Everybody fails. It's a fact of life. I know I've compiled an impressive list of blunders with women in my life so far, some out of my control, some (most) of which were my own damn fault. For some reason, sometimes an attempted pickup, date, or sexcapade goes horribly wrong and you're left jacking it to MILF porn at night's end or nursing a hangover in the morning because you tried to drink away your bad luck or lack of skill. Use this thread to share your tales with us. It's good therapy!

Here's one of mine, and it was entirely my fault:

In the spring of 2004, I was talking to a girl on OKCupid and set up a coffee shop meeting. I can't remember if she was about to get out or was already out of the Navy, but it was the first time I'd set something up with an older woman so I was excited and didn't want to fuck it up figuring she was in good shape and this would translate to sexual prowess. Before going downtown, I went to my buddy's house to hang out with him and some other people for a bit since I wasn't meeting her until 9:30 or so and thought a couple of beers to loosen me up was a good idea. A few days earlier, I'd smoked weed for the first time with this same friend, but I didn't feel anything. I think you can see where this is going.

He tells me I should forget drinking and try smoking again, since no one gets high the first time. I agree, having no idea what was in store for me. He produces an empty jug of Hawaiian Punch, one of those massive gallon bottles with a hole cut out of a bottom corner, and tells me this will be what we're going to smoke out of. I'm told this is called a gravity bong, and it would be my downfall. I take three massive hits and once I'm done coughing up most of my major organs I start to feel weird. I sit in a chair and try to assess the situation, but it's a rocking chair and a combination of the rocking motion and potent weed sends me into a gigglefit that lasted fifteen minutes. Every time I look around everyone's staring at me, which sends me into further gales of laughter. Now that my sense of time and space has been ruthlessly sodomized by the power of the herb I have a moment of realization and sit stock straight up in the rocking chair:

Me: OH FUCK WHAT TIME IS IT?!
Friend: About 9. What the fuck is your problem?
Me: Shitshitshitshitshitshitshit! I gotta get downtown!
Friend: Why?
Me: I was supposed to meet this girl at Kaminsky's!
Friend: Haha, you're so fucked!
Me: SHUT UP!

I stood up to leave, grandly declaring that I was going to go downtown and fuck the shit out of a Sailor. This obviously came out all kinds of wrong and I end up laughing at myself for another five minutes. I attempt to leave again, at which point my friend tries to help me out as only he could.

Friend: You're going to drive now?
Me: I have to!
Friend: Hahaha!
Me: Quit laughing or you'll set me off again!
Friend: Dude, you're so going to crash and die.
Me: OH GOD! Don't say shit like that!

Now I'm terrified to leave, but my high ass knows that there was pussy to destroy so I will myself outside and into the car despite legitimately believing that I'm going to be buried in the middle of a flaming pile of wreckage in about five minutes. The drive was uneventful but harrowing for me. I even turned off the radio because the music was too much stimulation for me to handle at the time. Upon parking I turned and flipped a double bird at the car, proclaiming that I had beat it because I was still alive. I walk to the coffee shop and assess my mental state as I walk. I'm paranoid as hell, thinking everyone I pass on the sidewalk can tell I'm baked. I'd checked my eyes before leaving James Island and they were red as fuck. Fortunately, where we were going had low light so this probably wouldn't be an issue.

I'd actually beaten her there, which was a relief because I couldn't remember what she looked like anymore. I wait for ten minutes, muttering to myself either "this stuff rules" or "I'm so screwed." She arrives, and is quite fit. I'd describe her as elvish looking, with a chin that sort of came to a point and an angular nose. The short hair suited her nicely, and the body looked great.

We talk for a good hour and a half, and she's digging me I think. I couldn't tell you a thing we talked about. I was doing my damndest to focus, hold it together the whole time, and kept forgetting what she said every now and then when I would go to respond. I stifled laughing at myself to the point where it hurt. Fortunately she excused herself to go to the bathroom and I was able to let it all out.

While she was gone, I took stock of the situation. She was attractive, but wasn't nearly as clever or funny as she thought she was, and she thought she was fuckin' brilliant. That little smirk and laugh that followed anything she said that was supposed to be insightful was getting on my nerves. Should I come clean with this person about my condition? Women like honesty, right? I mean, it would come out eventually if we saw each other again. WOULD we see each other again? I know I've just been talking to this girl for a long time but I'll be damned if, to this day, I remember anything that was discussed. I might end up repeating myself later! I decide to tell her how fucked up I am when she gets back. Since my friend had told me to call him when we were done maybe she'd want to come back to the Island and party. Hell, I'd already told the waitress I was high and she thought it was funny. Surely this girl will think the same!

Upon her returning to the table, we talked again for a few minutes more. I still couldn't pay attention but now it was more in anticipation of what I was about to tell her. Finally, I said it.

Me: I've gotta tell you something.
SailorGirl: What?
Me: Well, I kinda went over to my friend's house before I came here.
SailorGirl: Uh huh...
Me: And, well, it didn't affect me the first time a few nights ago, but I am high as shit right now.
SailorGirl: ...oh.
Me: I just thought you should know.

