Crazy

How many brands of girl crazy can there possibly be? I thought I had it pretty much down, and how to deal with it, until today. These are the most identifiable brands:

I-like-you crazy: She spends a lot of time casually flirting with her eyes, she smiles at you coquettishly, she bends over too much when she’s around you. It’s fairly obvious to all involved that she wants you, but girls feel the need to go through some absurdly outdated mating ritual to let us know. As if saying “I’m in the mood for dick, preferably yours” wouldn’t suffice and we wouldn’t get the message? Trust me girls, unless you’re a minger, he probably wants to screw you too. Well done. Best way to deal with this, get her drunk, tell her she’s hot. Works like a charm and everyone gets what they want.

I’m-crying-for-no-reason crazy: Fucking hormones, man. There is nothing for this brand of crazy and you may as well get out while you can. Anything you say makes it worse, and some twisted version of what you did actually say will always be held against you.

We-had-sex-so-now-I-think-we’re-a-couple crazy: Well-coined phrase of the stage 5 clinger. It’s been (nearly) biologically proven that girls confuse endorphins with the love emotion, and so often confuse sex with love or attachment. Explaining this genetic shortcoming to them makes the smart ones understand, and the stupid ones will just think you’re enough of an asshole to not commit to. Problem solved.

I’m-angry-with-other-things/myself/mybody/myhair/yourmother-but-i-think-you-care-enough-to-let-me-take-it-out-on-you: No ladies. No one cares that much. If you let them do this once, you will establish a pattern of dependence that is really hard to break. Advise the girl to talk to her girlfriends about it. You’re doing her a favour, it’s them she actually wants to talk to, not you.

Who-is-she?/Why-are-you-looking-at-her crazy: Both these brands evict the same facial snarl, and both stem from the same stupid insecurities girls feel the need to foster. The former refers to the situation when the girl assumes that if you greet any other female under the age of 70, you must obviously be sleeping with her. The latter refers to the situation when you look at any female slightly hotter than a doorknob. Best advice here is to lie. If you are sleeping with her, claim it’s your cousin. If you’re not, you can still claim it’s your cousin. If you were looking at her, claim it’s because she reminds you so much of the girl at hand. Beware the trick here: NEVER dismiss her as a work colleague/girl you met at a party/friend of your sister or similar. This will plant the seed of crazy that will eventually sprout into the next, far more dangerous brand of crazy.

I’m-bored/hate-my-life/our-relationship-is-failing/so-therefore-it-must-be-your-fault-because-you’re-cheating-on-me: Any seeds of doubt grow into this oak tree of crazy. This is where girls start to snoop, follow you, read e-mail, check your cellphone etc. If any of these happen, the relationship is over. She will never believe you’re not actually cheating on her, and you will eventually be crushed with her constant whining. Get out while you can.
Break-up crazy: The most long-lasting and destructive form, but at least you are no longer trying to sleep with her, so you can to a large extent ignore it. Change your number. Get new friends. Bitches be crazy when it comes to break ups, and even if she was the cheating whore you found blowing your best friend in a bathroom, the failed relationship and subsequent break up will still be your fault.

Today, I found a whole new brand of crazy, one I am definitely ill-equipped to deal with. Carryn has gone wedding crazy. Please note that the word ‘wedding’ could here be substituted with ‘batshit-insane’. I got home today to find her and twenty of her closest friends (recognised some: slut who tried to sleep with me last Christmas, girl who never wears a bra, chubby friend with weight issues, skinny friend with more weight issues, vegan with feminist tendencies – also never wears a bra) pouring over wedding books and booking bridal expos and finding diets to make her look like an anorexic Ethiopian on the big day. She turned to look up at me with those big blue eyes, and I didn’t even recognise her. The eyes were glazed over with what looked like tiny rand signs floating all through them. I don’t think she even saw it was me, I’m pretty sure she looked up and saw a Ken doll she was trying to picture in a tux.

I’m frightened and hiding in the study. Any advice would be welcomed.