It’s Not Me, It’s You: A Series of Unfortunate Douchebags by Anna Walters

College is funny because you can watch friends go in and out of serious, committed relationships while somehow managing to never make it past the “What are we?” stage with countless douchebags for four years straight. At least I like to think it’s funny when alone in my room meant for four people on date night. Well, date night for all my friends but what is so accurately described as “me time” for yours truly.

Yeah, that’s right, ME time.

Time for ME to do things, alone.

Oh wait, I already have plenty of that because I am alone.


Crap, I’m lonely.

I don’t mean I’m alone in the sense that I have no friends or family that care about me and love me unconditionally, because that couldn’t be further from the truth. I have plenty of people that care about me and love me and support me endlessly. But, because I’m selfish and jealous and honestly always a little bit salty I still want more people to love me. Well, person. One person (I’d like to think I’d be a monogamist if I were ever presented with the option).

The self-pitying, spoiled brat in me can’t help but think it’s just really not fair that basically everyone else got to experience these things at some point throughout college except for me. I have a really hard time dealing when other people get things that I want and don’t have, but hey, at least I’m willing to admit it. At times I literally think I have a spoiled toddler living inside me waiting to throw a hissy fit over just about the only thing there is left to complain about, boys.

Once my bratty inner demon goes down for a nap and I come to my senses I realize that I am indeed not the issue here. When I’m done feeling sorry for myself and come to my senses I am reminded once again of why I’m actually alone. I’m alone because the world is full of Brads and Chads[1]  and I just so happen to have met a lot of them. I’ve had encounters with an actual Brad and an actual Chad, ironically enough, and both lived up to the stereotype of their name.

So, my advice to anyone who ever feels alone in this world of formal dates and plus ones is to reminisce on past potential relationships and real relationships alike, truly analyze these Brads and Chads, and thank the heavens that none of these actually worked out.

Of all the poorly behaved boys I’ve ever met, a few stand out in particular for reasons that aren’t even very personal but rather because looking back with hindsight their actions were so grossly predictable and the endings so stereotypical that I can’t believe I was fooled for a second let alone months at a time, but that’s how hindsight bias works I suppose.

The One that Peaked in Middle School

My attraction to the douchiest of d-bags dates back to approximately 2009. Naturally, I had the biggest junior high crush on the hottest guy in school. You know the kind of guy with hair that swished exactly like Justin Bieber’s and rocked the sickest Abercrombie polo and somehow managed to have shredded abs before the age of thirteen? A total hottie. Times were innocent and one day in early fall he texted me after school with a mere “hey”, but let me tell you I flipped my enV Touch open to reply so fast I though the hot pink case was going to fly right off. One week later we became an “official” couple under the bleachers at the homecoming football game.

He was number 14 on our seventh- grade basketball team and I was a cheerleader so, I shit you not, I referred to him as Troy Bolton from the beloved Disney Channel Original Movie High School Musical. Troy was also number 14 on his basketball team. Needless to say, I’ve been obnoxious from the start. Our romance however was short lived. A few weeks into our “official” relationship he asked me to go on a date and I freaked out and “broke up” with him. I was only twelve so, like, it’s understandable? Rumor has it he cried all night. Ha.  Less than a week later he had already moved on to one of my BFF’s and this, ladies and gentlemen, is the beginning of a series of very unfortunate encounters with Brads and Chads.

The Only One my Parents Have Ever Met

When you’re the new girl at school, you tend to take whatever attention you can get. I started my sophomore year of high school as literally the only new girl in our high school class. I was vulnerable and lonely and gave in easily to the first guy who tried to talk to me. The dude was in my Spanish class which made me feel very awkward and I did not think he was cute at all but considering I didn’t have any other options I replied to his unsolicited Facebook message for what I told myself were entertainment purposes.

Corey was friends with some of the popular people, so I figured I could maybe get invited to a party if nothing else came from this. I was dying to get invited to a party at this school and considering I didn’t have any friends yet I figured that wasn’t going to happen any time soon. Corey had just broken up with some girl named Ava and loved trash talking to me about her which made me very uncomfortable because I had nothing else to base my opinion of her off of, and honestly this should have been the first of many red flags regarding his character.

