Not me in this one but my roommate/band mate, Frank. He struck gold while suitably plastered up in West Hollywood.
He woke up the next day, in a strange apartment. Pleased with himself that he was not alone. Lying next to him was a beautiful babe from the night before. Frank, still suitably enamored, offered to cook her breakfast, tackling the short walk to the store for bacon and eggs by himself.
Alas, all was not well and after 2 hours of knocking on doors he realized he had totally forgotten where she lived.
He called me from a payphone on Sunset while he was walking to the store and told me that he couldn’t remember whether her name was either, ‘Emma’ or ‘Anna’. Then called me again in a panic some time later while looking for her house asking what two names he’d told me she might be called having forgotten both of those as well.
He returned home to me and our stinking apartment where he prepared breakfast for us both with a heavy heart and the bluest of balls.
It was delicious, but he never saw her again.
I love this story!
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