Welcome to Great Moments in Drunken Hookup Failure, where we showcase four heartwarming true stories of drunken love gone horribly awry. Off we go.
A few years ago I was in Nashville, TN with a couple buddies for Labor Day weekend. We spent Saturday drinking in bars and sampled some local culture via the Dukes of Hazzard Museum. Nightfall found us downtown, hopping from bar to bar, getting progressively more inebriated.
At one particular bar I found myself standing next to a moderately attractive woman a few years my senior (early 30s) who was ordering a takeout quesadilla. She possessed a set of silicon enhancements that likely violated several of the more prominent laws of Physics. They seemed to beckon me, like St. Peter beckoning a new soul towards the light. I began a conversation with her. She was receptive to my drunken charms. Considering how long I'd been drinking, this should have been an early warning sign. But I pressed forward.
We did a shot together. She said she was from Detroit and in town by herself. The quesadilla arrived and she invited us to follow her across the street to Tootsie's, which was supposedly the happening bar in Nashville. She grabbed my hand and led us there. The place was packed with bodies, and she led us through the crowd towards the stage. She would grind/hug/touch/flirt with every guy that she squeezed past.
We had some more drinks, and she is flirted around the bar with such profligacy that I basically gave up on her. I started talking to another young lady. In strict accordance with the Law of Female Logic, this prompted Little Ms. Detroit Silicon Mountains to rush over, pull me aside and invite me back to her hotel room. Being an idiot and a drunk, I immediately accepted.
We walked to her hotel - she had a suite with the usual living room and separate bedroom. We sat on her couch. She was still holding that goddamn quesadilla. We began to make out, but then she stopped me, wanting to eat her quesadilla first. I sat there impatiently while she scarfed down her meal.
We began kissing again. She tasted like onions. I started giving her a thorough breast examination. AGAIN she broke away, and said we had to go back to the bar because it's her last night in town. My alternate suggestion, which I personally thought quite brilliant, was that we stay in our current location and have sexual intercourse. After some debate, she said I could stay there in her bed, and she'd be back in an hour and we could have "the best sex ever". To solidify the deal, she reached down and gave my johnson a nice firm dickshake.
So I got down to my skivvies and sat back in her bed. It was 11 p.m. I turned on the TV - Scarface. Nice. I'm watching Pacino snort that glorious mountain of coke and waiting for this woman to return and shuck my corn. Life is good.
The minutes pass, Pacino gets riddled with bullets, and I notice it's 12:15. "Fuck," I think. It gets to be a quarter to midnight and I said to myself "Ok, she's got 10 more minutes, and then I'm gonna take a shit in her bed and leave".
25 minutes later, I heard the door open. Finally, I thought. My excitement was immediately extinguished when I heard her voice...followed by a distinctly male voice in response. Hearing footsteps come closer, I leapt out of the bed and begin pulling on my pants. The door burst open and I was face-to-face with a gentleman wearing a cowboy hat. I offered him a soul shake. He walked out, exclaiming "there's a guy in there without any pants on!".
I dressed quickly, but realized I'd left my shoes in the living room. When I got out there, she's sitting there, surrounded by not one, not two, but THREE dudes in identical cowboy outfits. I awkwardly pulled on my shoes, politely declining her invitations to stick around. As I quickly walked out the door, wanting to avoid any part of this ensuing cowboy orgy, I nearly collided with TWO more cowboys walking into her room. I closed the door behind me. I swear I heard a muffled "yee haw" as I walked away.
All that was left to do was stumble back to my hotel, thinking "Goddamn Nashville. I just got cockblocked by 5 cowboys".
They call that a calf ropin'.
A couple weekends ago, my housemates and I threw a St. Patty's Day party at the house, and a friend of a friend of mine, who we'll call B for the purposes of this story, had been flirting with me for a while, but we had never done anything serious. By about midnight, we were both shithammered and making out on the couch, ready to do the deed, when a guy walks in to the party who looks exactly like me. Like, same height and build, same hair, same glasses and everything. We'll call him D. Nobody really knows who D is, they just assume he is my relative, until B sees that he has arrived and immediately drops what she is doing (i.e. me) to run up and hug him. She tells me he is a former coworker of hers, whom she hasn't seen in forever, and she wants to catch up. So I play a beer pong game or two inside while she chats outside with D, then out of nowhere, B comes up to me and whispers in my ear "Are you ready to fuck my brains out? Let me get my stuff and I'll meet you in a couple minutes." So I go to my room and lay on the bed for about 10 minutes, and nobody joins me. I walk back out into the party and ask my friend (the one who knows B) where she went. Well, apparently, she had been obsessed with D for months (hence her being all over me,) and after blowing her off over and over again, D decided that this was finally the night he was going to go for the easy hookup. When B had whispered in my ear, it was because she mistook me for D, and in the 10 minutes I was in my room waiting for her, not only did she leave the party with D, she also threw up all over my bathroom and didn't even attempt to clean it up.
