He was the love of my life. When Pirates of the Caribbean finally arrived in theaters he took me out on a date even though he was my boyfriend for almost three years. I didn’t know that he had snuck in a bottle of rum until he offered me a swig, which I declined because rum makes me queasy. Twenty minutes into the movie (and the entire bottle of rum gone) he was beyond drunk and screaming “Arrrrggghhhh!” each time Johnny Depp came on screen. Fortunately for the few patrons who were in the theater, he stopped quickly (and unfortunately) started throwing up in the aisle. Humiliated, I dragged him out of the theater, but we didn’t get past the front walkway where he started throwing up again. The usher managed to catch up with us and started yelling at us about the condition of his floor and he only left after I burst into tears and sobbed an apology.

My boyfriend, covered in vomit, then passed out on a bus bench and started to drool all over himself. Completely disgusted, I start debating if I should abandon him and walk home alone when a homeless guy started throwing trash at us because we were occupying his bed. I literally dragged my comatose boyfriend a block before the guy left me alone.  Eventually I woke him up by slapping him repeatedly (hard I might add), broke up with him, and stormed off. He stumbled after me the entire walk back home begging me to forgive him. I got him home and into bed and as soon as he fell asleep I got to work. I took all of his clean underwear, submerged it into bowls of water, and threw them into the freezer. I then set every alarm I could find: the oven timer, the microwave timer, the clock, the tv and his cell phone to go off at different times in the middle of the night. I also deleted my number from his phone and took my apartment key off his ring. I finished by writing in a Sharpie on his face a number of profanities and “It’s over, don’t contact me ever again” on his chest.

I forgave him the next morning when he showed up on my door holding a huge bouquet of flowers.  I figured that a guy who went through everything he did last night and begged for forgiveness while he was that hung over, actually deserved to be forgiven. But then the next month he did the same thing at a party so I dumped him for the last time. Alcoholics never learn.

I had just broken up with a suicidal drug dealer who continually compared me to his ex-girlfriend, when I accidentally ended up on MVWD. R was my ex’s best friend, who had just spent the past month stalking said best friend, and sending her countless text messages at all hours. He even wanted to stay in Boston after his graduation so that they could be near each other. She told him it was not going to work out and that she would not be attending his fraternity’s semi-formal with him.

Since R seemed so disappointed after being rejected by my friend, I offered to stand in as his date for the semi-formal. I figured that we could go as friends and that his needing a date was more important than my distaste for fraternities in general. When R picked me up at the door he stared me up and down, then made a comment about blue Betsey Johnson dresses being sung about in rap songs. He then pointed at my face and said “I like the way your uh, you know, matches your dress.” Despite the fact that I’d never wear blue eyeshadow, and I certainly wasn’t wearing any at the moment, I thanked him and we moved on.

When we got to the frat house, R made me a drink and then quickly had three himself. He told me repeatedly how glad he was that he was getting drunk already, since alcoholism used to be a problem of his. Afterward, we ended up on the porch, smoking cigarettes where R told me that he didn’t like the way I treated men and then talked endlessly about an ex-girlfriend of his. Apparently I reminded him of her and he had only tried to date my friend because he thought she’d be like me, and therefore like his ex-girlfriend. Not knowing how to respond, I chainsmoked four cigarettes and hoped desperately that he’d stop talking. On the way back inside, he tried to put his arm around my waist. I quickly removed it and he apologized profusely.

Inside, we sat around a table in a room with some people who were smoking a bowl. Everyone was chatting pretty normally until R said, “My eye is twitching. Can you see it?” I told him that I couldn’t tell, and to just relax but he kept getting in my face saying, “Just look at it. Can you see it? Right there. It’s twitching!” After about 10 minutes of this, he got up suddenly and ran off. I texted him repeatedly asking if he was alright and he responded, “No.” He wouldn’t take any of my calls and I ended up calling my ex to ask if R had run off and was with him. I was just told to “go home” and “get out of there.” He refused to say anything else.

Immediately after the call, R came out of a door right down the hallway. He triumphantly told me that he’d just puked in a box which had holes in it. He hadn’t known about the holes, but he figured someone else would clean it up later. He kept repeating about how glad he was that alcohol could make him vomit now. I told R that since he was sick, I figured that we should just go home. He agreed, told me that we had had a great time and should do it again, then left me to find my own way back to my dorm at 2 a.m. Suffice it to say, I am never stepping into a frat house again, no matter how sorry I feel for someone.

