OMGJeremy

Boo to Love: My Halloween Hook-Up Failures

I normally don’t do half bad with the ladies.  Being a man of modest looks, I’ve still been able to rake them in due to my massive amounts of personality and my ability to exploit any mental weaknesses they may possess.  Okay, so plowing some girl just because you were able to tap into her crippling self-doubt isn’t the healthiest way to go about things, but… any port in a storm.  There seems to be one time of year though, where even my strongest efforts fail.  A time where, no matter how hard I try, I end up spending the evening with some adult clips of girls being degraded and an eventual sore wrist.  Sadly enough, it is also my favorite time of year.

Goddamnit, I always strike out on Halloween.

I’m not just talking that I was turned down once around Halloween-time and I am over-exaggerating.  No.  I mean every time I have tried to get a little (barring the times I was in an actual relationship during Halloween, then I totally hit it), I’ve always had the worst damn luck.  Since this would be a pretty suckass article if I just ended it at that… I decided to provide some examples.

Journey with me everyone, as we go back in time to revisit some of my (very very very very rare) failures!

The Inspiration for This Piece

This pumpkin knows what I mean.

I was re-reading this article (reposted recently in an effort to have content), and all I could do was shake my head at my failure.  Not only did I almost slip away from the land of the living, but I never sealed the deal on that girl.  I tried to comfort myself with reminders of how rare such a loss occurs, recalling my past victories, but then it happened.  As if the inside of my skull contained one of those goddamn Claw Machines, my brain kept sending that claw down into the muck and pulling up stories of doom and gloom in the world of fucking random girls.  I was even more shocked to realize that most of those occasions took place around the same time.

It was then that I decided this article should be written.  Not because I really wanted to in particular, as nobody likes talking about the low points of their life… except Jeremy (because he simply has no other points of life to speak on), but because I spent the first half of this month recovering from an automobile accident and I knew I had to put my pride to the side and crank out some shit.

I won’t speak much more about this incident, mainly because I think I summed it up enough in the article above.  It also makes my neck hurt thinking about it.

I Sincerely Hope That Came From a Novelty Store

There was a girl that I had spent the better part of the summer speaking to several years back.  I did the whole thing where I talked to her on the phone for long stretches of time, even though I HATE talking on the phone.  To make matters worse, she wasn’t the greatest conversationalist in the world, but one look at that ass and you’d wanna do her six ways from Sunday.  Surely most of you have been in the same position.  If you haven’t… well… get out more.

We had gone out on what I guess could be considered “dates,” though for the life of me I’ve always had trouble figuring out what constitutes a date.  Is just going out somewhere a date?  Do you have to mess around for it to officially be a date?  I swear I am 30 years old and I’m still in the dark about just what all has to happen for something to count as a real date.  So, I won’t use the word date when I talk about our going out.  Let me start over.

We had gone out on what could be called solid attempts at doing this girl by taking her out to eat, out for activities, and buying small items for her.  I’m talking small items.  Small items purchased with small bills.  The only Big Bill I take out of my pants for the ladies ain’t green.  So all of this hanging out was all good and well.  However, after several months I had some random kissing and seeing her sans most clothing to show for my efforts.  Decent, but far from enough.  As the month of October came around, I decided I would invite her over for some Halloween activities.  Shitty horror movies, maybe a drank or two for her (I didn’t drink then), and by the end of the night I’d be gutting her pumpkin.  Yeah, I know.  You spend your entire night trying to think of a Halloween-themed way of alluding to sticking it to a girl, cause I sure ain’t!

I gave her just long enough to sit down and get comfortable before I started my desperate attempt at a Halloween sex act by throwing whatever drinks were around her way.  I know there is some sort of code of honor where if you’re sober you don’t have sex with someone who is drunk, and by “code of honor” I may mean “law,” but you never know just how lightweight a person’s going to be.  She drinks down a few drinks and seems to be pretty well loosened up, so we eat a little bit and I put on the first film.  I can’t even recall the couple of films we watched, and I really wish I could recall the movie that caused The End of the Evening.  The movies were the standard shitty slasher variety, with plenty of cheesy-assed blood and gore.  I noticed her cringing an awful lot while watching the first film, and several times burying her head in my shoulder.  Oh ho ho, things were definitely looking up at this point.  She would for sure be burying her head SOMEWHERE ELSE by night’s end, I thought.

Detect a theme in images yet??!

But that wasn’t gonna happen.

