets his life in order, and then he goes on to conquer the world. Well, two out of three ain’t bad. The night brought me back to my past – blacking out. I ordered several pitchers and brought them back to T.J.
“What happened bro?”
“Fuck that bitch”
“What bitch? What happened?”
“Brenna is here, and she’s got a man.”
“Oh shit dude, what happened.”
“I don’t know, all I know is he’s a real douche bag so I told him she has Chlamydia.”
“Smooth Nick.”
“Fuck her, let’s get drunk, and don’t give me a lecture, WE ARE GETTING DRUNK.”
“Alright, not gonna stop you.”
We finished all the pitchers then went to the bar for shots. I was downing shot after shot. I got retarded. The night was pretty hazy, but in the course of it, I met a girl. And yea I was drunk as shit, but I could tell this girl was really hot. I kicked great game. T.J. told me he wanted to leave cause he was tired, but I knew that Jackie was making him come home cause it was getting late, and he is whipped. T.J. caught a cab and I stayed and chatted with Kelsey, or Katherine, or Kaitlin, I don’t really remember her name, for all I know it was Isabelle. All I know is that I brought her back like a champ, and we fucked for hours. Doggy, against the wall, and all crazy things possible. As a joke I asked if I could do a Cleveland Steamer, she was sooo drunk she agreed. But I felt a little grossed out and declined. It would have been mad funny though. She left the next morning before I woke up. I walked into my TV room grabbed my bong, turned on Scooby Doo, and enjoyed the moment. Fuck Brenna I thought, this is going to be a brighter future for me. As the weeks went on, I occasionally went to the gym, stayed on top of things. It all came to a screeching halt, I went to take a piss one day and my fucking dick burned so badly I screamed. I was freaking out. How ironic would it be if I actually got Chlamydia? Fuck Brenna, she always wins.