I was 15, going on a date with a guy, Eduardo, that my best guy friend was friends with. My bestie, Bernard, and my sister were semi-dating at the time, and we all decided to go to the local carnival.

(Eduardo and Bernard went to a different school than my sister and I did.  Therefore, I was unaware that Eduardo had recently broken it off with another girl in the week before asking me out.)

It was hot, the carnival was set up on either side of a long road, and the rides were spaced out.  My sister and I were waiting for the guys to get there, when she nodded towards some girls walking by.  The girl in the lead was bull-dog ugly, and scrawny, and dressed like a boy.  She had even painted a moustache on her face.  We giggled to each other, but didnt think anything of it.

Eduardo and Bernard got there, and we got the date under way.  As we walked through the carnival, Eduardo took my hand. I really liked him so I blushed and led him to the Haunted House ride, and we did a little kissing in the dark.

When we exited, Bernard and my sister were glaring at each other. Eduardo and Bernard walked away, on the premise to buy some drinks for all of us, and my sister said that I need to be careful of Eduardo.  When I asked why, she said that Bernard just saw the best friend of the girl Eduardo dumped, and that he knew Eduardo had been talking to said ex earlier that day. Bernard and my sister agreed that Eduardo probably wasnt over that other girl yet, and that she was probably there at the carnival somewhere.

Bernard and Eduardo come back, and nothing was said (I was 15, naive, and this was the first date I had ever been on.)  We continued with the rides, even having a good time snuggling on the Ferris Wheel.

Then came the Tilt-A-Whirl.  It was my favorite ride – I was really excited to go.  I practically dragged everyone there and we waited in line. E said that he had to use the bathroom and would be back in a moment. My sister made Bernard follow him, to make sure he wasnt seeing this other girl.  Guess what? That girl, with the painted on moustache?  THAT WAS THE OTHER GIRL!  Eduardo told her to come in a disguise, so that Bernard wouldnt recognize her, and she chose to paint on facial hair and dress like a boy.  WTF!!

So, Bernard watched them kiss, and didnt say anything to Eduardo when he got back.  I took one look at Eduardo and started freaking out. My sister had a horrified look on her face and Bernard just burst out laughing.  Eduardo had black paint all over his face and lips.  I got really pissed and the three of us left Eduardo alone at the carnival.  I was so angry that I didnt look where I was going, and actually ran into the other girl.

When I saw her, I started yelling that he was using both of us. She started bawling, and her friends had to pick her up off the ground as she fell over.  As they got her up, she started screaming about how he used her as a towel after he masturbated, and that they were supposed to be having sex that night and now she would never lose her virginity. This was in front of everyone, including the police who rode bikes to keep an eye on things. It was so messed up.

She ended up being in some of my classes later in high school, and went to the same small college my current boyfriend attended. He said she was a lesbian, and that she actually wore fake beards and moustaches all the time.

And Eduardo? Eduardo managed to impregnate two sisters (one was 17, the other 15) when he  was a senior in high school.  He works for the carnival when it comes through town, as one of the games people.  Totally dodged a bullet, I do believe.

I was 19 when I met R. R was cute, he seemed knowledgeable, and liked the same things I did. We started seeing each other, usually going to diners after I got off work at 2 A.M.

The week after we started seeing each other was when it all went downhill.

My friends and I were partying at a hotel (about 30 minutes from my house) for a concert. I kept texting R, to see if he was coming. He was being vague and flaky, saying he had something else to do.

When he came to the hotel, very late, he kept trying to be the center of attention. He grabbed my friend, who was in the Air Force, and grabbed him in a headlock. My Air Force friend managed to get out of it without hurting R, but things just kept getting weirder.

R asked to come up to my room with me, which I had opened to two other friends while the drummer of the band was downstairs hanging out with everyone. I agreed after he kept pressing, and we went upstairs. Now, I was drunk at this point, admittedly. I had some Jell-O shots, among other things that everyone had brought. R told me he wanted me to go home with him, that he wanted to go all the way. I was hesitant – I didn’t want to leave the festivities – but I agreed. I will state again that I was fairly drunk, and in my PAJAMAS!