I was fifteen and extremely innocent and Corey claimed to love my innocence because this meant he could teach me things. Corey taught me all types of stuff, like what a drought is. I learned that a drought is basically when you’re not getting any and he’s been in one ever since him and Ava broke up (very subtle hint there, Corey). He also taught me physics because he was in honors physics and I was in regular physics, so he took it upon himself to teach me. I still got a B, but thanks anyway bro. Corey also taught me how to kiss in the back of the movie theater because, as mentioned earlier, I was innocent so it was Corey’s job to teach me these types of things. The most memorable thing Corey taught me was that by the end of that summer I was useless, washed up, and had no appeal whatsoever due to my loss of innocence and because of this no guy would ever want me again.

Luckily, I didn’t believe the last thing he taught me because the only innocence I lost that summer was my getting drunk for the first time and accidentally kissing one of his friends which technically wasn’t cheating because Corey never officially asked me to be his girlfriend. Way to be dramatic, buddy this one’s your fault.

Corey held a vendetta against me until graduation and if I’m being honest he probably still does. I used to feel bad for him on occasion because I guess I was just too naïve to realize how much he actually liked me. I mean the dude liked me enough to have “stick shift” printed on the back of his senior shirt two years later just to remind everyone of his conquering my innocence. Thankfully I was smart enough at seventeen to realize how sick and twisted this was and I never felt sorry for this asshole again after laying eyes on that damn t- shirt.

The Bad Boy

“Do you still hate me?” my hands shook as I typed the message through blurry vision. My 100- pound frame was buzzed from one captain and coke, probably because I had never had Captain Morgan before. I locked my phone, both dreading and anxiously awaiting a response. He wouldn’t not respond, right? I stared down at my best friend Madison who was lying in a drunken heap on the grass. Madison was dressed up as Eloise and I was jealous I hadn’t thought of the idea first, but mostly I was jealous of the fact that she was borrowing my clothes for her costume and they looked better on her than me. “Damn, why did I send that?” I whispered to myself, half-heartedly knowing I wouldn’t get a reply.

“I can take your phone off your hands, you know, so you don’t uh, say things you shouldn’t”. I recognized the voice and immediately turned around, embarrassed of my state but mostly of Madison’s and the fact that I wasn’t really doing anything to help her. I nudged her with my foot to make sure she was still awake, she was. As I turned around I locked eyes with Amr, the suave James Dean type, leather wearing bad boy icon of our high school who occasionally graced us all with his presence in AP English & Psych. “Actually, if you have a pocket, I wouldn’t mind” I gestured to my costume in attempt to emphasize the fact that I indeed did not have pockets. I was wearing a white sports bra and matching shorts and just about nothing else. I had my hair up in two buns and flashed a gold chain as an homage to Miley Cyrus in her prime twerking days.

Amr was the kind of guy that a Dad would gladly chase off the doorstep with a baseball bat. The type that finessed teachers into letting him turn in his project three weeks late, and just about the last guy anyone expected me to be interested in, or to be interested in me as a matter of fact. My midnight curfew was quickly approaching but none of my other friends seemed to be as concerned about their curfews. I needed to leave, but something told me I should stick around for a while. Maybe it was the Captain Morgan settling in my empty stomach, but I got the feeling that Amr’s sudden arrival wasn’t just a coincidence. Amr wasn’t the type to randomly show up places or to offer a word to just anyone, let alone just any girl. I had never so much as had a conversation with him outside of class discussions, but I had always been intrigued by him. Maybe we had a connection because we were the only two people who religiously rocked Doc Martins, that had to count for something, right?

“Is she okay?” Amr gestured to Madison who was starting to squirm a little on the floor. “Crap what time is it?” I asked Amr, quickly returning to reality. He took my phone out of his pocket and said, ”Eleven forty, oh and you have a message from Corey. What’s that all about?” My heart dropped to my stomach and I immediately sobered up. I didn’t know which was more terrifying the thought of my mom asking to smell my breath when I stumbled in the front door after midnight or the suspense of waiting to open Corey’s message until I was safely tucked in bed, alone and away from anyone who could see my reaction. Nearly a year after our infamous falling out I found myself texting Corey just about every time I drank because, honestly, I didn’t have any other boys to text and my liquor impaired mind was certain he still had some sort of feelings for me.

