Last year I dated a girl named Becca.

My great friend Patrick asked me, “Nick, you should cap off the entire Georgia debacle by explaining what happened with Becca and how we ended up at the hookah bar in middle of Virginia”. I thought about writing up a hateful diatribe exposing Becca for the phony person that she is, but I’m better than that.

Actually, no I’m not. I’m Nick, the author of Dating For Douchebags. It takes one to know one, right? So here’s the truth.

Now it helps if you read my Georgia series to know what I’m talking about. If you are lazy (like me) and didn’t read it, here’s a quick back story: I met Becca, we dated, she fucked up, we didn’t date, six months later she apologizes and pleads her Nick-allegiance when she’s alone in Georgia and has no one but me to save her from her pitiful loneliness. I gave her a second chance (stupid me) and decided to right her wrongs by flying out to Atlanta, GA. She supposedly had shit on lock, a couple kittens, and her best friend living at her place and she had a job. I thought to myself, “wow, ok. This could mark a new beginning in my life. There’s no way she can fuck this up”.

Never underestimate the ability of a female to fuck up her own life. Ever!

It didn’t take more than two days of me being in Georgia for Becca to flush herself down the plumbing. She lost her job the second day I got there. I gave her the benefit of the doubt because maybe, just maybe luck wasn’t on her side. Shit happens. It’s a recession. October 2008 in small town Georgia… Yeah, it could have been you or I, right? The one thing I asked Becca prior to flying out, “Listen. I don’t need to go there and risk anything. I’m kosher here at my mom’s house. Don’t make me fly out there and play daddy, ok?”. I don’t need a bowl of alphabet soup to tell you which two letters she responded with.

Yet, here I am in the middle of bumfuck Georgia with a girl that is about as useless as a dick on an impotent man freaking out because we have no source of income to afford our meager living arrangement. Luckily for me, her best friend, Patrick became my savior. Becca had dragged him from Virginia under the pretense of new beginnings. He was on the verge of becoming a Navy Seal so he had the time and money to relocate temporarily until he was shipped out. Without Patrick living with us I swear I would have gone on a Redneck Rampage waaaaay worse than the video game.

The entire time Becca was assuring us that she had a job at the local fast food place. Meanwhile, Patrick and I are quietly freaking out because we had no way to make rent. Patrick was kind enough to loan us his truck so we could visit Becca’s family in North Georgia to borrow money. Becca’s way of getting something was showing up and saying, “hi, I’m here!” and guilt tripping her relatives into giving her something. She has damn good genetics and I guess being cute and innocent looking pays off. Needless to say, it did and we made rent that week on the generosity of Becca’s second dad (don’t ask. She has more dad’s than a foster kid and even I get confused and I FUCKED HER).

Living with Becca was like living with two different people. One day you would get the super hot, super cute, super loving ultimate girlfriend that would give toe-curling blowjobs, watch Bill & Ted’s all night and laugh, and walk down to the corner liquor store holding your hand and hugging you the entire way. And the next day you would get a completely different person. Nothing was right, you were always wrong, logic didn’t exist, and everybody is inferior but Becca. I later found out that her bi-polar antics were no shock to anyone but me. I guess Nick isn’t as smart as he thinks he is.

Welcome to Life As Nick in Georgia

Becca would sleep all day and then bitch at me when I came home. I came home about 4pm because I was out looking for jobs from 10am-4pm. I’d bring home job applications, gifts, and I always walked through the door with a smile. That is, until I saw Becca asleep still snoozing away or gazing at the TV with her dairy cow stare. What the fuck are you doing? You said you would go out and look for a job today? I heard the same bullshit like it was on playback: “Oh, I called but they aren’t interviewing until Tuesday”. Tuesday came and went. In the meantime I ended up getting a job in the city of Thomaston, GA. Anyone who knows will tell you it takes more than a smile and a handshake to get a job ANYWHERE in Thomaston, GA, but I pulled it off.

My best friend and roommate at the time, Patrick, found a job landscaping and doing shit-labor work to make ends meet. He was up every day at 7am and home at 4pm like clock work. Getting my job was a process because a week in southern speak really equates to, “wheneva we dayum well ready“. My background check took longer then expected because computers in Georgia run as slow as retards in the Special Olympics.

With all this free time on her hands, you’d think Becca would do something productive other than being a complete bitch at random intervals. But no, she painted her true colors when she freaked out at Patrick and KICKED HIM OUT. Get this, she kicked him out because he said to his local girlfriend at the time, “hey, you got a place to stay?”. Becca and her bi-polar mindset took that as some sort of threat to her colony of Awesomeness because she freaked out at Patrick and screamed, “this is MY house, you can get out of MY house if you don’t want to live at MY house“. She did this at 3am when Patrick had to be up for work at 7am. Becca was kicking out the only financial provider in our household. The entire time I’m in damage control and telling Becca to calm the fuck down. Have you ever tried telling a tornado to slow down? That’s what it was like telling someone who is so bi-polar she doesn’t know her tits from a turnip to listen to logic. I made in-roads and Patrick had like a week to stay instead of him being homeless and on the street like she wanted. Mind you, this is the same best friend she brought from Virginia under the pretense of new beginnings. Now he was supposed to be on the street by himself? Fuck that noise.