So, the next morning I woke up in his bedroom. There were women’s clothing, pill bottles with a woman’s name, and jewelry boxes all over the place. When I finally woke up enough, I demanded to know what was going on. He explained to me that I met him at an awkward time, and that he was engaged to be married and she had just given birth to his child the day before he met me! The reason he could come out late to eat with me was because she was in the hospital, dying. She had less than a 50% chance of surviving, and that he would be all alone raising his newborn son. So, instead of being with HER while she was dying, he was out partying with me.

I pretended to be sympathetic so he would drive me back to the hotel, which he did. I got back to the hotel, and with my friends backing me up, I told him that under no circumstances did I want to continue seeing him. He left, and I went to change and wait for the hotel shuttle for the venue.

We got to the show, and guess who was there – waiting to “surprise me?” I reiterated that I didn’t want to see him. He claimed that he would win me back, no matter what.

So as I was standing with my friends, enjoying one of my favorite bands, R came up to us, beer in hand. He took the beer cap – I have NO idea how he got it at the venue, since they took the caps off of all their beers – in his palm. He then grabbed my arm, with the beer cap in his palm, trying to force me to come with him – using the beer cap to dig into my skin, leaving a scratch and an imprint. My friend C (Air Force friend) grabbed my other arm and led me away, telling R to buzz off. This just enraged R and he kept following me and C. C has ZERO interest in me, but R kept provoking him. C kept his cool, we listened to the show, and we all went back to the hotel after it was over. C kept playing bodyguard, for which I was grateful.

We were all hanging out in my room (we reserved an entire floor) playing music and singing. A few of us had gone to bed, but the rest of us were up and enjoying some drinks and some good food. Suddenly, R walked in and sat down like he belonged there. C quietly got up and asked R to leave. R refused, because this was his “girlfriend’s room.”

As C was about to drag R out for a brawl, I loudly announced that I was going to call the hospital and let the woman whose name was on the pill bottles know that her son’s father was cheating on her while she was dying. R freaked out, because apparently his mother was spending every single second there with his fiancee and his son. C escorted him out, and the next two days were spent lounging around the hotel with my friends.

It’s not the last I saw of R, because he keeps injecting himself in my life.

MVWD happened without me knowing it was a date. I came to college a young, naive girl with far too much faith in people and a girlfriend. She was still in high school though, so I rarely got to see her.

Enter T, an awkward, greasy-haired guy from one of my classes. He seemed nice, if clingy, and we hung out sometimes after class.

One day, he informed me that he’d managed to find the campus bonsai garden, and asked if I wanted to see it. I did, so we walked over together while he lectured me on his newfound interest in tarot and palm reading. He apparently thought I, as a gypsy, should know everything about palm reading, and when I didn’t, he asked if he could read my palm. I offered him my hand and he immediately grabbed it, intertwined his fingers with mine and said, “Hah, I tricked you.”

I informed him that I had a girlfriend. T immediately dropped my hand and when I tried telling him it wasn’t anything personal, he snapped at me that I should have told him I was “a f***ing dyke” before he let himself fall for me.

I left.  I don’t like being called a gypsy or a dyke, especially since I’m bisexual. When he showed up at my dorm, I didn’t want to be yelled at, so I pretended I wasn’t home.

I later found a paperback copy of “The Outsiders” that T had, for some reason, taped to the door. Inside, written in the margins was bad poetry about how miserable T was, racist and homophobic slurs, and on the last page, a creepy spiral of words detailing that he “wanted to cut out [my] heart and play in [my] blood.”

Obviously, we aren’t still friends.

I had signed up for an online dating site for laughs, but found a few normal guys were sending me e-mails. One guy seemed normal (isn’t that how these all start), and he was very patient and polite when sending me e-mails.  He hadn’t lived here long, would like to take things slow, and wanted to meet for coffee at the place of my choosing.  After actually agreeing to give him my number, we spoke for two weeks before I felt we should meet in person.

I arrived a bit early, ordered a coffee, and waited.  W arrived, introduced himself, and we started a pretty normal conversation.

Toward the end is when it veered into slightly weird territory.  ”What shoes are you wearing?” W asked.

“Uh, just my normal black heels” I said, holding out my foot for him to see.

“Very pretty.”

I knew what was probably hiding behind that comment, but I wasn’t going to dig any deeper. Things seemed fine, but I wasn’t sure if there were sparks or not. I wasn’t ruling them out, but it wasn’t easy to tell what he was thinking.