Her look fell somewhere between smelling a fart in church and finding out that there was no Tooth Fairy. We stayed for a few minutes more, but I could tell that honesty was not the best policy in this case. Something that didn't help matters was that I didn't have any reason to hold back anymore so I started acting like I felt instead of playing it straight like I had been. We left, and I offered to walk her back to her car, but she only wanted me to go with her as far as the nearest corner to it. I suggested we get together again (because I'm a retard) and she said "sure, maybe next time you won't be... you know." I laughed and said "you got it."

I called my friend to tell him how the night went.

Friend: Hey, you're alive!
Me: Fuck you, man.
Friend: I guess it didn't go well.
Me: I told her I was high.
Friend: Why the fuck did you do that?!
Me: I thought I should be honest!
Friend: I'll be honest too. You need to come back here and hang out so we can tell you how you fucked up.

So I did, and blazed again. I tried talking to SailorGirl again after this night but kept being politely put off again and again until I finally got the hint. The affair with marijuana would go on to last another five years.

_________________
Only one thing could cure this: Dance Music.

Here's another, since today is so unbelievably quiet and I'm on shift for an extra two hours:

In the fall of 2003, I was just starting college and was absolutely terrible with women. Generating interest was never an issue, but it took the equivalent of a sledgehammer blow to get me to notice or act on it. The silliest case of this was about a month after I started college.

I fell in with the Theater crowd when I got to the College of Charleston, and a couple of upperclassmen and a couple of recent graduates had a cover band called Colonel Mustard and the Condiments. Every show was attended by the same crowd and they were actually a fucking fun band to watch, with a few original songs sprinkled in. I went to see these guys for the first time in hopes of bagging an Intro to Theater classmate that had caught my eye and I'd been talking to a good bit.

This girl could dance, and she knew exactly how to dance for maximum sex appeal. I still hadn't quite gotten over my anxiety about dancing in public, previously requiring copious amounts of alcohol for it to happen. Unfortunately, this show was at a bar that had no desire to be shut down and I didn't have breasts so no one was serving my 19 year old ass. The night went by with me as a wallflower, talking to this person or that, but always avoiding the dance floor and keeping an eye on my target. I really wanted to dance and knew I could, but I couldn't overcome my fear. After all, I was just starting to establish myself here socially. Do I really want to be "that guy who looks like a doof at shows?" (my informal expulsion from this crowd came months later when I tried faking an English accent that I claimed was really mine all night at a party for some godforsaken reason) Even the spastic convulsions that most of the painfully white crowd were executing couldn't motivate me to show them what's what.

Finally, I got my motivation. Some goon had moved in on my target, which was enough to get me on the floor. Remember the "Praise You" video? I was totally that guy, dancing like my life depended on it and feeling every word. By the time they hit their cover of the first Abbey Road medley I had taken full control of the floor and was getting shout-outs from the band between songs as they demanded everyone else show as much energy as I was. They played "Sex Machine" and I made my move, getting all up in her area. She got low, I got lower. There was all sorts of grinding and people saw the first pairing off of actual dancers of the night. This had the unintended effect of attracting the other girls there and I ended up dancing all over the place while my competitor for the night took over with the target.

Before I knew it, the show was over, and the lights came up. Now was the moment I'd been waiting for. I'd walk her back to her dorm and leave the rest of these fools behind. Things didn't go this smoothly, of course. The other guy wanted to walk her back also. Lacking balls in my early years, I went along with this and the three of us walked back to her dorm.

Upon arriving there, a battle of wills (funny because his name was Will) commenced. Neither of us wanted to leave first and leave the other guy with her. For a whopping TWO HOURS the two of us feigned leaving to see if the other guy would take the bait, all the while hanging around the front of her dorm building. Now that I think about it, he didn't really have balls either. Every possible angle was attempted. "Boy, it's late," "I need to get up early tomorrow," and that "Well..." that has that finishing tone to it. Sure, conversation was fluid the whole time but it was obvious what was going on. I'm sure she enjoyed this goofy spectacle of two guys trying to outlast each other, but it fucking sucked.

I even tried the scorched earth tactic of suggesting she should go to bed because we were keeping her up. Hey, if I wasn't getting anywhere he sure wasn't going to either. Nothing worked, and he was just as tenacious as I was. Around 4am I finally said "fuck it" and blinked first, saying I was leaving for real. She said it was indeed late as hell and she needed to go to bed. Oh, NOW she's tired. We both got hugs for our hours of effort and I started walking back to where my car was parked. The kicker was the guy walking with me since he was going in the same general direction.

Fortunately he didn't live off-campus or anything, because I was not about to give this guy a ride. Okay, I would have just to show off my car at the time (a black 2003 Mustang GT) and secretly wish I had a passenger ejector seat. We talked amicably, the shared resentment dripping from our body language. Due to a 8:00am class, I was a zombie the next day when I wasn't kicking myself for being such a retard the night before.

