Welcome to Great Moments in Drunken Hookup Failure, where we showcase four heartwarming true stories of drunken love gone horribly awry. Off we go.
I went to a small suitcase college outside of Philly. I'm from North Jersey and was born in '76, so naturally I'm surrounded by knuckle draggers with either the birth name Rocky or nicknamed Rocky. Our school is lame and the guy to girl ratio sucks. So my Freshman year we pile in a couple cars and make the 30 minute drive to Mecca aka the "University of Delaware" to party with some girls my buddies went to High School with.
There's about 6-8 of us, when we show up we're greeted at an all girls dorm (didn't know they existed), and are immediately treated like royalty. We just take over the hallway drinking, partying, like a real fucking college - having a blast. Each one of us had girls hanging off of us. We head out to the frats, but since we are with so much poon, the Frat guys gave us carte blanche. So we're getting freaked by these skanks, I'm starting to get beer balls and proceed to start getting a little fresh with the hands to 2 girls in particular. I found one pretty cute "Meghan", blonde, skinny, DTF vibe. Also she mentioned she's from L.I. and played soccer against Long Island Lolita Amy Fisher, and for some reason I found this hot. The other one, lets just call her CB (actual name unknown) starts putting on the full court press and the 2 seem to work out some kind of non-aggression pact and so I'm saddled with CB - Meghan was a lot hotter than CB.
So people start pairing up, CB and I start making our way back to her room at the all girls dorm. I didn't try any power moves on the walk, just figured I'd wait till we get back to her room - a touch of class if you will. So we're sitting on her bed, making a little small talk. She has the room to herself, but leaves the door open. She says she wants to show me her photo album. so whatever I'll put up with the bullshit. Turns out she was a counselor at a camp for kids afflicted with Down Syndrome, I have to look at page after agonizing page of these kids, bless their heart - but when your 18, drunk and are alone with a girl you'll never see again - you really don't want to look at hundreds of retards, but maybe that's just me.
I figure that if I just stick it out, keep my composure and get through this album it would prove I'm not an insensitive prick and that I passed her retard test.
Done, brutal, it might take some extra coaxing for the softest cock on the planet to transfer into a more serviceable state, but whatever - It's On!
So I offer to close the door. (I was gonna grab her on the way back and start something up, brilliant I know).
Before I even get the sentence out, she, in a tone that couldn't have been more condescending - "I'M NOT GONNA HOOK UP WITH YOU IF THAT'S WHAT YOU THINK!".
Shocked, I retort, "I just want to get some sleep, so is it alright if I shut the door?" She agrees, I barely retain my dignity, post up on her tiny mattress and pass out.
The next morning when everyone is getting their shit together to leave, I run into Meghan across the hall, and she couldn't have been any sweeter. She slept alone to top things off as an extra F.U. while I was stuck in a room listening to CB drone on and on about how she got some kid to stop pouring bowls of cereal over his head.
Lousy retards! Always tarding it up for everyone else!
Gus Johnson's Cardiologist:
Last July, my parents, three brothers, two of the brother's significant others, and I went to Vegas for my parents' anniversary. Three high school friends that had ended up out west after college met us there as well. Day one went off without incident, with everyone having a great time and most of us winning at blackjack. No one got too wild, but we had fun. Day two was a different story entirely. We started drinking buckets of beer pool-side in the morning and rolled right through dinner with my folks. After dinner, my oldest brother and his wife and the three buddies in from LA posted up at a table playing blackjack in the Carnival Court at Harrah's. This is where things get fuzzy; this is what I was told. After being obnoxious and awful at blackjack for about an hour, my buddy and I got up and went to the bar across the way and were chatting up some girls. It was during this time period I blacked out. After some time had passed, everyone else in my group noticed I was gone and assumed I had left with one of the girls. I vaguely remember talking to a girl in the lobby of a hotel; I vaguely remember following this girl and being all kinds of places that a person shouldn't be like kitchens and back corridors; I vaguely remember being in the back of a cab.
The first real memory I have after Carnival Court is waking up around 5:30 AM (as close as I can guess) on the ground of a self-service car wash. I was wearing only my jeans with my polo, soaking wet on the ground in the car wash stall with me. My cash, wallet, Blackberry, glasses, and shoes were all gone. I had been lying on the drain of the stall, so I had a nice grid pattern worn into my stomach/rib cage. Once I finally got my bearings and I realized I was in deep shit, I walked a few blocks to a 7-11 but was not allowed to enter because of my appearance and was told there was a pay phone outside. As I had no wallet or cash, I had to try every single collect calling service number I knew from high school a decade earlier. When none of those would work because I guess you can't call a cell phone collect, I sat down on the bench behind the 7-11 to summon the courage to walk back towards the Strip...
I had no idea how far it was or even the right direction but didn't really have another choice. As I was on the bench, a guy roughly my age stopped his car and asked me if I needed help. He wouldn't drive me to the Strip, but he did let me borrow his cell phone which I used to make the worst phone call of my life, to my Mom to have her get in a cab and come get me. There is no worse feeling than having your parents pull up to a 7-11 in a cab to pick up their 27 year old son wearing just jeans. It was a really rough trip the rest of the way.
