When I was in the military, I met a guy in a port call at a club. We really hit it off that night. When I was back out to sea a few days later, he found my email address in the ship’s database, and started writing me. We talked for about a month via email, and he gave me the impression that he might want to date me. As soon as I mentioned this concept, he changed his tone. The next port call was coming up. I should have listened to my instinct. I agreed to go on a date even tough I could tell he wanted something impersonal.

I checked into my hotel room, got dressed to the nines, and waited on time in front of the club for him to show up. Time was rolling by, and I started to feel like an idiot standing out there by myself. An hour passed, and the guy still had not shown up. I finally gave up and went back to my hotel room deflated. I came out of the elevator, and looked out the long picture window lining the second floor where my room is. I noticed a line of guys walking up the sidewalk. All of them were stone cold drunk and stumbling. They stood in front of the club for two seconds, and just left.

When my ship left port a few days later, the guy wrote me wondering where I had been. Apparently he spent two hours beforehand making sure to get as drunk as possible with his friends, and then said to himself, “Screw it. I’ll bring my boys with me on my date.” What a waste of time. I would have appreciated it if he had just told me that he didn’t care about me.

Before I start this MVWD, let me lay a little groundwork for you. Shortly before all this happened, when I was young and naive, I was in a moped accident. It could have been really nasty but, through sheer luck and timing, I managed to just avoid getting caught under the wheels of a semi that ran a red light. I like to think I’m usually a rational person but whenever something scary happens (death of a relative, car accident) I get this urge to shake things up a bit. So, as you can imagine, I was ready to do something exciting, something crazy. FIRST MISTAKE. I should have just shaved my head and called it a day.

I’d been taking the same bus to university every day for three years (hence the moped which spectacularly failed). About once a month or so I ‘d see the same guy, we would make small talk and mutually bitch about public transit. He was way older than me but with the mellow, surfer style guys have around here. I thought, mid 40s? Short, bald and fat but he makes me laugh and he seems like a nice guy. I’m not a sucker for looks (I mean, it helps but he’s so funny). I should ask him out, it’ll be fun! You only live once! The next time I saw him, I managed to get his card and told him I would call him. I felt SO smooth and he looked like someone hit him with a bat. That should have been my first warning.

So, we met at a very nice restaurant near to where I live. Perfect because he works in the wine business and was going to teach me all about wine on our very first date. Which, of course, would involve drinking a lot of wine and then I’d be able to just walk home. When I got there, he had already been drinking and was a little flushed in the face. That’s cool, I thought, I like to have a glass after work too. The first thing he did was ask me how old I am and demand to see my ID. I do look a lot younger than I am and this is a constant source of irritation for me. But hey, I thought, he couldn’t know that and he had a right to make sure I’m over 21. I mean, the waitress could have done it just as easily but whatever.

I hand my ID over with a very sour look on my face – which he noticed only enough to tell me stop pouting. He studied it fuzzily, moving his lips while he reckoned up the years until I just blurted out “XX, I’m XX years old, ok?” When he gave it back to me he grabbed my hand (still awkwardly clutching the ID) and kissed it. A little aggressive but that’s fun, right? I laughed and tried to take my hand away and he… wouldn’t let go. He had my hand in a death grip and was staring into my eyes like he was trying to burrow right into my soul. Jesus, ok, that’s a little much. He started to ramble about how amazed he was that I had actually called him and that he couldn’t believe I would be interested in a guy like him. By some miracle, the waitress showed up and broke up the orgy of awkwardness that was building.

After ordering he switched back to being the funny, cute guy I met on the bus. He complained a lot, didn’t teach me much about wine but it was all right. We drank quite a bit, talked, and flirted. As he got progressively drunker he began sprinkling in endearments that I, personally, find incredibly demeaning. Stuff like “sweetie/honey/girl/baby.” I told him I wasn’t really into the cutesy nicknames, to which he whined “Oh, baby, don’t be like that” as if I was his long standing girlfriend who was being amusingly unreasonable.