I had snagged a spot right outside, so I told him I’d take him to his car a few blocks over.  When we got there, I was suprised that he leaned in for a kiss, since nothing in our conversation had really been flirtatious.  I responded, and we exchanged a bit of affection back and forth.

Then he said, “Why don’t you come over?”

“No, thank you.”

“You can have the bed,” he said.

“What???”  I was really confused because: 1) I didn’t know how a few kisses suddenly gave him an opening to have
me sleep with him, and 2) I could “have the bed”??? huh???

“I don’t want you thinking I”m trying to sleep with you. I don’t want to sleep with anyone for a while. It’s just my thing right now. But I really want you near me. You can stay over this weekend, and you can have the bed.”

“Uh, thanks, but that’s not something I’m even going to consider. You are still a complete stranger”.

He really seemed truly hurt, as though we were close close friends and he was never going to see me again.  Truth was, he probably wasn’t going to see me again.

“If you change your mind, you are welcome, I’ll give you directions…” and he proceeded to give me exact directions to his
home. Then he just sat in my passenger seat.

“Well, thanks for the meet up. Drive safe,” I said.  He didn’t move.

“I really should go. I’m going to meet a friend for dinner…” I said. Not a lie.

He leaned in for obviously another round of kissing, but I leaned back and just smiled at him.  ”Thanks. Drive safe.”

“You have the most amazing lips. I just don’t want to be away from them. I want you near me.  We can just hang out.” His pleading went from semi-lustful, to sentimental and back. And he seemed to actually be real about it. It didn’t seem like an act, but there was no way I was interested either way. He really needed to figure out what he wanted.

He FINALLY got the hint and got out of my car, but then he motioned me to roll the window down.  ”Goodbye, Lovely. It was an amazing experience. I will be seeing you soon.”

“Thanks. Have a good night” I said.

He left me with a “Later, dude.”

More than a week went by before I got a text from him.  ”Yo, hay, wuts up. its *W*. just sayin heeeey.”

Oookay.  I am fond of proper grammar whenever possible, and this also wasn’t at all like any of the messages or letters he’d sent me before.  I responded saying I was fine, and left it at that.

A few nights later, I got a phone call from W. “Hi. Hooowwwww arerrrrrr youuuu?”  He was obviously drunk.

I’m usually the oracle of dating wisdom for all my friends, and I’ve repeatedly said “Do NOT take drunk calls from guys.” Did I listen to my own advice? NO.

“I just wanted to hear your voice. How are youuuu? I really miss you.”

“I’m fine, you’re drunk, and I’m going to go.”

“PLEASE don’t go. I need a friend”

“What do you want?”

“I smell like Lime Coolada”.

“Uh, what?”

He proceeded to ramble on about how lonely he was here, and how he should never have moved here. I just sat there saying things like “uh huh” and “okay” every once in a while. WHY I stayed on the phone, I do NOT know. I could have saved myself the next part.

“What kind of nail polish do you have on?” W asked.

“What?”

“What kind of nail polish do you have on? What color?”

“It’s just pink nail polish.”

“Good. Never wear red. Red means you’re Tim’s girl. NEVER wear red.”

“Oookay then.”

“Tim is the one who stole Maria. I went away for a year, and he stole her.”

Great, a guy who drunk dials me to cry about his ex.

“I mean, I broke up with her, but I really loved her. I was gone, and she met him, and when I came back, they were engaged and living together, and she was wearing RED nail polish on her toes. That means she was his girl now.  I told her I’d take her back, and she still wants to marry him. SERIOUSLY”.

“I’m going to go now.”

“Would you PLEASE come over here. I won’t do anything to you. I’m not even interested in you anyway, you are way too white and aren’t the least bit Mexican looking. THOSE are the hot girls. And you’re too meaty. I have NO interest in you. We could just make out. But only if you’ll wear high heels. I won’t make out with a girl who isn’t wearing high heels. Might as well make out with a lesbian. It’s gross.”

(Note that he saw multiple pictures of me before meeting me, so he knew I was a size 14 white girl. And yeah…I didn’t “look Mexican.”)

“Gee, thanks. On that note, I’m going to hang up.”

“Whyyyyy?”

“Because you are drunk and rude. Do not call me again”.

“Come over. I smell like Coooooolada!!! Lime Cooooolada!!!! Please please please!!!”

“Goodbye” I hung up.

I never personally spoke to W again, but over the course of the next month, I got numerous texts and calls, all referencing “Lime Coolada,” and all obviously written while drunk.