Strangely, this didn't sink me. I would manage a one-on-one night with her shortly thereafter but blow it at the end of the night when I couldn't make a move. This time it was only a half hour outside her building, but it was ten times as emasculating. I mean, I just stood there, with her in my arms after we hugged, just pussing out over and over again every time I looked in her eyes. Whattamaroon. Seriously start a timer for thirty minutes and imagine yourself stammering and stuttering for that long a period of time when a girl quite obviously wants you to do something. She was probably the fifth or sixth girl I'd done this with at that point, and wouldn't be the last.

Yeah, I've come a long way.

I actually still talk to and hang out with this girl, and fucked her in May of 2007 after the end of a looooooong relationship she got into right after I fucked up. She's a regular fuck buddy these days, and let me tell you she's phenomenal. I take it as a testament to the power of self-improvement.

_________________
Only one thing could cure this: Dance Music.

Shit, dude. Story nr. 1 was funny, but yes i have also noticed that most girls don't like your high if your going out with them, so probaly not a great thing to do. Also nice one taking those three hits just before a date, that must have been gnarly ass fuck to be so shitfaced but anyways good storys. But yes you are certainly right, we all must fail to achieve greatness anyways funny post

Gnarly is a good way to put it.

In high school I had absolutely no skills with women, never even asking for their numbers and resorting to the dreaded School Phone Directory strategy a couple of times. If I didn't do this I sent my friends, who were fellow social lepers, to talk to girls for me. These never resulted in anything good but I kept using the same tricks. In hindsight this was all really really dumb. Since I was really really dumb, I also thought that the problem must have been something with my looks or whatever.

The most crushing of these was a case with the girl who was on Academic Team with me. I'd had an interest in her back in middle school but she was forbidden from having a "boyfriend" until high school. Well, once we got to the big leagues I figured it was on. We got along well enough, the weekend hangouts that I couldn't have with other girls due to traveling for tournaments would be neutralized since she was also on the team, and she had the finest set of legs that 15 year old me had seen so far in my brief time with hormones.

Still, I couldn't bring myself to do anything. I couldn't flirt, wouldn't call her, any of that. I kept making excuses for myself like "she's busy with schoolwork and crap" (she was a super overachiever) or "what's the point? I can't even drive." One day at lunch I was telling my friends about this, my friends who had recently entered their KISS/Ozzy phase and were slightly lower than shower mildew on the social ladder. I convinced my friend to go and say something to her along the lines of "he really likes you and would call but he's afraid it'd be improper since you're both on Academic Team so maybe you should call him." My mind reels at how awful I used to be. Anyway, my friend accepted the mission and went off to execute. As lunch ended I sought him out and got a report.

Me: Well, did you talk to her?
Friend: Yeah, but I think I went a little overboard.
Me: What are you talking about?
Friend: I told her you liked her a lot...
Me: Uh huh, go on.
Friend: And that you wanted to ask her out but were conflicted...
Me: Um, not exactly what I meant for you to say, but okay.
Friend: Well, I said you were thinking about killing yourself over the whole thing.
Me: WHAT??
DumbassFriend: I was brainfarting! It sounded good!
Me: WHEN DOES THAT EVER SOUND GOOD?
DumbassFriend: Sorry, maybe you should talk to them yourself!
Me: I certainly will from now on!
DumbassFriend: But yeah, that's what I told her.
Me: Well fuck, now I HAVE to call her just to fix the mess you made!

That night, I spent an hour psyching myself up for the phone call. I used to do this a lot, which often led to me putting it off for too long and it being too late to call when I finally worked up the courage to push the buttons on the number pad. I talked to DumbassFriend again before making the call, and told him I'd call him back right after I hung up with her. If I was successful, I'd play the opening music from Star Wars. If I failed, the Imperial March it would be. Yes, we were nerds. It was game time. Do or do not!

Girl: Hello?
Me: Hey, it's Art. How's it going?
Girl: Good...
Me: Say, DumbassFriend was telling me about how he talked to you earlier.
Girl: Yes we did.
Me: I understand he said I was contemplating suicide, which couldn't be further from the truth. I have no idea where he got that from...
Girl: You know I'm not going to go out with you, right?

Foot, meet Nuts.

I quickly ejected from the conversation with the little dignity I had left. I immediately called my friend and upon hearing his voice held the phone up to my stereo for the appropriate music.

This episode pretty much ruined me for about a year before I could summon the confidence or self-esteem to talk to another girl. I really thought I had a chance at the time, but 2010 Art Sandusky knows that I was dead before the game even started. I think it's kind of ironic that I told someone I didn't want to kill myself, since all I did throughout my teenage years when it came to girls was commit hara-kiri.

Does no one else have stories? Is this thread being consigned to the "omg dood i cant read all that i just wanna learn pua give me advice im gunna ignore" scrap heap of threads? Come on guys, man up.

_________________
Only one thing could cure this: Dance Music.