I decided that was enough wine for both of us and I was ready to go home. He insisted on walking me back and because I was drunk and about to move in a few days (another post-accident shakeup) I relented. When we stopped at a crosswalk he turned to me, with that same intense look in his eyes and cupped (read: grabbed) both my cheeks in his hands. I was like, whoa, is he trying to headbutt me or what? when he went in for the kill. The most distinct thing I remember is “that… that CAN’T be his tongue! There is no way a tongue that size could fit into a normal human mouth…” It basically felt like I was trying to spit out a giant, soft, sloppy, warm snake that did not want to leave. I laughed, pushed him away and told him it was our first date and he was moving a little fast. He agreed, drunkenly, and tried to kiss me again…while I was still furiously trying to wipe the saliva off my face from our first bout. I managed to hold him off until we got back to my place and I took my leave. Not before he made an incredibly creepy comment about sleeping it off in my bushes, of course.

That was when the genuinely bad decisions started. Yes, that should have been the end of it but I was possessed of 1) resounding naivety and 2) the urge to experience life to the fullest. Like an idiot. He texted me the next day, all jokes and apologies about the night before, he wasn’t usually like that, I must think he’s an old perv, etc. He told me he doesn’t usually drink like that; I accepted that explanation and laughed it off because I had been pretty drunk, too. We talked on and off for a few weeks since I was busy with the move, school and work. At first he was very charming, concerned about my day and school. Over time he either became more and more condescending (telling me I was ‘adorable’ when he called and woke me up at 6am with no apology) or I just noticed it more. I decided I would give him one more chance and if it wasn’t working out I would just tell him we were incompatible. After all, what if he was a really great guy and I wasn’t giving him a fair chance? We’d only been on one date, after all. Maybe he was horrible at talking on the phone.

For our second date he told me he was going to make me a picnic with margaritas. We were meeting at 3:00 pm but I didn’t have work or school the next day, so what the hell? Sounded like fun. A homemade picnic is very romantic. When I showed up, again, he’d already been drinking. In fact, it was our ‘margaritas’ he was drinking: out of a Gatorade bottle, on the sidewalk, at 3:00 in the afternoon. My roommate and I dubbed them ‘Gatoritas’ because they were nothing more than 50% Gatorade and 50% tequila.

Our picnic was a single tub of (admittedly delicious) pasta salad. The park has a spectacular view but at that time of year it’s basically a dirt lot. He had forgotten to bring a blanket. So, we sat in the dirt and the ants, eating pasta salad and (at least in his case) drinking Gatoritas. The whole time he was dropping inappropriately frequent and intense compliments; the only response I had was “thank you.” His response: “No, THANK YOU.” And this didn’t happen once or twice, it was several times in an hour. It started to get out of hand as he repeated himself over and over, telling me how amazing and smart and wonderful I was. I decided to leave.

I told him I wasn’t really comfortable with how fast he was going and that I was really more interested in a slow relationship. He hastily agreed to whatever I wanted because I was ‘a girl worth waiting for’. Then he tried to kiss me again. I could smell the tequila, which was not in the least charming. I told him I didn’t like public displays of affection which he agreed was fine before attacking my face again. In public. I told him I had boundaries. “I totally respect that, I respect that you have boundaries. However you want to do this is fine by me,” he said, while hugging me extremely close and kissing my hair.

I admit, I didn’t really know what to do. I was young, I had made an effort my entire life to avoid public scenes. I just started making my way to the bus stop with this drunk man-baby following behind me, whining for another kiss. Full on whining, telling me a busy intersection wasn’t a public venue and I should let him kiss me again. Grabbing my hand, stopping me, complimenting me and the whole time with the crazy eyes. It was the longest four blocks of my life. I knew if I could just get on the bus, I would be ok and I would never have to see him again.

The bus stop was fairly crowded and I thought I had reached salvation. Surely, with all these Chinese grandmas and high schoolers around he’d back off! The withering glares of the grandmas did nothing to deter him, though. He sat on the bench next to me and proceeded to kiss my hair and ear while I did my best to deflect him and ignore him. I desperately tried to engage him in conversation to keep his mouth busy but it always came back to “one more kiss, baby? Just one more kiss!” It was like something out of a hilarious sitcom montage of terrible dates and I just kept telling myself that until the bus came.