“Hey, it’s W. I’m sitting at home drinking by myself all weekend. I’m lonely. I could use a friend. I smell delicious…like LIME COOOOLADA!!! HAHAHAHA. Call me back.”

Text: Smell like Lime Coolada right now. Smells so good. If you want to hang, I could use ‘my’ friend  (yeah, it went from “a friend” to “my friend” at some point)

“Heeeeyyy, it’s W. I’m scared you may have lost my number, so I’m just checking. You wanna come see my place yet? I could use my friend today. Call me. I smell like Lime cooooolada. You could smell me, if you want.”

My Very Worst Date happened my sophomore year of high school. I had pushed the memory so far into the back of my mind that I forgot about it all these years until reading enough stories on this site for the pain and humiliation to all come flooding back.

I was in a long term relationship with my boyfriend-at-the-time M, who I had known for about 3 years (and dated 2 years), and he was riding buses all the way from California to come see me in Texas. It seemed almost perfect and unreal, as I thought we’d never see each other again. He was coming down for a few days on his two week Christmas break, and was going to stay at my house. Now, if you’re wondering how my mother felt about a 17-going-on-18 year old boy staying with her barely-turned 15 year old daughter, well she was DELIGHTED. My mom, being a heavy drinker and party go-er at the time, seemed more excited than I was, and was willing to take us out to a fancy dinner, and pay for our food (because he spent all his money on his bus tickets). I thought this was some kind of Christmas miracle. I wasn’t more wrong about something in my entire life.

The first night he came over my mom delayed our plans to day 2 because she was at some club somewhere too smashed to drive us anywhere, and wasn’t coming home. We were a bit nervous, seeing as he only had 3 days including the day he came and the day he would leave which was to be in the mid afternoon. So we stayed home, messed around, and had fun, and couldn’t wait for the next day.

The next night my mom called and told us to dress nicely as we were about to leave to dinner. I wore a tight, thinly-clothed dress shirt, with some skinny jeans (I didn’t have anything nicer), while he wore a Devil Wears Prada shirt with some baggy jeans (he didn’t bring anything nicer), but I really didn’t care how he dressed, and thought nothing of it. About 4 hours late, my mom arrived, and we were soon driven out of the city, and into the middle of nowhere at about 9 o’clock at night. We had been driving for about 45 minutes and already I was sweating in anticipation for what mysterious, horrible night could come of this. I was not prepared for what was to be my very worst date with my very best boyfriend.

We finally arrived at what looked to be an abandoned shack in the middle of an abandoned parking lot in the middle of nowhere. Loud music was playing from inside and there were drunk people waddling in and out of the bar. Before I could even ask or beg my mom to drive us back, she turned to us and smiled “Here we are! I know all of the bartenders here, and since no cops know about this place, you two can get wasted all you like! Just remember, if you want to get busy though, you’ll have to come ask me for my car keys ‘cause I don’t want no one watchin’ ya’ll inside.” I was amazed, and astounded by those words alone. She then proceeded to warn us about talking to the people inside because most of them were ex convicts, registered sex offenders, junkies, or drug dealers. M and I were drug and alcohol free, abstinent teens trapped in the middle of nowhere with a bar full of psychos- and my mom. Could it have possibly gotten any worse?

It was about 10 o’clock at night, and the weather outside was in the low twenties. We didn’t have our jackets, and we were too afraid to go inside the bar. The only light outside was a light hanging above the door that only lighted a small circle on the pavement where we sat, being startled by anyone coming in or out. I was crying and I’m pretty sure he was too, but it was hard to tell seeing as our tears froze to our cheeks. We decided freezing to death huddled under a light bulb wasn’t how we wanted it to end, so around 12 in morning we decided to take our equally dangerous chances inside.

The temperature change was enough to instantly kill someone or put them in shock. From below twenty and rapidly decreasing weather outside, we walked into an oven fueled by cigarette smoke alone. It was probably about 85-90 degrees in that shithole of a bar. To make matters worse, we found out why the music was so, so awful. It was karaoke night! We made our way to a secluded corner, and sat on some old, rickety bar stools. We tried to talk, but we couldn’t even understand what we were saying much less see each other through all the smoke. Never having smoked before, we were both coughing our lungs out, all while trying to push off drunk people who thought we were so “hip” and “young looking”.

