Ah, Halloween. One of my favorite times of year. It’s the thick of football season, horror movies abound on TV and at theatres (although I don’t have cable), and full-grown adults can dress up like idiots and pour grain alcohol all over themselves and it’s ok. The last two years, I’ve been in Gatlinburg, Tennessee, for what’s become an annual tradition. But this year one of my friends that always organizes the thing got married, so we all went to his wedding instead. So I find myself back amongst the plebians this year. I’ll be attending what is shaping up to be an epic party with Roman, Squalls, Holly, and some other hellians. I’m sure there will be some stories to share on Monday, so stay tuned for that. Today I’m gonna share a Halloween adventure with you from the last time I went out, roughly 3 years ago…
Halloween 2006 was nearly the end of my reign of terror in Milledgeville, GA, but I still had one good Halloween left in me. There was this girl (there’s always a girl) that I really really liked. She was probably second only to my dream woman on the BVL Like Scale. We met under strange circumstances and I’m honestly convinced that God intervened on that one to keep me from making a rather huge mistake elsewhere. We dated for a bit, but unless you liked projects, I was a difficult person to date at that time. She and I remained friends though, and I would often stay at her house when I was downtown (I lived on the lake at this time).
This particular Halloween, Gornto and I decided to go out with this girl and a few of her friends. We did some bar hopping and got absolutely hammered. Overall, not a bad night. Then we went back to her house where Gornto and I were gonna crash for the night.
I had spent a considerable amount of time working my way up the ranks to get bed privileges. Basically, I got to sleep in her bed rather than sleeping on the sofa or the floor. It sounds like a minor thing, but it’s not always easy to do when you’ve previously dated that person. She had a pretty kick ass bed too. That didn’t hurt. This particular night, she decided I didn’t need to sleep in there though. Using my drunk logic, I decided to talk her out of the decision, but that just resulted in her closing the door in my face.
I wandered around the house incoherently for a bit, before devising a plan. I needed to get this girl on lockdown before she slipped through my fingers. How do you put a girl on lockdown? You profess your undying love for her, preferably in a letter. I searched around the house until I found the necessary materials; a piece of printer paper and a marker. I sat down at the kitchen table to write my love opus.
After what seemed like an eternity, I was finally finished. I have no idea what I wrote, but I know it took both sides of the paper and it probably ended with the lyrics to an Air Supply song or something. I folded the paper in half, walked down the hall, and slid it under the door. I puffed out my chest, confident that I’d done the right thing, and promptly passed out on the living room carpet.
I awoke the next morning to this:
“Biloxi, what is this crap?” She asked, holding up the letter. “Does this even say anything?” Once the fog lifted and I was able to form a coherent thought, I realized what I had done. That familiar wave of embarrassment washed over me, as the enormity of the situation came in to focus. Then by the grace of God, I realized that I had written on both sides of the paper with a permanent marker and each side had bled through to the other, making the entire letter unreadable. “I was trying to talk you into letting me sleep in there, so I wrote you a letter.” I replied. She laughed and threw the letter in the trash. “You dumbass. I told you I had to get up early for work and I needed to sleep. That’s why I wouldn’t let you in there. Now get up so I can give you a ride to your car.”
I did as I was told and on the way home, I told Gornto what I had done. “Biloxi, you dumbass.” He said. “Why don’t you ever ask my advice on these things beforehand. She’s just not that into you.”
Yeah. No kidding.
Author’s Note: I’m asked often why I write about these embarrassing encounters. One, failure is far more entertaining than success. And two, if you talk about how you actually succeeded in a particular relationship, that just makes you Southside Steve, and nobody likes that douche.