I left him, on the bench, sitting in a stupor at 4:00 pm and never spoke to him again. Luckily, I was never scared or threatened and now the whole thing just serves to win me MOST HORRIBLE DATE EVER drinking stories at bars.

As most MVWD’s go, I met A through a popular dating site.  I was a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, first-year university student who was relatively sheltered and very naïve as a result.  After a few messages back and forth, I decided to meet A in person and agreed on a meeting spot near his house.  The plan was to meet then decide on an ultimate destination for drinks from there.

When I arrived at the agreed-upon meeting place however, A asked could we simply have drinks at the bar under his condo building.  I couldn’t think of any reason why not, so followed him inside the cozy bar.  Inside we made small talk over the course of a couple drinks.  Though he seemed unimpressive, A seemed a decent and polite guy overall and I was open-minded.  I found it uncomfortable and bizarre though when during the course of conversation he asked if I was a virgin.  Intimidated, I casually lied ‘no,’ to which he replied ‘oh good.’  By this point I was a little tipsy from the drinks so when A later invited me up to his place for a movie, I agreed.

A refused to turn on any lights in his apartment but the hallway light streaming through the open door as we entered revealed a tidy and elegantly-decorated place.  The reason for A’s whispering became immediately clear though when he pointed out the door to his mother’s room down the hall.  Since his mother was sleeping, rather than watch the movie in the living room as I had anticipated, A led me to his own bedroom.

While he launched himself onto the nearest side of his bed, I was faced with the daunting task of either climbing over A to reach the other side of the bed, or scaling the pile of dirty laundry nearly as tall as myself.  Hesitantly, I opted for the former and propped myself up on the other side of A, facing the small tv screen at the side of his bed.  Without inviting any input from me, A slid in ‘his favourite movie,’ a black-and-white martial arts movie.  Whatever, I thought.  I’ll stay a little longer just to be polite, then make the excuse I have to head home for an early morning.

The credits were still rolling when A made his intentions clear.  Feeling pressured and a little looser from the alcohol, I played along for a few moments but panicked as he continued to escalate his advances.  Mumbling some excuse, I abruptly sat up and made my way across the bed towards the door.  A blocked my exit, but I bolted past him, over his dirty laundry, and out his bedroom.  He was right on my heels, pants down, begging me to stay, me stumbling over excuses as to my sudden departure as I tried to outrun him down the stairwell and outside the building.  Finally I burst through the main floor door to outside, leaving A behind – still with his pants down, fully exposed.

After taking a few moments to compose myself in my (locked) car, I took off.  My naïve brain was slow to process but I finally put the pieces of the puzzle together and realised this man, at nearly 30, had not yet left home, had no car and no license, no ambitious career, and no post-secondary education.

The icing on the cake is when a year later I mistakenly dialed A’s number when I intended to call a friend by the same name.  When he answered I did not immediately recognize his voice and indicated I must have the wrong number.  He asked who I was so I politely provided my first name.  It finally dawned on me who he was when his dopey-voiced response was ‘oh, well do you want to hook up?’  It was clear he had no idea who I was.  I immediately hung up and deleted his number.  I still laugh at how this momma’s boy set me up and how naïve and dumb I was to fall for it all.

I met M, a gorgeous Indian guy, at a tango dance. We hit it off, talking about dance (he also liked salsa) and our jobs, and exchanged numbers.

A couple of days later, he called while I was at happy hour in his neighborhood, so I agreed to meet up afterward. I told him I was done drinking but would happily share an appetizer, but he insisted on ordering a whole bottle of sparkling wine. The whole conversation consisted of him trying everything he could think of to alternately impress me and get me up to his apartment. My lack of interest in a second date was confirmed by a terrible kiss at my subway stop, and I spent the whole night sick from the glass of wine he’d pressured me into drinking on top of everything I’d had at happy hour.

But what makes the story is a conversation I had with a new boyfriend a few weeks later. He was telling me how he had been out salsa dancing in that neighborhood, and this Indian guy named M (an uncommon name) had been all over one of our mutual friends. We both cracked up when I said, “I went out with that guy!”

After a rather long stint of being single and sexless in my early-mid 20’s, I decided to go on a string of dates via Myspace profiling (this was before Myspace became the afterthought you ignored for months before you realized the end of that era). One particular gentleman seemed to fit the “type” I was currently on the market for: mature, employed, good looking, good build, etc.

