Too Much Beer, Pee Right Here!
Oh, college. A period of time when it’s literally acceptable — nay — encouraged to be a functioning alcoholic. A four year span where you can eat like the piece of shit that deep down you know you truly are, and not gain a single pound. Happiness is what many people search for during this stage. Some people find it in their studies and eventual career path. Others get lost in a whirlwind of empty Natty Light cans and week-old boxes of pizza. I’d like to think I was somewhere in the middle. But there is a time during one’s college experience that can define a person. An event so epic, that it echoes throughout dorm rooms and dining halls for years and years to come. A moment that makes a legend. This was not my moment.
I liked a girl. She came to a party at my apartment. She was a friend of a friend and if I’m being totally candid, it was a goddamn lovely evening. I wasn’t necessarily looking for anything serious, but she was easy to talk to and we were definitely vibing each other (as the kids say.) Good stuff, right? We exchanged numbers and made plans to “hang out” at some point. I literally just shuddered typing that last sentence because this story goes south in a hurry.
The ideal hang-out of my dreams that included watching a movie with said girl in a relaxing environment, quickly turned into an anxiety-filled nightmare in which I accepted an invitation to a party at her apartment where I knew zero other people in attendance.
On a side note, I didn’t have a lot of confidence back then. For whatever reason it was 2009 and I still hadn’t discovered hair product. That being said I would wear hats out in public fairly regularly. Call it a phase…whatever. I don’t know, it was college. So what better time to break out a FUCKING BRIMMED FUCKING WINTER FUCKING BEANIE than an indoor social gathering where I was trying to impress a girl and her various guests. I would like to offer into evidence, Exhibit A:
Oh yeah, I forgot to mention this was a “neon party.” For those who aren’t familiar, a neon party is where everyone dresses in white t-shirts and draws stuff on you so you glow under a maze of dollar store black lights. And by “draws stuff on you” I mean dicks…they draw tons of dicks on you.
There I am. Jeans. Brimmed winter hat. White tee covered in a mural of phallic figures. I was living my worst life at this borderline frat party, and trying not to show it. Realizing that this “first date” wasn’t going the way I had hoped, I started to drink. I like to call it panic drinking. You know, when you’re so uncomfortable but you can’t just leave so you say “fuck it I’m going to drink all of the amounts of alcohol in this given location.” That kind of drinking.
I might be making this out to be worse than it was, but probably not. Granted this girl seemed genuinely happy that I showed up, and made it a point to hang out with me as much as possible during the party. But me getting hammered and trying to interact with a bunch of dude-bros wasn’t really what I had in mind for a first date.
Fast-forward 3ish hours later. I’m well intoxicated at this point. It’s probably best to head home and tend to my wounds. Just as I’m getting ready to leave, fate intervenes. Shockingly the girl invites me to stay. Like stay stay. Not on the couch. Not on a pull out mattress or some shit. But with her. In my drunken stupor, that was a huge deal. The hours of drinking and awkward conversations with strangers had paid off and we would finally have some alone time. Alone time swiftly turned into sloppy make-out time and that was about it because-
BLACKOUT.
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Here’s the thing. I remember waking up. I remember walking somewhere. I remember urinating. I remember laying back down.
Earlier in this piece I mentioned that the night we met was a quote; “goddamn lovely evening.” This particular night was the exact opposite. “Terrifyingly agonizing.”
According to the girl — and my own blurred recollection — she woke up in the middle of the night to me, butt-ass naked, pissing in the far corner of her bedroom onto what I can only hope was a pile of already dirty laundry. Yup. Walk of shame would be an understatement for what I endured the next morning.
I tried to apologize over the next couple of days, weeks even. Nothing worked. I PEED ALL OVER HER PERSONAL ITEMS. That’s that. As far as courting a woman goes, that’s not something you come back from. I’ll be the first to admit that I shouldn’t have drank so much. It was college. No regrets. But if you only take one lesson away from this story, let it be this:
There are lots of fish in the deep blue sea.
If it’s meant to be, it will definitely be.
Just take your time and play it cool.
Nobody likes a love-drunk fool.
Don’t go around trying to tempt fate.
Just straight-up ask them on a date.
And if at some point you stay the night,
Don’t get drunk and piss all over their floor you fucking idiot.
A Zach Nading Story.
