The (Other) Girl I Can’t Remember


You’ve hopefully read about The Girl I Can’t Remember, who I fucked on a couch when I was crashing at G-Man’s house in San Diego.  This story, if possible, is even less glamorous.

I was out drinking with my buddy Blackout at the only bar in End Of The World, Utah that actually serves hard alcohol.  We had gotten tanked at my place before even heading out, and so by the time we got to the bar we were ready to start drinking straight vodka on the rocks – “No Mix,” as we like to call it.

Now, Blackout is not exactly a ladies man, he’s far too much of a lush for that.  But he is definitely better looking than me, and until he goes completely comatose he usually has better game than me.  So when I’m out with him I generally just play wingman and try to pick up his scraps.

This night he was working on an attractive tall brunette.  I was completely shitfaced so I don’t remember a whole lot about her, but I know she had these stars tattooed just below her collarbones and above her cleavage, making her look badass and cute all at the same time.

I was keeping my distance, keeping an eye out for cockblockers while I continued to drink myself into a stupor, when the girl Blackout was currently hooking up with walked into the bar.  They weren’t dating (not yet anyway) but you never know how girls will react in this situation.  So I slid over, alerted Blackout to her presence, and then –because I’m a good wingman and a true friend– I took over hitting on Tattoo Girl for him.

That’s really the last thing I remember clearly from that night.  Everything else is a blur.  I remember hitting on Tattoo Girl, I thought we were vibing.  I got her number.  Blackout went home with his girl, and I decided I would rather walk the two-and-a-half miles home than catch a ride as the third wheel with the two of them.

As drunk as I was, that 2.5 mile walk was probably closer to four miles since I couldn’t walk straight and was swerving all over the sidewalk.  And along the way I foolishly decided I should start drunk texting Tattoo Girl.  Again, don’t really remember a whole lot of it, other than it not blowing up in my face as badly as it probably should have.  We ended the drunk texting with me saying I would text her tomorrow to grab a drink that next night (there’s very few options in End Of The World on a Sunday night).

Sunday I woke up with a horrific hangover.  I could barely crawl out of bed until after noon.  The last thing in the world I wanted was to try and work my game on Tattoo Girl.  So late afternoon I came up with the plan that I would text her and see if I could reschedule our rendezvous.  A few texts flew back and forth, and the jist of it was that Sunday night was her only available night for quite some time.  Damn.  So I either had to fold or go all in.  What the hell, right?  I can pull myself together.  Might not get another chance otherwise.  So we agreed to meet at Chili’s that night for a drink.

I got to Chili’s right on time.  It was 9pm and I was still hung over.  The thought of drinking made my stomach twist, so I just ordered a coke.  She showed up about five minutes later.

But here’s the problem: It wasn’t the same girl!  I have no idea who this girl was.  Zero recollection whatsoever.  She was not the hot brunette with the star tattoos.  No, this girl was NOT attractive.  She was skinny but had no curves whatsoever, and she had a face that looked like it belonged on a tranny.  She had a Steven Tyler-esque mouth that was so big I couldn’t stop staring at it.

So what do you do in this situation?  I didn’t have enough balls to just say, “Look, you aren’t who I thought you were, I thought you were a hotter girl.”  No, instead I just played along and tried to piece together the night with her.  Without being obvious I tried to get her to fill me in on what had happened; how I had come to acquire this monstrosity’s number, and, more importantly, what had happened to Tattoo Girl.

It was just about the most uncomfortable 45 minutes of my life.  Not only was she ugly, but she was annoying too.  And she apparently had a boyfriend, a  3- year-old child, and a psycho ex who was in the Marines.  All things I do NOT need in my life.  Even worse, she was no help in determining how I had lost Tattoo Girl and wound up talking to her.  So we parted ways, I promised to call, and I had deleted her number before I even pulled out of the parking lot.

But wait, it’s not over yet.  I was driving home when I realized she was right behind me.  Yep, she lived less than a block away from me in the very next apartment complex.  I hadn’t even walked in my door when I got a text, “Wow we live so close!  We’ll be able to drink together all the time!”

I ignored her message.  And did the same when she texted me the next weekend.  When I saw her at a party a couple months later I pulled my hat down low and went the other direction.

It’s possible my blackouts are starting to adversely affect my life…

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