After being hit on, and almost dragged into a few drunken fights, my mom swayed over, and can you believe it, her already slutty tank top’s straps had been cut off and her shirt was pulled over her stomach only covering her boobs which didn’t hide much because her bra was missing (did I mention my mom is like over 300 pounds?). She told us how happy she was we came inside to hear her sing next (my heart plummeted even lower) and she ran onto the stage and sang. When I say she sang I really mean she screamed, literally screamed, the lyrics to Santeria by Sublime. I give her credit for remembering the lyrics, but even M cracked a smile at her dreaded performance. We decided to take our chances outside. Again. Because she was that bad, and I was about to strangle myself just to get out of this nightmare quicker.

It was about 2 am, and I prayed that if God had mercy on our souls, he would send someone down to rescue us. M knew I was humiliated, and tried to cheer me up by showing me some of the cool, underground music he listened to in CA. After a few songs, my body had become completely numb, and the cold was no longer a problem to the both of us. Just as I began to drift off leaning on his shoulder we were both shoved face first into the pavement- breaking his brand new video ipod and headphones completely. What happened? Two drunk bitches who had both been proposed too (I wonder who the lucky guys were) had been too drunk to walk and had fallen over us. An apology? Even a “F*** you” would have been great. No.. for the next hour and a half, these two women went on and told us their fabulous stories of their fiancées and how they cheat on them every so often and how one of them had just had sex with some junkie in the bathroom. When their rides FINALLY came, one of them wanted to show M their ring one last time – and punched him right in the nose by accident. They were helped by some guys who laughed at us and mocked us. I held M’s shattered-screened ipod, and he wiped his bloody nose on his shirt (which I later found out was also new). We went back inside.

We sat in misery in the corner again. No one even asked him why he had blood all over his face and shirt, or why I was sitting their shaking like a mad person. Finally, after sitting around for 2 hours (yes, it was past 5 IN THE FREAKING MORNING) I found my mom, and this is where my real story starts. She could barely stand and had been using the crowd of people as means of standing up. She FELL onto my boyfriend’s lap. She was able to drag herself up, and I cannot describe to you the horror on his face nor mine when she started KISSING HIS NECK. He shoved her away, but (did I mention she was like over 300 pounds?) she was too big for him and just kept pushing on. As soon as I grabbed her she stood up and lifted her shirt exposing her boobs. She leaned on him again and asked him if he’d like to take a visit to the restroom with her. I screamed at the top of my lungs, which startled her and caused her to fall backwards. Me and M got the hell out of there!!

Back outside I was raving and ranting about how pissed I was, and how she was my own mother and hit on my boyfriend and what-not. M actually thought it was kind of funny, and still tried to cheer me up. We did manage to have a little bit of fun by kicking an empty Gatorade bottle back and forth until I accidentally kicked it on top of the roof.

Finally, at about 6:30 am my mom was all partied out. As we swerved back home she gloated the whole way how happy she was I was being fucked (yes she really did say that) by such a nice, cute guy. When we got back she told us how she almost scored with a hot guy until some bitch came and screamed at her and ruined it. I’m pretty sure she was unknowingly talking about us.

The next day, she had no memory of what happened and didn’t believe a word we told her, and laughed it off as some prank. Me and M dated for a whole year after that until long distance became too stressful, and we separated. We’ve joked around about it since then (up until I forgot about it) and now he’s back in Texas and we are the best of friends. Oh, and he’s  gay now.

MVWD was dreadful, mostly because it wasn’t even meant as a date.  I was enjoying being single after leaving a really damaging and abusive relationship a month earlier, and had made some new friends while enjoying my newfound freedom. Two guys I met, E and G, lived together with some mutual friends. G and I really hit it off, exchanged numbers and chatted, but he was going home for the winter holidays soon.  E took this chance to regale me with tales of his depressed mother, terrible self-esteem issues, fabulous World of Warcraft victories and totally unrelated (to him) string of academic failures at university.  As this was just before Christmas (and I was clearly the most naive lass in the room), I figured he needed a mate to talk to and invited him and two other people over for a film and dinner.