The 2nd film was a few minutes in when all of a sudden this bitch turned GREEN.  There was some general ripping out of guts on the screen, and I guess it just proved to be too much for her.  Thankfully this girl was no graceful thrower-upper, and the deep guttural sounds she was making served as a very disgusting herald for what was to come.  Now, I have always fancied myself a deceptively quick man.  I was able to prove that on this evening, as I flew off the couch as if my ass was spring-loaded.  It was not a moment too soon.  This goddamn girl began to erupt forth with a torrent of vomit the likes of which I haven’t seen since The Sandlot.  She puked, and cried, and puked, and cried.  Tears ran down her face and mixed with the long strands of spit and vomit running down her chin.  Her hair was matted to the side of her face, her shirt was soaked, and for just a brief moment she reached out to me, but then retracted because it obviously struck her that ol’ No Help Holiday was quite content just standing at a long distance watching in awe as if I was at the zoo and two animals started violently fucking.  I knew the night was ruined, and as yet another greenish / brown geyser sprang up… I wasn’t too upset about that.

There was no stopping it.

THANK THE GOOD LORD the entire mess was essentially on the coffee table and her.  Not that I intended to clean it up, as I presented my company with a Guest Towel and some cleaning wipes.  I didn’t get any ass that night, didn’t get any mouth action, but at least I could see myself in my coffee table by the end of the evening.  She stuck around long enough to wash her clothes, we finished the movie (I ain’t gonna stop watching it just because of some weak-assed stomached woman), and we hugged the sort of hug reserved for elderly relatives before she left.  That was it.

Got myself a little oral gratification from her the next week.

The moral of this story:  Let a girl throw up on your coffee table, and she’ll feel bad enough to dish out oral sex later on.

Man, I Just Don’t Care

I’ve never been the one to put up with A LOT in the hopes of getting a little.  I might go out of my way a little bit here and there.  I might do something like attend a funeral just to earn some points, or go out shopping with a girl or two, but I don’t go way out of my way.  One thing I will NOT do, is listen to some complaining.

I had been chatting up a girl for a couple of weeks.  Mind you I didn’t know too much about her, but she seemed nice enough.  One of those maybe slightly annoyingly cheery ones, but I like that kind of thing every now and then when my patience is at a high, because 9 times out of 10 all that enthusiasm transfers over to other activities.  All of our conversations were very pleasant ones.  For all intents and purposes I figured I was going to be meeting up with a very nice and possibly over-energetic girl.

Ugh.

I had set the date for the night before Halloween.  We would go to the movies, and then proceed back to her place for Whatever Else.  I was hoping Whatever Else = Her Getting Mean On It.  But yet again, nothing was going to occur on that night.  Why is that?  Well, from the very moment I saw her she proceeded to bitch about every little thing.  I mean, she didn’t bitch about me or anything I did, but just everything else.  The weather, the temperature in the car, the traffic, every single person we passed, her parents who had a fight earlier that day, her trouble dropping a class in school, and so on and so forth to the end of time.  We were possibly 10 minutes in to this date when I had to pull out the big gun.  This was in the early age of cellphones, but I had already learned they were essentially my best friend.  I sent a text message to a friend of mine, who knew the drill.  So when that “HELP ME” showed up on his more-than-likely also oversized cell, he knew what he needed to do.  A few minutes later I got a phone call, and proceeded to speak as if there was some grand emergency that required my immediate attention.  If you haven’t used this technique before, go ahead and steal it.  Your life will improve.  Use it on potential love interests, family, friends, and even your kids.  Grandma can die as many times as you like, as long as you don’t use it on the same person more than once.

I told her there was a family emergency and I was going to have to take her back home.  This was met with bitching.  To be honest, maybe if she would have come down to Earth briefly and offered some sympathy or understanding, I would have decided to continue on.  But the sheer fact that I am telling her there is an emergency and all she can continue to do is bitch about her own family… that was it.  Thankfully her home wasn’t far away, because my choking hands were gettin’ itchy.  We pulled up to her home, and I got out and went around and opened her door.  Now don’t go thinking I’m a gentleman!  I won’t have that kind of ruining of my name.  I just wanted to make sure that door got opened so that bitch would raise on up out of my car.  She got up, outstretching her arms as if she was deserving of some sort of physical contact.  I closed her door and proceeded to walk back over to my side, I got in, and I closed my door.  She then leaned over so her face was level with mine, and told me we should meet up next week… because she really fucking hates Halloween.  I think she had reasons as to why she hated it, but it was awful hard for me to hear them due to the window being rolled up while she was mid-sentence.  Fuck a complaining ass bitch, and double dog fuck someone who hates Halloween.

Just like it.

Never got any from her, never spoke to her again except for the next day when she emailed a gigantic apology and I mustered up the strength to type out “Man, I just don’t care.”

Because man, I really didn’t.

That Ain’t All

I did have a couple of other near-Halloween failures, but they aren’t really worthy of being typed out here.  Mostly because they involved a girl being on her period and the other had to do with me developing a very potent flu a couple of days before.  Because as much as I might like a little action, I ain’t running the risk of shitting myself partway through.

After all, what kind of person shits them-self?  Surely NOBODY who writes for this site!