The Girl I Can’t Remember

I was working on a post entitled The One That Got Away, but I have been expressly forbidden from discussing or even describing the woman I will only refer to as Long Cool Woman In A Black Dress. So, since that tale of unrequited love has been banned like a Salman Rushdie novel, I’ll instead tell the story of the Girl I Can’t Remember.

It was Fat Tuesday, 2005.  I wasn’t planning on going wild.  I was at my local sports bar watching my alma mater’s basketball team.  It was supposed to be a blowout but ended up being way too close for comfort, so after we eeked out the win I needed a cocktail to settle my nerves.  The Mardi Gras special was something called a RumRita; I can only assume it was margarita mix but with rum instead of tequila.  They weren’t great, but they weren’t terrible, and the hot waitress said she got a bonus for every one she sold, so I figured it was the least I could do to knock back a few.  Eventually Tripod met up with me.  By that time I was about four drinks in and easily susceptible to his suggestion that we head down to the beach and get good and truly fucked up.

Now, as I’ve gotten older my blackouts have gotten progressively worse; sometimes the entire night is just one big haze.  But this night was a new one for me.  Although the memories are a little bit patchy, for the most part I have a complete record of the night’s debauchery.  What I didn’t have was clear vision.

For one night I had what I can only describe as Drunken Blindness.

At first I didn’t even realize it.  I was utterly hammered, and I guess since my only friend that night was Tripod I didn’t really need to focus on much, I could spot just the outline of his 4’4″ frame and recognize him.

After last call I even walked to my car, on full drunken autopilot, and pulled out to drive home.  But it took me less than a block to realize something was terribly, terribly wrong.  I couldn’t focus on anything outside of about six feet.  Cars were just cloudy blurs of tail lights.  Stop lights were fuzzy glowing orbs suspended in the air.  I couldn’t even read my dashboard.

In near panic I pulled over as quick as I could find a space on the street (no small feat in my state!).  I jumped out of my car and ran a half block before I decided I was far enough from my car that I couldn’t be prosecuted for DUI.

Then I started to take stock of my situation.  Nothing like this had ever happened before.  I wasn’t really scared; it never occurred to me that my vision might not return.  I just figured I had reached an epically new level of drunkenness.  I was even kind of excited about it.  Drunken Blindness!  Wait until the gang hears about this!

I was only about ten blocks from home, but somehow walking home just seemed like too dull an evening to this night.  I stumbled in the direction of the nearest bar, figuring I’d mingle with the crowds leaving and maybe bump into someone I knew.

I was stumbling around in the street when she found me.

I wish I could describe her to you, but obviously in my state that just wasn’t possible.  She was shorter than me and she had dark hair, that’s literally all I could tell you about her.  “You wanna get out of here?” she asked.  No introductions, no formalities, just right to the point.  Another first for me.

We walked arm in arm to her car, hopped in, and had a brief makeout session.  She asked if we could go back to my place.  “Sure,” I said, “but I have to warn you, I’m living on a couch right now.”

-For the record, I was not living on a couch because I was destitute.  I was supposed to be moving into a 3-bedroom house with my buddy G-Man, but there was a month gap between the end of my existing lease and when one of the current roommates would be moving out.  So I wound up on the couch.  (That one month ended up being 4 months, but through no fault of my own.  And it was some of the best times of my life.)

Surprisingly, she had no problem with this, and so we went back to the house and I fucked her on the living room couch.  It was dirty.  I didn’t even know her name until we were done.  My drunken blindness was still in full effect so I couldn’t even tell if she was attractive.  About the only thing I remember is she had these great eraser-tip nipples that stuck out like a halfl inch and were a helluva lot of fun to play with.

In the midst of our coupling her phone rang and it turned out to be her boyfriend, who she was apparently fighting with.  Which explained why she had picked up a total stranger on the street.  I felt pretty shitty about it but it was a little too late to turn back now.  And it’s not like I had had any malice or forethought in the situation.  To the best of my knowledge that’s the only time in my life that I have ever contributed to someone cheating.

The next morning as I was walking to find my car and go to work I reflected on the night.  I had drank myself blind.  I had had sex on the living room couch with a girl I had never met before.  I had also fucked someone else’s girlfriend.  And I hadn’t used protection.  Forget new heights, this was new depths.

That evening, aftre scheduling an appointment to get tested for STD, I was chilling at the house with G-Man, watching TV, when he asked if I had done anything for Fat Tuesday.  So I told him.  All of it.  “So what’d she look like?” he asked.  I explained again the drunken blindness.

“Bullshit.  You just don’t want to admit you hooked up with a fatty.”

“Not true,” I countered.  “Look, I’m not gonna try and pretend she was hot.  I mean, she picked me up, on the street.  She clearly wasn’t a supermodel.  But she was on top for awhile and I don’t have any bruises today, so she couldn’t have been that big.”

“So call her.”


“You got her number right?  Call her up.  I want to see this girl.  Have her meet us at the bar.  I’ll buy your drinks all night.”

I thought about this.  Not gonna lie, I was intrigued to see what she actually looked like.  But the risks seemed far too high.  What if she was fat?  Or hideously deformed?  The truth is I was scared.  All things considered, it seemed better to not know.  In my mind I could at least imagine she was passably attractive.  So I refused.

“Until I see her I’m telling everyone you fucked a whale on my couch.”

“I hate you, G-Man.”



  1. Great story. I’ve had a few nights like that. I couldn’t for the life of me tell you their names and faces are blurry as well. It may not be the best feeling afterward, but it sure makes for good stories. 😉

  2. So have you experienced Drunken Blindness? Or is it just that your memory is fuzzy? I’ve had plenty of blackouts, but this was truly a unique experience for me. I wonder if it was something in the RumRitas???

  3. Holy shit you got picked up on the street by a total stranger! That is fucking awesome. That happened to me only once but not quite like yours. (yours is waay more dangerous and fun)
    I was in uniform standing a footpost in Times Sqaure and she was a tourist from Tennessee. Good times.

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