People who look like me are dicks.
So she wanted D's D in her V, but thought B was D and wanted B to take his D out of his BVD's because she thought it was D's D? BBD! (I THOUGHT IT WAS ME)…
A few years ago I was in a band and we needed a new singer. Our guitar player knew a girl who had just moved to town and thought she would be a good fit. So we scheduled for her to come over and hang out/jam. She is extremely gorgeous, very cool, very fun. And not that it really mattered, but she could sing great as well. She liked our stuff and she joined the band. She also told us that she had taken a job as a stripper in order to make some money until she found a real job. This was going very well.
So me and her set up a time where she could come over to learn our already existing songs. That entire week my head was swimming with wild fantasies.
She comes over to my place and we're having a great time. Playing music, chatting, drinking. The night is winding down and I tell her that I'll burn a cd of our songs for her. I pop in the blank cd and it starts clicking and burning away. As this is happening she's standing behind me and starts to rub my shoulders and play with my hair. She compliments my hair (which was a bald-faced lie) and tells me to "put on some music" in a seductive/sexy way that let me know something very cool was about to go down. The problem was that my crappy computer couldn't handle 2 tasks at once. So I try to quickly cancel the burning cd and put on some music. But as I do this my computer completely freezes up and I get the dreaded blue screen. I freak out since my entire life is on here and spend the next 10 minutes getting it back up and running. Needless to say she had packed up and was ready to go.
She ended up moving to the pacific northwest about a week later and finding Jesus so there's no chance of it ever happening again.
Every so often this memory randomly pops in my head (as much as I try to block it) and I will still physically grimace at this lost opportunity.
I was a freshman at a small college in upstate New York, where one could get into the local bars with the worst of fake ID's, or possibly a "My son is 21. Love, Mom" note scribbled on a napkin. It was spring finals week and my two friends and I were at a local bar called Copperfield's, or Cop-a-feel's as we affectionately dubbed it, and making great progress with three very good-looking junior girls, one of whom I was half in love with.
All was going well. $3 pitchers, 3 on 3 on the dance floor, and for once it looked like we were in line for one of those great college nights that are supposed to happen every weekend, but in reality happen about once a year. We all genuinely liked the girls we were with, they were hot and friendly, and how awesome would it be for three freshmen guys to go home with three junior girls? And it's not like we were stud basketball players or anything. Hell, I ran cross-country.
It was a perfect night, and sure enough the three girls invited us back to their dorm for after-hours. We played it cool, and said we'd meet them there, because we were so awesome we wanted to pick up pizza on the way home. They told us to make it quick, because they'd be waiting for us, and drove to their dorm as we commenced the mile or so walk back to campus, stopping for slices on the way. As we walked, I made the terrible, terrible decision that I needed to take a piss, and ducked down a grass pathway to urinate behind a tree (on an unrelated note, we always called that pathway the Ho Chi Minh trail, which I find very amusing).
What follows is a horrible scene that would take pages to fully describe, but there's the cop to arrest me for indecent exposure or public drunkenness, my attempt to run, getting hit by his Mag light while he grabs me by the collar, me throwing pepperoni pizza in his face, and pure terror on my part. But I keep churning my cross-country legs, and my shirt literally rips off my body. Shirtless (like a scene from Cops!) I run like never before, over fences, through yards, over railroad tracks, through woods, and all the way back to campus in a roundabout, terror-filled sprint. I arrive ahead of my friends, covered in cuts and bleeding profusely from the brush and fence-leaping and subsequent spills on the pavement, and so very afraid that any minute the cops will arrive, I will be arrested, charged with resisting arrest and possibly assault, kicked out of college and my parents will never forgive me. Life over at 19.
The girls tracked us down in my dorm room, but needless to say the sight of me bleeding, shaking and crying was a turn-off for all three. Nobody even got a kiss that night. I shaved my head and spent the final week of the semester essentially hiding in my dorm, and it wasn't until well into summer that I could recall the incident without shaking from fright, still convinced the cops would track me down.
On the plus side, I made All-Conference in cross-country.