I used to have crushes all the time.
I was scared shitless even thinking about bringing that shit up.
Do you ever wish you could go back to specific moments in your past and get a do-over? Like the time(s) in middle school where a girl had the guts to make a move, and you fucked it up like it was your fucking MISSION to cock block yourself?
Not me.
I mean, I had those moments. But I don't wish to go back. Middle school would have possibly been made infinitesimally less tortuous than it was if I had made out with some of the popular girls.
But who do you know who actually had a good time in Grade 8? Exactly. zero. people.
I just wish I had actually learned something from those moments.
Apparently not.
I don't get a crush nearly as easily anymore. I've been somewhat... disillusioned... about the whole female race thing. But, every once in a while it still happens.
And I still fuck it up.
Every time.
Back then, I just stood there stammering and awkwardly changed the subject, while trying to avoid eye contact.
Now, I really like to go all out and somehow get roofied.
And I'm not talking about getting black out drunk.
I'm familiar with black out drunk. Black out drunk and I were kind of best buddies for the entire twelve months that was 2012.
In fact, it was in 2012 that I realized that mixing 400mg of caffeine with hard liquor was actually CAUSING me to get black out drunk. Without fail, twenty minutes after popping some caffeine in pill form, my mind would fall into a black hole. But, I managed myself like a regular 'high functioning alcoholic.' My friends would tell me the stories the next day, fill me in on the madness.
But, the night I finally made plans with this girl - this very rare creature - I actually got roofied.
We met at the strippers (I know, you like her already), where she used to work (even more, right?). She had been one of the lingerie servers while she was going to the college.
We split a pitcher of beer, and threw money at the stage.
Literally, the next thing I remember is waking up in bed around 10:00 the next morning.
What woke me up was that I was having a hard time breathing.
I had passed out on my pillow many hours earlier face down, fully clothed, with one leg hanging off the bed.
First, I hadn't even actually make it IN to the bed.
Second, I never sleep face down. Ever.
No time had passed to my consciousness. It was like I was at the strippers one minute, and waking up in a pillow the very next.
The sensation was unsettling.
I realized I was at home, in my own bed, and instantly had a bad feeling about how the night had ended.
I stumbled around my house looking for evidence that I had brought someone back home with me.
The only thing I found was a completely empty container of food.
Chili fries.
Just the container.
"Did I eat chili fries?"
I burped.
Yep.
I grabbed my phone and started checking the texts. Trying to piece together a rough timeline of events, and at what point I had completely fucked my chances of ever getting into the pants of this particular stand out female.
11:03 - Left the strippers
11:15 - Entered the dance club
11:17 - Got lost on the way to the restroom
11:22 - Found the restroom
11:23 - Looking for friend
11:33 - Still looking for friend, sounding a little desperate
11:51 - Getting chili fries
11:57 - Getting a cab
12:14 - Home, eating chili fries
12:17 - 14 texts in a row trying to say that I wanted her to come to my place
12:24 - Last text of the night
Fucking midnight.
I was on my way home, eating 'sober up' food by midnight.
We'd met at the strippers at 10:00.
I checked the money in my pocket. And quickly checked my bank activity from the night before.
I'd spent $60.
Unless I was getting fed free alcohol all night, that didn't add up.
I told myself I wouldn't text her again unless she texted me back - I had already passed the 'sounding desperate' phase - and sent her a final text with the following simple query: "What the fuck happened last night?"
And passed out again.
I woke up to my phone buzzing next to my head around 3:00.
Her: I have no idea. I think I lost you at some point. And the next thing I remember is thumbing a ride back to my girl friend's place.
Me: I've got nothing. Zero memory of what went down. Wait, you hitch hiked home?
Yah, got into a truck with a guy wearing a cowboy hat. No idea.
Holy shit, you're lucky you're still alive.
Barely. I feel like I got hit by a truck. I've been upchucking black terribleness.
Your puke is black?
Holy fuck, I have to drive home tonight. It's a 4 hour drive when I'm NOT deathly ill.
I invited her to stick around another night, but had already fucked my chances too hard.
We surmised we had both been drugged.
She told me she had introduced me to her girl friend, who I had affectionately nick-named 'Beef Curtains Burton' when I found out her last name was Burton.
Sounds like me.
