Welcome to Great Moments in Drunken Hookup Failure, where we showcase three heartwarming true stories of drunken love gone horribly awry. Off we go.
About a year ago my friend and I meet his college ex and one of her friends at a bar. My friend Dave was making incredibly awkward conversation with his ex. Her friend, Teresa and I seem to get along pretty decently - she astonishingly appeared into what I had to say, and I liked what she looked like so was willing to put up with her inane rants. Nothing happened on the Friday night, but we exchanged information and promised to catch up the next night.
On Saturday night I get an email on my Blackberry asking if Dave and I would be up for "weed and drinks" before going out. Unfortunately, we went to a big college basketball game that day and had been drinking since noon - so that seemed like a recipe for falling asleep early, as I'm never one to be known to have a "big tolerance". Roughly midnightish Teresa texts me and says for us to come meet them at a bar that neither Dave or I knew at all. There was a good reason - it turned out to be a gay bar. Needless to say, I had an awesome time - and danced and drank my ass off. Sure enough, my tremendously bad dancing got me a little makeout session at the club. We're then invited back to their place to continue the evening - and we make quite a group as we leave - me, Teresa, Whatshername, Dave, Teresa's gay roommate, and Teresa's gay roommate's new friend.
As we get back to their place, I get dragged by my belt into this Teresa's room. I'm totally in. We make out for a few minutes, start to get to some petting, and I'm informed we should make an "appearance" in the other room. Way too drunk to even begin to figure out how to argue that, I agree and grab another beer. Conversation is good in the other room until, all of a sudden a Coldplay block comes on the iPod. Now, because someone somewhere clearly hates me, the rest of the room launches into an I-shit-you-not 60-minute conversation about how awesome Coldplay is. I am literally in my own personal version of hell. At the 60-minute mark, I can't take it anymore and start making out with her in front of everyone. She seems totally fine with this for a few minutes, and I feel I'm back in business. She pulls me close and whispers, "I hope you're ok that I'm going to sleep in the same room as my friend tonight. I just got out of a 5 year relationship and not ready for this." Well I'm too drunk, too astonished by this new information, and too worn out by the Coldplay conversation to argue, so I just turn, face plant into the sofa, and go to sleep.
Flash forward to 8 am. Since I drank for almost 16 hours the previous day, and remember I have no tolerance, I'm unbelievably hungover when I wake up on the couch in the main room. I put myself together, and wake up my friend. I realize that I have left my shoes in her room from the initial drag in. So I go to quietly open the door to her room to slip out - AND...IT'S...LOCKED. She locked her room from the inside. Apparently my easy acceptance of not hooking up made her think that I would break into her room as she slept. I knock on the door - she opens. I say, "Uh, my shoes." She says, "Call me." I do not, and leave an absolutely beaten man.
A few years ago, I had been courting (read: texting) a girl I'd met recently. Things were going fine, but we hadn't had any solo time to that point. I began one Friday evening having made loose plans to meet her once I left a friend's party. She said she'd be staying in and I planned to remain sober-ish given I didn't really know Haley's tolerance for drunken jackassery and the fact that we would be meeting at her house. My temperance plan failed miserably and by 11:30 I was buzzed (read: hammered). Nonetheless, as might be expected, my courage was increasing at a rate inverse to that at which my social functions were diminishing and I called her anyway. The night as I remember it versus how she recounted it back to me later is a horrifying study in idiotic drunken misperception.
My recollection: I call her and she invites me over. I walk the few blocks to her house. We make out for an enjoyable while and then are rudely interrupted by one of her roommates, who needs her to proofread a paper due the next day. She alludes to a favor she owes the roommate and says she really has to. I suggest I stick around and wait for her to finish at which point we can resume. She politely declines and I gracefully exit, sending a charming text on my walk home about how I can't believe how good of a friend she is, that "this is probably the first time I've been sent home because of schoolwork" (LOL!) and that I look forward to seeing her again. She apologizes and replies positively.
Her recollection: I call her at 11:30, slurring something about wanting to come over to "finally, heh, hang out." She is sober and unimpressed given our earlier plan but still on the tail-end of a rebound, so she accepts, hangs up, and takes two "emergency shots" to try and make the experience minimally enjoyable. I arrive, am let in, stumble upstairs (ahead of her - ever the gentleman), proceed to maul her face within seconds of sitting down on her bed, and then make out with her "as sloppily as I've ever been made out with." She even begins laughing at me. I am oblivious. Soon, without warning, I stand up and dart out of the room to go pee. She grabs her roommate and begs her to "make up whatever excuse you can to get this drunk loser out of here." When I return and do not take the hint that the roommate probably doesn't have a paper due on a Saturday morning and instead offer that I "just take a nap here for a second and wait," Haley resorts to asking me, point-blank, to leave. I do, she receives my text and answers with the double-edged, "Yeah, sorry. I really owe her one."
Haley and I ended up dating for almost a year - thus my knowledge of the unpolished true story. I wish the epilogue to that story was knowing and memorizing what kind of magical damage control powers I must have employed in the weeks after that to win her over, and not being exposed months later to the ego-crippling realization that this was undoubtedly not the first time I had been so had and extremely overconfident in my performance. Ignorance is bliss.
Or perhaps she was dazzled by your Rashomon-style storytelling.
During my freshman year of college I experienced quite a dry spell. One particular night, one of my buddies had brought a female friend from his hometown to see what our college and its party scene were all about. I had met her that afternoon, but by that time my drunk goggles were practically fused to my skull. But hell, she was fun and she liked to party, and she brought King Cake.
Now my brothers were well aware of my college dry spell, and despite my status as a junior initiate they decided I could use a helping hand or two in getting the monkey off my back. While I was inside on a 3 game run on the beer pong table and just drinking enough to maintain my long term insobriety, they were outside spitting some game on my behalf to King Cake Girl (hereafter known as KCG). Unbeknownst to me until the next day, their game went like this:
"He has a huge dong. It's a legend around here."
"Horses wish they were hung like him."
Unfortunately, these were obviously platitudes. Also unfortunate was the fact that these were apparently hook, line and sinker to KCG. My partner strategically bowed out of the next beer pong game and was replaced by my new lady admirer. The game was afoot. Without my go-to partner nor any semblance of self respect, we were easily beaten and on our way back to my dorm with a ride from a brother doing his best Steve Nash impression. Back at my place things progressed fast, and before long she was busting out a magnum condom from her purse. It didn't take long for her to realize that things did not come as advertised, and she had been duped. The deed was attempted but that pretty much killed the mood.
As she was leaving my room that night she turned to me and said, "thanks" and disappeared into the night. It wasn't even sarcastic. To this day I still don't know why she said it. Also, she stole my sheet. That's not cool.