Somehow, the first date, with a lot of wine, seemed to go well and ended up in the bedroom (not something I am particularly proud of). In the heat of the moment, he said “can you feel me against your leg?” to which I inwardly thought, “no, strange, what am supposed to feel beyond your 200lb physique?” It turned out that he had a little tiny member, and that my inexperience didn’t know how to stop where this was leading. After committing, “the act” that I truly never felt, as he was inexplicably small, I was happy to end the date.

Whatever drove me to allow him to come over a few days later for a second date I can never explain, but how I got out of it goes down in history, thanks to my fabulous female neighbor/lifelong friend.

After he showed up I knocked on her door (our front doors were facing each other) and explained I needed her help out of this date. She proceeded to rush to the bathroom, smear her mascara all over her face, and grab a bottle of tequila and her pot pipe. In the meantime, I told Small Member that my neighbor was having major man issues, and she needed to talk to someone immediately. The three of us sat together on the bench on the front porch, my neighbor in the middle, as she explained, drank, and smoked her way through the most incredible tale of lies. Keeping in mind that I had to appear affected by what she was saying, I played the role of concerned friend, dying of laughter on the inside, and explained to Small Member it just wasn’t a good night for us to continue out date.

The next day I emailed him to explain I wouldn’t be interested in another date, but thanked him for being so nice to my friend in her time of need. He replied in kind, with the added response, “ya, I think you and I would have sat at different lunch tables in school.” I give him credit for taking it like a man, small member and all.

I met Jack online when I was 20. He was 26, seemed nice, and wasn’t unattractive in his photo. We talked for about a month through IM and phone before deciding to meet for dinner.

I was a little put off when he asked me to drive since he didn’t have a license, but shrugged it off as something I’d ask about on our date.

When we got to the restaurant, he quickly ordered a mixed drink and a beer, pushing the mixed drink towards me as soon as it came. I told him I was underage and he just said, “It’s okay, baby, they don’t care.” Brushing off the annoying use of pet name, I refused the drink again.

He ended up ordering a pretty expensive meal, but since he told me he’d be paying, I didn’t mind. I ordered something cheaper despite his urging to get something equally expensive.

After we’d eaten, the waiter came by to see if everything was okay. Jack instantly said, “Yeah, I couldn’t eat it all, but I’ll smoke a bowl later and finish it.” Shocked, I sat mid-chew and the waiter awkwardly asked if we wanted the check. I’m not anti-drug, but it doesn’t seem the type of thing you advertise in the middle of a restaurant.

I couldn’t help but ask, “Why would you tell him that?”
“What? He doesn’t care. He probably smokes weed, too.”

Uncomfortably, I waited for the check. When it came, Jack picked it up, took out his wallet, then paused. “Oops. I guess I didn’t have my dad take out enough money.”
Confused, I asked, “Your dad?”
“Yeah, my dad controls my bank account. If I had a card, I’d just spend it all, ha ha!”

Not seeing the humor, I paid the check with my debit card and he gave me what cash he had to “pay me back.” At that point, I was just excited for the date to end.

When we got back to his house, I pulled into his driveway to let him out. As soon as I stopped, he leaned over to try and kiss me, but I pushed him off with a firm “No.”
He just smiled and said, “Come on, no kiss to end the night?”
“No,” I said, “Look, this isn’t going to work out.”
He pouted at me – literally stuck out his lip and pouted – and said, “Aww, you don’t want to come in and hang out a little more?”

Not seeing any other way to get him out of my car, I agreed, but hesitated by my door. As soon as he shut his door, I got back in, locked the doors, and drove off, extremely thankful to be out of his presence.

I woke up around 5 am to my phone ringing. It was Jack. I hit ignore, but he called again, and again, so I shut off my phone. When I got up later, I turned my phone on to find two voicemails. The first was Jack calling me a huge bitch for leading him on all night and not giving him his “deserved reward.” The second was also Jack apologizing for the first message and saying, “I guess I should turn off my phone when I do coke and drink a lot.” I changed my number.