Once Becca was done being Becca I reminded her that she was out of control. As usual, she blamed Patrick for everything. “Now that Patrick is gone I can finally go back to our plan… just me and you”. I should win Bonehead of The Year Award for ‘Most Gullible Douchebag’ because I ate that shit up like it was Halloween candy.

My job was taking longer and longer and Becca was full of more promises than a mall Santa. Our neighbors who Becca befriended (used) were feeding us and letting me use their computer and mailing address so I could borrow money from my friends. Becca claimed her friends were all sending money. I didn’t see one dime of it. Dizzle sent me $20, Juan sent me $50 bucks and I still had money on the way. The entire time Becca was making up fairy tales. Patrick was taking care of himself but he was in a fucked up set of circumstances. He was dealing with a new Becca that was ten times worse than my Becca. Eventually, defecation hit the ventilation.

Becca and I got formally evicted and as fate would have it, Patrick got arrested the same night. I took Becca into our neighbor’s house and in the back bedroom I told her how STUPID she was for kicking out Patrick, not listening to me, and completely ruining our livelihood. I joke with my friends that I’m always right and this was one of those times. We had five days to vacate our beloved trailer park shack. Essentially, Becca and I were homeless. We had about $100 of my friend’s money coming in but we were hungry, broke as a joke, and on the verge of robbing someone to stay afloat.

Becca and Patrick were mortal enemies at the time. Becca felt betrayed because Patrick was wise enough to realize her unstable mental condition wasn’t safe to live with, and Patrick was pissed because he was rendered homeless because of Becca’s unstable mental condition when she had PROMISED him things would be OK. Becca and promises go together like Exxon and sea otters. Yet, I still drudged along blindly believing her promises to me because I thought in my logical brain, “she knows better than to fuck me over TWICE“. I couldn’t have been any more wrong.

I met Patrick down at the Waffle House. The cute little blond waitress who may or may not have had a thing for my Cali-style good looks, served us (no surprise Becca hated her. I thought she was cute). Patrick used his last $20 to pay for dinner. It was 9pm on a balmy Georgia Thursday and Patrick and I were tired. Not tired like you and I are tired, but tired of Becca’s shit. Tired of living like scavengers. And tired of being on the crossroads of going to jail or going to sleep on the street. Patrick had recently been bailed out of jail and he didn’t want to stay in Thomaston. I didn’t want to stay in Thomaston. Yet, here I am evaluating my options with Patrick in the middle of Thomaston.

His truck was in impound, we were homeless, and I’m talking about my future over a sausage melt with Patrick, my only ally against the super Ignoramus called Becca. Patrick and I forged out a plan that solved all of our problems. It started with a Virgin and ended with ‘ia’. It was risky but it was do-able. More do-able than Becca at the time.

She was at home twiddling her thumbs awaiting my response regarding Patrick because she knew that our future depended on Patrick’s word. And he’s a man of his word that I could trust. In fact, he was the only person in Thomaston, GA that I COULD trust. Becca was about as trustworthy as Michael Jackson’s babysitting services.

Over the weekend Patrick and Becca reached common ground. He wouldn’t completely expose her for the psycho whore that she was and she wouldn’t say anything to him, at all. A pretty well balanced common ground if you ask me. They were being tolerable with each other while in my mind I was going crazy. I had to mastermind a plan to get Patrick’s truck out of impound, find us a place to live within four days, and make sure all of us had food in the meantime.

I called in a few favors around town from people that liked me. They gave me and Patrick a place to live but not Becca. You see, the entire time Becca was in Thomaston she acted like a prissy, elitist bitch. Of course Becca denies this and thinks the entire town was out to get her for being the new girl, but her bi-polar ramblings didn’t collect $200 and pass Go that time. She had made enemies with just about everyone in that town. Even her own friends told me how much they hated her and liked me more. It was bad when I visited one of our neighbors (whom we let stay with us during hard times) and she said, “yawl Nick, yew cool. But Becca… tell her to watch her dayum attitude cuz she ain’t welcome here“. Reality couldn’t have hit me any harder if it was a jail sentence… but wait. There’s more.

My first day in Georgia. The look on my face is not of happiness.

Knowing our entire situation depended on my ability to conjure up shit out of nothing, I decided to relapse on my personal word to myself and steal something. See, I’m a good thief. I can outsmart even the smartest people. But what happens when you mix my propensity to steal with necessity, alcohol, my narcissistic confidence and a stupid Southern girlfriend who screwed me over? You happen to get handcuffs. And that’s just what I was wearing when I got caught stealing something bigger than my eyes.

What most people don’t realize is that I was only stealing what I did as an opportunity to give Patrick, Becca, and I a new means to live. All my friends think I was drunk and stupid. Nah. Try being starving, homeless, and responsible for two people you care about. You’d have done the same thing, too. Albeit, you probably wouldn’t have gotten caught with all the flashing COPS/America’s Dumbest Criminal glory that I did, but still. I had a reason to my rhyme. It doesn’t justify my actions one bit, but it’s a reason nonetheless.

[ Part 2 (Virginia) can be found right here ]