It turned out to be just the two of us as the others bailed, but I didn’t think anything of it.  E turned up on time with a clinking carrier bag, which seemed odd as the plan was clearly for one film and dinner, and he’d brought enough alcohol for a full-on rave.  Things took a decided downturn when he pulled out a huge bottle of Baileys and a Minnie Mouse doll, which he called Dot and played with (or caressed) all evening.  He’s 23 at this point.  Then, one film turned into all the Disney films in the flat in a row, complete with him singing along to all the music.  My other flatmates were out for the evening, so I couldn’t even conscript them into rescuing me.

After a couple of hours, he’d drunk enough to floor most people and clearly thought he’d scored – based on what I’ve no idea.  He started listing the cheesiest lines of the movies in between howling tunelessly along with The Little Mermaid – complete with the yawn and stretch to put his arm round me.  It felt like he’d learned everything about dating from 1980s teen movies.  I curled up in the corner of the sofa with my arms round my knees, hardly sending out inviting vibes while he trotted out cliche after cliche. We carried on with this ridiculous scenario until about midnight.  Finally, one flatmate returned and I seized the opportunity to turn E out, claiming tiredness and a busy day the next day.

Trying to avoid any sort of awkward goodbye hugging, I showed him out and returned to my room, only to find he’d followed me back without saying a word and was now standing  behind me breathing halitosis on my neck at the (closed) door to my room, waiting expectantly for me to usher him graciously in.

Luckily, before I could freak out properly, my flatmate appeared and kicked E out, having watched him follow me back down the corridor, and we had a good laugh over it.  E’s apparently been doing the same pity-’date’ routine for years, and recently had his crowning moment when he traveled to Sweden to meet a girl he’d befriended on WoW, only to be sent home again within 3 days because she couldn’t take the narcissistic droning and personal space invasions any more.  G and I were engaged three months later, and we’re getting married next year, so this should remain MVWD ever.

My Very Worst Date happened when I was 19.  I was young, single, and was living with a friend and no parents for the first time ever.  My roommate was heavily into online dating, and suggested I give it a try.  I protested, but when she made me a profile, I was amazed by the number of cute men that messaged me, so I gave it a shot.

My first date was with “Cal.”  He was cute, older, and nice.  We went out three times, but by the third date we both knew we wouldn’t click; so we went our separate ways.  A few weeks after that I was out at the local bar (not a great place to meet men, I know), and I met “Al.”  He seemed familiar to me, and even thought I couldn’t quite place where I knew him, he assured me we didn’t know each other.  He was nice and sweet, and so after my friend’s urging, I agreed to go on a date with him.

Three dates later, we were at Al’s house.  I was in his living room, looking at pictures he had out, when I saw Cal in a picture.  Suddenly I saw Cal in more pictures, and with horror, I realized that Al is a friend of Cal’s, whom I met at a pub night I went to on my 2nd date with Cal.  I confronted Al about it, and he agreed to my suspicions, saying that yes, he had met me when I was with Cal, and he liked me.  When he learned that we broke up, he pumped Cal information about me, and then staked out my favorite local watering hole for three weeks until he saw me there.

Pictures in his living room also revealed he had two small children, and when I confronted him about that, he admitted he did have kids, and was currently separated from their mother.

Props for his honesty, but not his stalker-like intentions.  I fled his house and never returned there, or to my favorite bar, again.  I also deleted my profile off the online site, and haven’t tried since.

My Very Worst Date didn’t even technically happen. Back in my freshman year of university, I met a very attractive guy – who was way out of my league – at a ritzy bar.  We danced and talked a little, and he seemed normal and didn’t push himself on me, so naturally I agreed to give him my number. He texted me the next day- all of a sudden, he was typing in atrocious english and poor spelling – which bothers me, but he was hot so I ignored it. He also told me his name over text (which I didn’t get at the bar) which was awfully foreign sounding. I was confused since he looked and spoke very caucasian the night we met.

After these red lights I still agreed to go to coffee with him. I got all dolled up and walked to the coffee shop, arriving 15 minutes early to get my bearings. Right when I arrived I received a text from him saying “can my friend come?” I was very confused, but I’m a pushover so I said ok (remember – the guy I met at the bar was VERY attractive which was a huge influence on my judgement). 15 minutes later, when our date was supposed to start, he said he was going to be late and asked if he, his friend, and I could go for a drive, which I assumed would be after an (awkward) coffee.  I stupidly said okay to that as well.  Then he said he would be late.