It was our sixth or seventh date, dinner with his best friend and best friend’s girl. We chose a local German restaurant renowned for its splendid décor and exhaustive selection of Bavarian beer. Seated in the middle of the crowded restaurant, the four of us were finishing our sauerbraten, wiener schnitzel, smoked bratwurst, pickled beets, sauerkraut and second round of Berliner Weiss beer, when I suddenly realized that my date, who rarely stopped talking, had stopped talking. He sat silent, elbows on the table and head bowed down.

I leaned over and asked, “Are you okay?”

He raised his head. His cheeks began to inflate. A torrent of partially-digested beer, sauerkraut, pickled beets, smoked bratwurst, wiener schnitzel and sauerbraten burst from his mouth, accompanied by noisy, violent retching. It splattered his plate, covered the utensils and gushed all over the white table cloth. All conversation in the restaurant stopped. Other diners froze in mid-bite, forks poised in the air.

Just as I was about to whisk him off to the men’s room, his cheeks inflated again and he let loose with another round — this time less violent but way more plentiful. It spilled onto the table and spread in gentle rivulets. This episode seemed to last forever, since a captive audience of 50 horrified diners cringed in our direction until it stopped. His friend finally swept him off to the bathroom. The friend’s girlfriend, showing a fine knack for disappearing in a crisis, disappeared.

I was left sitting alone amid the acrid-smelling, gag-inducing mess. Our dirndl-clad waitress stood ten feet away, not moving, glaring at me with Teutonic disgust. I piled the plates and glasses into the middle of our table, gathered the four corners of the table cloth together, then hoisted and handed the vile clattering bundle to the waitress, who begrudgingly took possession and carried it away. My date’s friend returned after depositing my queasy beau outside for some fresh air. We emptied our wallets onto the table without waiting for the check and fled.

Did I eventually forgive my date for this mortifying spectacle? Reader, I married him.

My junior year in college my fraternity threw a spontaneous barn dance, which means that you have about eight hours to arrange a date for the dance, held in some rural location. Buses would transport us to the location and there would be drinking, dancing, a bonfire, hay rides, etc. Not having a steady girlfriend at the time, I agreed to be set up by another fraternity brother. His date had a friend and I was assured this girl would be a perfect match for me. This particular fraternity brother was known to be exceptionally wild and his friends and girlfriends usually followed suit. The plan was hatched to meet my date at his apartment a couple of hours before the buses were to leave so that we could have a few drinks and get to know one another. I was assured that my date was a very pretty girl who liked to party and have fun.

The girl was everything my friend said she would be. She was very pretty and really outgoing and we were quickly hitting it off and drinking heavily. Soon the time came to board the school buses our fraternity had arranged to take us to the barn dance. The thought crossed my mind to suggest to my date she might want to visit the restroom before we left, because the ride would take awhile. However, I quickly dismissed the idea surmising that she was a mature girl who could figure these things out for herself.

Almost immediately after boarding the bus my date started to complain that she had to pee. I tried to assure her that she would be okay and engaged her in conversation to take her mind off of it. As the bumpy trip into the country grew longer and longer, her complaints grew more frequent and panicked. Finally, she announced she couldn’t take it any longer and had a solution to her problem. With that announcement, my date pulled her pants down, squatted in front of our seat and peed on the floor of a school bus. Not in any sort of container (which would have made this marginally more acceptable), but on the floorboard of a bus little children would be riding to school in the next morning.

After my initial shock wore off, I had to decide whether to tell everyone on the bus to be careful what they put on the floor of that bus. I spent a large portion of the dance retelling the story to my incredulous fraternity brothers. This wonderful date was closed out nicely when on the way home my date’s friend who came who came with us vomited out the window of the bus and onto another girl. At this point I feigned drunkenness and pretended to pass out in my seat taking me out of the ensuing crying and screaming.

I found My Very Worst Date on a dating site. We met at 7 p.m. for a drink and a meal before my train back at 10:20 p.m. He spent the first hour telling me,”You’re a doormat, you’re a pushover, you let people get away with too much.” I know I let my brother get away with loads, but he’s my little brother, that doesn’t count. MVWD said he’d do nothing for his family unless he got monetary rewards.

It was a nice meal, until he decided to snap my underwear (“sorry I couldn’t resist”). Shortly after that, he decided the time was right for a kiss, so I found myself being dragged across the seat, pinned against the back of the booth and mauled. I wanted to go home. I kept commenting on my last train, but he ordered a drink and I missed it. He decided he’d drive me home, crushed me into a bear hug while he rubbed my head (!?!) then dragged me to his car.

Cue an awful journey where I kept getting molested, before we pulled up in town, and I endured another 10 minutes of mauling while constantly saying “I have to go now” and getting dragged across the seats again. I couldn’t actually move, because my hair was pinned under his arm. After a few attempts to get free, I repeated myself, only for him to reply, “Yeah, I know you’ve said that but you aren’t moving.” Finally I escaped, not before he asked, “So I’m not staying at yours?” No.