“Give me my phone, I’ve got to go find my friends,” I snatched my iPhone out of Amr’s palm. “Hey, you should just come home with me and Henry we’re catching a cab later”. “No can do, some of us have curfew,” I turned my back and ran off into the house to find my friends.

Four years later and I have absolutely no idea what Corey said in that highly anticipated text message, probably something douchey that involved an extremely offensive synonym for vagina, but I remember exactly what Amr said to me that night when I got home. Crazy how that works. A message that meant so much to me at seventeen is completely lost from my memory at twenty-one. I’m pretty sure the whole reason I wanted to go to that party in the first place was to get drunk and have an excuse to text Corey, which I did, but that night also sparked the beginning of what would be my next fuck-boy centered romance.

That night when I got home Amr sent me a picture of the princess from Tangled with the message “You’re like this fucking cute,” which I assumed to be pretty fucking cute. And the rest was history, well, for the next three months at least. I was doing all the classic high school things that a goody two shoes would when she fell for a bad boy. I snuck out, lied to my parents, etc., etc. Amr had me wrapped around his finger and he knew it. I was infatuated to say the least. I had never been around anyone who smoked pot before, and I would sneak out just to drive him to Insomnia Cookies when he was too high to do it himself. I thought he was the coolest kid around and I was absolutely certain we were going to fall in love. Ha. Turns out he was hooking up with his ex-girlfriend the entire time. I thought I was heart-broken but I’m pretty sure now that I was just sad I wouldn’t have a reason to sneak out anymore, I was really digging the rush.

The Interlude

This one’s a quickie, not much to say here except that I’m certain this type of experience is extremely common. I almost managed to make it through two full years of college without a boy thinking he might want to date me. Well, one that I might consider reciprocating these feelings for, to be more specific. This particular instance occurred near the end of March when homeboy told me at the bar that his dad was a millionaire. He sure knew how to get me hooked. Who could say no to the potential thought of millionaire in-laws??? In April he asked me to go skiing with his family next December. I was pretty weirded out but went along with it anyway because attention, duh. In June he told me he was officially dating someone else. By July I found out his parents aren’t even millionaires. I’m still not sure if this one came or went faster.

The Real Brad & Chad

As mentioned earlier, the names Brad and Chad have become synonymous for the word douche-bag. I have absolutely no idea how this began but I do know that I find it eerily accurate.

I knew a Brad once. In ninth grade he dated one of my friends but for some reason asked me to hangout in his parent’s hot tub every other night. Total Brad Move. I didn’t see Brad again until junior year of college, he asked me on a date. I said nah because fear of commitment, obviously. So, he said let’s just chill and I could handle that so I went over to his house only to find him in nothing but gym shorts setting up a smorgasbord of drugs on his bedside table. Total Brad Move.

I also knew a Chad once. His locker was by mine for a few years in high school, he sold pot out of his. Chad drove a BMW, asked me to junior prom, and hosted an after party at his step-dad’s vacant mansion where we got wasted in the pool house. Total Chad Move.


My favorite part about these experiences is that they can all be summed up with generic titles. Extremely generic titles that are somehow still detailed enough to define an entire relationship between two people. As sad as it is, this comforts me. These extremely personal experiences can be defined by a single generic term that describes each of the individuals I unfortunately wasted a portion of my life on. The fact that these situations are so stereotypical makes me happy because it means I’m not the only person who experienced it and if that makes me a twisted bitch, so be it. Not that I’m actually happy other girls had to endure these stock character douche bags, but come on, if you can be defined by a cliché sub-category of man then I am definitely not the problem, it’s you bro.

[1] Barstool Sports, an Instagram account marketed towards college aged frat stars and jocks has recently begun capitalizing on posting pictures and videos making fun of generic frat stars and jocks, otherwise known as Brad and Chad.