This wasn’t really a date, but that didn’t matter to this guy. I live in Oslo, Norway, and I had a girl visiting from Germany. I was showing her around the city, and on the weekend we ended up going to a concert. At the concert we had fun and danced with a couple of guys, and I saw my friend really hit it off with her guy. I was stuck with a very intense character, whom I’ll refer to as Mr. C from now on.

Mr. C is the pushiest guy I ever met. He insisted on bringing us all home to his place for an afterparty. My friend from Germany had heard about how norwegians typically have after-parties when the bars close; she wanted to experience one, and told me so. I didn’t have the heart to say no, since she really seemed to like her cute guy. I agreed, and so we went to Mr. Cs place.

When we got to his place, Mr. C started bombarding me with questions of what I thought of him, and what I thought of his place; he started showing me a bunch of YouTube clips of different singers, demanding to know what I thought of them through every bit of the conversation. I was getting really fed up with this guy, but I could see my friend and her guy enjoying themselves talking to each other. I didn’t want to ruin that for her, so I kept on trying to deal with the intensity of Mr. C.

After just a few minutes there Mr. C insisted on me friending him on Facebook, sent me a request right then and there, and pushed his laptop in my face nagging me to log on my Facebook and accept his request. I thought, oh well, I’ll just delete him tomorrow. Immediately after I logged out of my account, Mr. C looked up my phone number online and called my cell as I sat there, demanding that I add his number on my phone.

After this he dragged me into the kitchen and started kissing me – or, more accurately, started invading my face with his tounge. My first inclination was to stop the whole ordeal and push him away, but as he was such a hopelessly aggressive kisser that I felt sorry for him and decided to give him some pointers. This evolved into ten minutes of kissing lessons, which resulted in nothing more than me getting poked and stabbed in the mouth by his invasive tounge with no improvement. So I told him I’d had enough of it.

I was rewarded for my stupidity of accepting his kissing when Mr. C started pressing on the subject of me going on a date with him. I vaguely said something like “maybe, we’ll see,” and so he started complaining that I wouldn’t return his calls ever, that this is always the ways things happen, and that he wanted me to guarantee that I wouldn’t just disappear.

Now, I just wanted to get the hell out of there, so I told him, sure, I’d return his call, not to worry. But this was not good enough. He told me that that was exactly what all the other girls said, and none of them returned his calls (can’t imagine why). This went on for a little while until I couldn’t take it any more and decided it was time for my friend and me to leave.

The next day I got, unsurpsisingly, a bunch of messages from Mr. C on my Facebook, as well as an apologetic text on my phone. He apologized for being too intense, and added that he would take me up on my advice on his interior decorating (I’m thinking, what advice?).  I answered the text saying that it was no matter and thanking him for the hospitality, but that I wouldn’t go on a date with him or meet with him.

After this followed over six months of messages, pokes and texts. At first I deleted him on Facebook, but had to block him after a while as he kept sending me messages anyway. I still get texts on my phone.

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.

This story is not about my own VWD, but it was just as embarrassing for all involved as it was for me. In my late teens, I had a brief, friends-with-benefits arrangement with R.  This ended when I found out that R has been making insulting comments about me behind my back. We gradually, quietly stopped seeing each other.

Several months later, I bumped into R at a local gig. He was there with a very cute young woman. We didn’t really talk as I didn’t want to interfere with his date, and he didn’t approach me to talk.  I was also in a new relationship at the time, and R knew this.

Later in the night, R drunkenly staggered over while I was talking to my friends. He didn’t utter a single word, but rather made drunken ‘ayyy’ and ‘woo’ sounds. He made several attempts to grope me, which I easily avoided. I crossed my arms and made it very obvious that I would strongly prefer him to fuck off.

Sometime during the night, I was given a poster and made a cone hat out of it as a joke. R saw my coldness as an invitation to pick up the cone hat from a nearby table, put the open end over his crotch and attempt to ram the narrow end into my own crotch. At this point I’d had enough. I picked him up like a little child (R is very thin), carried him back to his date and walked back to my friends without a word. He came back, but he got the clue after I carried him back to his date again.

Six years later, R responded to a ‘housemates wanted’ ad I posted with ‘hey, remember me? I need a new place to live’. I didn’t respond.

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.”