I went around a corner and nearly threw up, and was retching on the walk home.

He called me six times the next day, another four the following day, five the day after, until I sent a text message saying I didn’t think we had anything in common, to which he replied: “Yeah, was going to say the same”

I was 17 and A was 23. We met at a salsa club in my hometown, and soon after, I moved halfway across the country to go to college. We stayed in contact via very frequent texting, and fell for each other, to the point that he told me he loved me.

So I was overjoyed when he said he was flying out to see me and take me dancing for my 18th birthday. The night started out great. He picked me up, looking swanky, and we headed out to a salsa club. He was so happy to see me again that he turned to me while driving and asked, “Will you marry me?” Assuming he was kidding, I replied “of course!”

Unfortunately, he managed to get lost within about five minutes despite having a GPS. Before long, we were bickering like an old married couple about how to get there. Eventually we found the place, but our potentially wonderful night of dancing was ruined by the fact that the club was a over-21 place, and despite A’s sweet-talking the bouncers in Spanish, they wouldn’t let me in.

We went to a restaurant/bar in the neighborhood instead. For some reason, he called an old friend of his to meet us, and soon this woman in her late 20s joined us. She looked surprised to see me there as well, and even more so when A kept making romantic gestures towards me. She must not have known that she was coming along on my birthday date! The next hour or so was very awkward. She and I drank sodas while he had a mojito, and we tried to force natural conversation. She kept shooting me pitying looks as A began to talk louder and gesture more wildly. I was confused until I realized that he was completely drunk, after one mojito!

The other girl left, looking happy to get out of there, and I had to support A back to the car. It’s a good thing I knew where we left it because he certainly didn’t. We couldn’t go anywhere because he was drunk and I didn’t have my driver’s license, so we started kissing and fooling around a little bit. He spoke to me in Spanish, his native language, and asked me to speak to him in French. I said a few words, and lo and behold, he came in his pants! I hadn’t even touched him, it was just the French that did it.

The last thing he said to me before falling asleep was how glad he was that we were getting married. Apparently his offhand comment in the car earlier, the one I had taken as a joke, had been a real proposal! On my 18th birthday! I left him, taking the metro home, and sent him a text for him to wake up to. I also firm broke off the accidental engagement.

One night I met friends to have a nice, quiet cocktail and some good conversation. Instead we had too many cocktails, danced and flirted with all the cute boys we met. I made a game time decision at the end of the night to say goodnight to the ladies and left with the guy I was dancing with all night. Turns out Mr. Wonderful was an unemployed struggling musician who just got fired from his bartending job at a douchey night club. You’d think that would be enough for me to rethink this little venture, but no, I was a real glutton for punishment that night.

We got to his house, which was just a short walk from my favorite coffee shop (which happened to be around the corner from my office). Making small talk I noticed a few pictures of him holding a baby and I remarked on the baby’s cuteness, to which he replies that it is his, and he’s a month old. He then told me that his baby momma lives in Wisconsin, which is too bad because babies are great for picking up chicks. I was rendered speechless and then I noticed he was pulling out the futon in the living room. Taken aback I asked what he was doing. Turns out he sleeps in the living room here because he just moved in with his dad and he doesn’t have a bedroom. WTF? Who brings a girl home to the couch in their dad’s house? The look on my face no doubt betrayed my horror because he said, “No worries, my dad’s cool.” Then he gestured to his gigantic bong that was sitting on the coffee table.

In the morning Mr. Wonderful told me a hilarious story about how he was planning on going over to his ex-girlfriend’s place, but then he met me and I’m “way hotter than her” so he changed his game plan. I’m thinking this whole scenario can’t get any worse. And then it did. I asked for him to give me a lift home, but he said he couldn’t because he and his dad share a minivan and his dad took it to work very early this morning. He’d be home at 11am at which time Mr. Wonderful could drive me home. I didn’t really like this plan. For one thing, Mr. Wonderful’s dad had already seen me asleep on the couch, when he left for work. I didn’t want to have to make awkward and polite chit-chat with the dad when he got home from work. While I rethought my exit strategy, I asked what his dad does to work such odd hours.

Turns out that his dad is my favorite coffee shop guy. Serves me right.

