I've always liked the biggest assholes - my friends constantly badmouthed my summer love interest, hoping to wake me up from my six-foot tall, dark-haired nightmare. But for every attack on his character, I had an excuse.
His last girlfriend has a baby.""
See, he's a family man.
""I heard he's in a gang.""
He's good at networking.
""Do you know he has a drug problem... and herpes?""
Drugs are so in right now - and herpes, shmerpees - they have a pill for that now.
Sure, these signs scream ""No! Ashley!"" But so what if he's insensitive and can't commit? Yeah, he's ugly inside - but God he is just so hot. Plus, I'm a girl. That means I can save him.
But you can't just bring your man into an art studio and say: ""Hey, I'm ready to shape you into a perfect being. I have a vision for you. Shhh... Relax - you're in my hands now. Despite your morphine addiction, your unhealthy interest in my brother and the fact you verbally abuse me, I see your potential.""
Unhealthy addictions to bad boys often happen to wise women. My friend Joanna is headed to law school, is a master of debate and doesn't take shit from any of her girlfriends. Even though she has a strong head on her shoulders, like me, she finds the biggest losers to date.
It's hard for me to resist the bad boys, but as soon as one enters the life of a close friend, like Joanna, I become her moral compass.
Jo and I were studying at a State Street coffeehouse, when she got this smile on her face. The same one she has when she's drunk and singing Akon. At total peace.
""What's wrong with you? You're way too happy,"" I asked, always the eternal optimist.
""I know you don't like him, but Steven finally asked me out!"" she giggled.
Steven is the guy who just won't leave Joanna's life. She's had a crush on him for years, and he takes full advantage of his access to her bank account, her apartment, her underwear.
""Jo. He's such bad news. Do you remember when he told you the only way he'd sleep with you is if you screwed his dog first?"" I took a long sip of my coffee.
""Or what about when he faked moving to California and even called you from an LA phone number? And then you drove out there..."" I racked my head for more painful memories. It wasn't hard.
""Didn't he ask you to get a boob job?""
""I have some money saved.""
""Jo,"" I said as I reached for her hand across the table - cue sappy music - ""How the hell can you like someone who treats you this way?""
""Like him? I don't just like him. I would bear his dog's children.""
It's easier to predict the outcome when you're the bystander and not the victim. You can hear the train roaring in. You can see the crash, the impending doom, the imminent tears. You know he's going leave her like dust in his tracks. And it won't happen just once. He'll run her over again and again.
The only thing you can do in this situation is be there to pick up the pieces. You can give her fair warning and advice, but somehow the power of the bad boy always seems to dominate. I'll be there for Jo when she finds out Steven's dog has an STI, unless of course I am busy having a conjugal visit with my latest boyfriend. Since starting his prison sentence, he's changed for real this time. He tells me so.
If you have a girlfriend, too much baggage or are a very good looking pathological liar e-mail_ aaspencer@wisc.edu.
