Why I shouldn't be allowed to talk to people, ever.

I've noticed that my stories seem to have a common theme.
No, not being drunk.
The theme is more along the lines of "wow, Optimus really is good at fucking up a sure thing."

Let me explain briefly:

For those of you that live under a rock, July 24-29 was Comic Con. I was there. The most notable and quite possibly dumbest thing that I did while there was to be so fucking sexy.
Here's how it happened - I was with my friends (Lazer McSanchez, Mander, Ash, Zabe, Chiodo, The King, and Cuz) at the Pokemon booth playing the new pokemon game. I noticed, being as observant as I am, two girls who had walked by the booth several times, each time checking me out. Seriously, you could see their hearts flutter every time they walked past and i smiled at them. I told Lazer, with whom I had been playing the Pokemon game, although he seemed positive that they were checking out the Pokemon, not me. I didn't believe him.
After a not-too-long while, we are forced to stop playing because we're too cool or something, so we walk to the case where the Pokemon toys are displayed. I was in the middle of explaining the two girls to Mander and Cuz when one of them walked up to me. Here's what she said - VERBATIM:
"You're the most attractive person I've ever met, and I was wondering if you would marry me." Take that, Lazer.
But that's not the end of it. Because, apparently my response was enough to invoke a walking-away-from. I still don't get it, really... what part of "I get that a lot," is upsetting?? I was pretty much thanking her for the flattery! If she'd stuck around longer, I would've said yes, but... fuck that.
Anyways, yeah, I suck at talking to people, because it always turns into how I'm better than everyone at everything.
Somehow.

Optimus Prime is Deceived.

It started a while back, on the Wednesday afternoon that I first decided to try gin, and consequently blacked out behind a local grocery story at four o'clock in the afternoon, lost my best hat, and had my description phoned into the police. But that's not really the important part of this story. The important part is that I was with a couple of people, one of whom was a semi-attractive (maybe a high 3) girl - from here-on-out we'll call her TheDecepticon - who found my antics endearing, and I guess that I got her phone number.

Well, I decided to finally take TheDecepticon up on her offer to hang out again sometime last week (it's summer break, I couldn't remember the day of the week for the life of me) with the impression that this was... you know, a sure thing. If you found anyone that wouldn't mistake what she was doing for begging to be sexed, I'll eat my own hat. So, I skateboard down to the beach, and we're hanging out, innocent chatting, and what I still would swear was massive amounts of flirting from her. At some point one of TheDecepticon's homeless friends (we were hanging out with a bunch of them, that should've been the first omen I observed) obtained a space bag (i.e. plastic sack filled with cheap wine), a bottle of Jim Beam, and one of those cheap-ass 3-litres of cola. We start to drinking, and nothing happens for a while. At one point four of us (me and the girl included) go back to the store and buy 3 40s, one for me, and one for each of the other two guys. We get back to the beach and the drinking continues.

(Skipping to the good part...) So, I guess I finish my forty, get ripped off, but buy another can of Budweiser from a douche bag, and am too drunk to notice that I'm sucking on an empty hash pipe when I decide to pee. That in itself was a relatively unexciting venture, except that, where we are on the beach is essentially a little cave, and I travel to the back of the cave to pee, only to be surprised by a tourist walking through the other side (i.e. from the back to the front) of the cave to discover me peeing in what would have otherwise been an ideal Kodak spot. It was about this time I offered to punch a girl in the face for saying that she didn't like alcohol, and I told another girl (call her Sandwich) to make me a fucking sandwich - loudly. And repeatedly. Also, I don't remember if this was a personal thought or an outside voice kinda thing, but I think I mentioned the word nigger when a black girl showed up. And it was this point that I realised that TheDecepticon is gone. Apparently to fetch her cell phone, but still.

By the time I worked up the resolve to go find her, she's back, and making out with Sandwich.

This will not do. They may be the only people making out, but if there's anyone being the only one being macked on at a party, it should be me. I deserve it for being... Well... Great. So I unsubtly drop a line like "Hey... You wanna make out with me, too?" and Sandwich even comes back with, "Yeah, why don't you make out with him?" I think I'm in, I'm drunk, happy, and with a girl that's been nearly begging to see me for weeks. But get this: TheDecepticon says "I don't want to!" What the fuck? No-one just doesn't want to make out with Optimus P. so obviously the broad's got brain damage, which is a total turn-off. But still, my sure-thing just plummeted to retarded prude in less than a second. You've all heard about my reverse beer goggles (girls get less attractive the more I drink), well, this high 3 just gained about 150 lbs and the ground shakes as she walks away from me. I'm also assuming that all of you know about what happens when Optimus gets drunk and angry.

Sure, it starts innocent enough, throwing around empty bottles of beer at the rocks near people's heads, cussing out the pussies that "don't wanna walk on broken glass," kicking sand on people who are sitting down and their barbecues. But I can go from 0 to raging asshole in the time it takes for Richard Gere to make a woman orgasm. That is, REALLY FUCKING QUICKLY. I somehow managed to climb out of the cave, find more beer, open them WITH MY TEETH (a skill I developed that very night, possible the only positive consequence of my self-destructive alcoholic behavior), drain them, and throw them at more people.

I storm off, and start my trek to my grandma's house; shit-faced, pissed off, and alone. I blacked out before I could even make it to the street, but I'm guessing that I didn't get arrested. The only part of the story worth mentioning after that was that around 8:30 (i.e. after dark) I am close to my grandma's house, but not on a road that I recognize. Thanks to my extraordinary internal compass, I figured that I could get back on track by trodding through someone's yard.

FUCKER HAS A FENCE.

Alright, no big deal, toss my skateboard over, drunkenly clamber over, I'm good, right? WRONG. I'm in someone's VERY enclosed backyard, about 10 feet from the back door LIGHTS ON, FAMILY STARING AT ME FROM THE KITCHEN. No biggie, I just repeat the process, toss my skateboard over, drunkenly clamber over, I'm good, for real, right? WRONG AGAIN. Apparently, someone thought it would be fun to plant a bunch a cardboard strips in the ground, lash 'em together and call it a fence. That's about how stable that piece of crap was. Took me about 3 tries to get my drunk ass over, and in the end I ended up flat out falling. But, it was in the street, and I probably landed on my head because I blacked out again at that point, but I was over.

I regained consciousness as I neared my grandma's house, and slapped myself a few times to sober up, but I wasn't too worried, she's pretty much oblivious. The only thing worth mentioning about that was when I decided that should brush my now sweater-clad teeth, but she was already in the bathroom. Still too drunk to stand up straight, I popped a seat on the stool she had just outside the bathroom, in the kitchen (don't ask me why). When she exited she jumped a bit when she saw me and said "Jesus, Optimus, you startled me."

My reply: "No. The dog startled you."

Yeah, my dog was standing next to me, it seemed like the right thing to say. Blame the dog.

I'm still trying to figure out what relevance it had.

Anywho, it's about a week later now, and my hands and elbows are still pretty fucked up, presumably from when I fell over the fence. And whenever I peel of a scab and start bleeding and cussing, I blame the bitch who deceived me.

Fuckin' cow-ass prude.

Ima join a dating site.

just to ridicule that shit outta the fatties that have to resort to that kind of thing.