I'm guessing I didn't hook up, but if I did it definitely wasn't worth it. Whoever you are, lady of the night, know this...I will be back in Vegas this June, so get ready for another pay day.
But no monkey smoking weed?
I attended a small, liberal arts college in the south, one of those schools where everyone knows everyone - Greek or not. I pledged first semester of my freshman year and things were off to a great start, great roommate, good classes, etc. While in French class, (three days a week, plus a lab day) I had noticed a cute older guy, and although about four inches shorter than me (I'm 5'9"), I thought he was cute, and different from the normal frat guy I was usually attracted to.
One fraternity on campus that was especially fratastic (couches on lawn, constant drinking during the week, proud to skip class, you get the idea), had a drinking club mid-week where the last one standing was "honored" with what, I still don't know. My new friends and I walked over to the house one night and proceeded to get wasted. Although they weren't the coolest guys, it was the beginning of the year, everyone excited to be back at school, and plenty of non-greeks and other fraternities were in attendance - including my French class crush.
With my liquid courage in tow, I marched over and began to talk to him, asking all the usual questions and making surprisingly decent conversation. After about fifteen minutes of talking, I noticed people were beginning to clear out. It was now or never. I drunkenly lunged forward and began kissing him, and shockingly, he began to kiss back. We were on the backside of the house stumbling around, and with one miss-step, my ankle twisted over a tree root in the ground. Before I knew what was happening, we were falling backwards and felt a sharp pain in my head behind my ear. He landed on top of me with a thud. I sat up, dazed on the ground while my crush was getting up, and staring at me in shock and starting to slowly back away.
Just then, one of his friends came over, looked down at me with his jaw on the ground and said, "we gotta get outta here man!" My crush shook his head and shrugged at me like he had no control over his actions dashed away.
Horrified, I got up and in a daze and walked the short distance back to my dorm room. When I entered a few friends were on my dorm room floor, chatting. "Ahh! Why is your hair covered in blood??!!" I didn't even realize that when I fell, I sliced the back of my head open and since my hair was down (and very thick) it had become matted in it and I had no idea I was even bleeding. My French class crush and friend on the other had, had seen it. I was taken to the ER where I was sewn back together with eight stitches.
For the entire rest of the semester, I had to face him four days a week in class, the first week, my hair pulled back on direction of the doctor to let my wound heal. No doubt in my mind he saw the evidence of our encounter at least three times. We never spoke a word to each and to this day, I hope I never see him again, for fear I will probably freak the f out on him, (with the help of more liquid courage, of course).
So my last year of college I took a trip from my small school to visit some friends at U C Berkeley. I was recently single and had a string of bad hookups, like falling down drunk so bad that I couldn't seal the deal. I'm thinking I need a change of scenery, maybe hook up with some crazy liberal chick. I get to my friends frat house, stake my claim in an empty bedroom, (this was close to the end of the year, some guys had already moved out of the house) and proceed to pregame with some beer pong and bong hits. About 10pm loads of girls started showing up, I guess sororities have favorite frat houses that they frequent, I have no idea, greek life is fucking stupid.
I meet this stunning brunette who is anxious to play beer pong so we team up against my friend and some random chick he just met and things are going good. After about 5 games I'm sensing the, speak now or forever hold your peace moment with this girl, so I ask if she wants to go smoke a bowl with me up in my room. She agrees and in 2 minutes we're making out and feeling each other up. I'm assuming I have the green light, so I sneak a hand down her pants. Bad move. She instantly stops me, and hesitates and says, "Sorry, bad time of the month." Being a somewhat nice guy, we keep kissing and I let it go, chucking it up to my recent bad luck.
After we're stupid stoned and laying in bed talking about nothing, she bluntly states, "You know… you can still fuck my ass if you want…" My head swims, I'm searching for something to say, anything at this point because the sheer excitement of possibly getting to, quote Ben Affleck, "Screw her in a very uncomfortable place" is making me giddy. We get naked and under the covers and everything's going fine til she asks, "Do you mind if we use a condom?" no problem. Right? Nope, I have no rubber in sight and of course, neither does she. I tell her I'll be right back, run to my friend's room , furiously bang on the door and quickly explain to him the deal, he lights up laughing and hands me a whole box. I decide to take another bong rip courtesy of my friend, and I head back to the room. What felt like 3 minutes to me was apparently an eternity to her, because I open the door to a naked girl, passed out on my bed, spread eagle, with a string hanging out of her. Instant boner kill. I curse Jesus, Mohamed, Buddha, Satan and whoever else I can think of before sulking off to the bathroom to take care of myself. I crawl into bed and pass out. Next morning she's long gone and every guy in the frat wanted to hear about me banging the girl in the pooper and I can't deliver. Fuck Berkeley.