I’m not sure why I decided to go out with this guy again after he told me I had “man hands” on our first date (while he was holding them), then proceeded to mention that he “could keep both of his hands warm with one of mine” (I think he was trying to turn me on). We split an appetizer (instead of ordering dinner) while he flirted with the waitress all night. I decided to blow him off, but as as the week passed he wore down my resistance and I decided  to give it another shot. The second date was far worse. I met up with him at a restaurant and he greeted me with “You’re late,”  proceeded to order himself dinner and asked me if I wanted a drink (lucky me). He was wearing extremely tight white pants and a tight white shirt in January. He proceeded to tell me, with food falling out of his mouth, that I had something on my face and I should go check it out in the bathroom. I got up to leave and when I came back, found that he had drank my entire drink .

So we left and I said bye to my two friends that worked there and we were walking away and he said, “Oh man they are so cute. Don’t you just want to bring them with us?” So we got to the next bar and he ordered us both drinks, then started salsa dancing to rap music (we were the only ones dancing) and he kept lifting my “man”hands above his head and twirling beneath them like a ballerina. I went to grab something out of my purse and turned around to find him chugging another drink of mine. So I tried to figure out a way to get out of the rest of the evening and said, “Well I gotta meet up with my friends to dance,” but he insisted on tagging along. We got to our final destination and I asked him if he wanted anything. I bought two drinks, gave him one and set mine down and start talking to my friends while he continued to make a fool of himself on the dance floor. He drank his drink, started grinding on another girl and picked up my drink. Finally, I said, “Hey that’s mine!!” He stayed with the girl the rest of the evening and end up getting her number in front of me, so I finally snuck out .

The next day he texted me, “I’m sorry if you were offended by me hitting on that girl, but you seemed more interested in talking to your friends than dancing with me.” Fair enough.

It started out with dinner and a drink, on our way to celebrate New Year’s Eve. I invited him to go to dinner with my group before partying by assuring him we were all going Dutch. At the bar and grill he picked up his bar stool and playfully “tamed” me with it while I received my cocktail. I stated, “I am not interested in playing that game with you right now” in my best parental tone (he was a young plaything). During dinner he was looking at his phone nine times out of ten that I looked at him. In the car on the way to the parties, I noticed an odor around his neck, but only on the side he couldn’t hear out of. How nice to not treat your raging ear infection! I focused on his extremely attractive body neck down instead. I got drunk and he smacked a big kiss on me at midnight, but then returned to his text message. He agreed to be our designated driver, but still  looked at his phone more often than the road.

In a casino bar I took him aside and said, “Please do not text the whole night through when you are with me.”  His response? “Why, are you jealous?”  Then me: “No, it’s simply rude and disrespectful.”  After several more hours of competing with his cell phone for even a glance I playfully wrapped my arms around his (stinky) neck and giggled, “Are you on that phone again?” in the middle of a crowded casino. He turned around, and snapped angrily with cuss words that I was all over him all night and he was trying to check his voice mail. I took the keys and my friends and I left him right there. Only, we didn’t remember where he parked the truck. And our coats and phones were in it. Four hours of searching four parking garages in the freezing weather later we were safe. I never spoke to him again and I learned something very valuable: young play things are an attractive idea, but unless you really want to take care of a cranky three year-old  instead of actually enjoy yourself, it’s best to stick with your own age group.

I met a cute firefighter and we arranged a date for a Thursday night since it was one of his days off. The date was for a 6:30 p.m. dinner. However, at 6:00 p.m., I got a message from him saying he was running late since there had been a fire and that he would be there at 7:30 p.m. since he had to clean up. I figured that was acceptable since he was, after all, a firefighter. And even though he ended up knocking on my door at 8 p.m. instead, I let it slide thinking he had just done fighting an unexpected fire on his day off.

Once he picked me up it became clear that he had no actual plans for where we were going to have dinner, and began driving around saying we would “find something soon.” Getting slightly annoyed since I was hungry and that he clearly hadn’t put any thought into the date, I told him to just go to this restaurant and bar near my house. When we got there he told me he was starving since he’d been at the beach all day. I was confused and asked what he meant since I thought he was putting out a fire. He laughed and proceeded to tell me a “funny” story about how he and his friends set a porta potty on fire to see if he could put it out. This was the fire that made him late for our date.

I was naturally annoyed and decided to forgo ordering dinner in the hopes he would get the point and I could go home. Instead, he was oblivious and ordered four drinks and ate a whole meal while I sat and watched. He also talked about how he has four days off a week and went on a lot of dates, implying that he was very sexually experienced. Apparently he thought this would impress me and he seemed genuinely shocked when I told him I would not be sleeping with him.

When we got out to the parking lot, I questioned his ability to drive, but he assured me he was fine because he had “driven after way more drinks that this” and that he knew all the cops anyway and wouldn’t be cited. After arguing with him, I eventually gave up and let him drive me home and I never heard from him again.