15 minutes later he told me his friend wouldn’t be coming.  Another 15 minutes passed, and he said he was five minutes away from the coffee shop.  Finally he arrived about 10 minutes later and told me he was in the parking lot.  I said “Okay, well, I am inside at one of the back tables,” but he refused to come in, even after about five sequences of me saying “I’m not going to just meet you at your car in a sketchy parking lot” and him saying he didn’t want to come into the coffee shop.

At this point I was severely creeped out and had suspicions that this was not the nice, handsome, intelligent guy I originally met, so I called a friend and asked her to start walking towards the coffee shop – I would leave and we would meet halfway.  I didn’t tell the guy I was leaving, and walked past the parking lot towards home. I quickly scanned the cars…and the only one with an occupant did not have the guy I had originally met inside it.

When I finally reached my friend, I wanted to confirm it wasn’t the same guy so we called him. He barely spoke english, yelled at me for not coming to his car and wasting HIS time, and would not reveal how he got my number.  I was naive, but not naive enough to go to the car – thank goodness; had it been a year earlier I wouldn’t have thought twice about going for a joyride with this creepy stranger.  I still don’t know how he got my number, or if his getting my number had anything to do with the cute guy from the bar.

MVWD stems from one of the many times I had tried online dating – and serves as one of the reasons that I now refrain from partaking in it. L contacted me and she seemed like the perfect girl. Attractive, intelligent, and from the Northeast, where I had moved from several years ago and admittedly miss quite a bit. After I responded to her e-mail, she gave me her phone number and we set up a date.

Within the first twenty minutes of our date, she began to tell me about her battle with ovarian cancer. Not exactly a deal breaker, but not first date conversation material. I chalked it up to nerves, but her honesty was unnerving. After hearing about her previous marriage (“We got married so that they wouldn’t take his stuff when he went overseas, but don’t worry, the divorce is nearly finalized”), her hookup with a co-worker (“I felt bad for him, he was a virgin”) and her daddy issues (“My last boyfriend was abusive, but I like a man who is authoritative”) I honestly thought she was trying to get rid of me.

She then relayed a story about her sugar daddy – who she went to Amsterdam with a few weeks before – and showed me the pictures from when she went to the sex museum. Even for a polite man like myself, I felt it was time to leave. She then ran into some guy she knew, hugged him, and ignored me. As I got up to leave, she hugged me and told me to call her so she could make me dinner that week…when her roomate/old boyfriend/soon to be ex-husband was not going to be there. I broke my “everyone deserves two chances to make a first impression” rule for her and swore off online dating for another year.

My Very Worst Date wasn’t even my date to begin with. My friend, R, had been talking to a guy over the phone for the past few weeks and he wanted to meet up with her. They picked a public place to meet, the student union of our college, and he was bringing a friend along with him.  It was a casual date so making it a group thing was ok. For safety reasons, my friend asked me to go along too, just so she wouldn’t be outnumbered and left out. I agreed since I didn’t want something to happen to her.

The date consisted of the four of us playing pool, girls against guys. R’s date was very immature and annoying in general. He would shoot “playful” insults our way and wouldn’t shut up. His friend was actually nice. He would help us out and tried to keep his friend in check, with no success.

The worst part of the evening was when I was sitting down watching my friend play. Her date came over and sat next to me, talking some mess. I don’t remember what was said, but next thing I know he proceeded to give me a wet willie (a finger that has been covered in saliva being placed into your ear, for those who don’t know). I was so disgusted that this boy who didn’t know me had even done that to me! My ear was covered in his nasty smelling saliva. I spent the rest of the date wiping my ear out with my shirt, napkins, anything I could find. My friend even gave me hand sanitizer to help, but I could still smell and feel it.  I’m told after the fact that I slapped him, but I have no memory of this. I was clearly too angry and shocked to remember the after effects.

When that game of pool ended, we made our way to the desk to pay. My friend’s date didn’t bring his wallet! We wound up splitting the cost of our game with his friend! My friend asked me if I wanted something to eat -  she was paying to make up for the night. Her date overheard and followed us to the Taco Bell located next door.  We ordered our food and my friend paid. Her date asked her to buy him something, she told him no, and we walked to our cars.  Her date was trying to follow us to our car but thank god he parked somewhere else!

When I got home I headed straight to the shower and proceeded to wash my ear several times! R never spoke to him again, though he kept calling, and I’ve never forgotten the night. We don’t even talk about it anymore.