My Very Worst Date occurred on my 19th birthday, a day that’s normally reserved for some kind of party and general debauchery. Unfortunately, I had been dating this guy on and off for a while, and while he was cute, I always felt there was something off. He wanted to treat me to a day of fun on my birthday, but the day began with him getting to my house late. I waited for at least three hours for him to show up. It turned out he had no actual plans, so he suggested a trip to Taco Bell. So far that was fine, I was just slightly annoyed, until he let me know that he had no money. I, being completely shocked, decided that was okay for some reason and coughed up the money to pay for my own cheapo birthday lunch.

From there, we had to find something to do that was fun. He was driving around in circles trying to decide and guess what? His car ran out of gas. In order to get home I paid for half a tank. We ended up driving back to my house after that and I was obviously annoyed at the situation, yet he still hung around. I was completely ignoring him at home, but he wouldn’t leave. Finally, the time came for my parents to take me out for a birthday dinner. In addition to being a totally awkward individual with no conversational skills, he tipped over a glass of water, spilled food and was a general embarrassment. After that, he still didn’t go home, but I feigned sleep in order to get him to leave. The following week, I broke up with him in search of greener pastures.

A French major with an interest in Francophone North Africa, I somehow manage to find and date any and all available men from a small, North African country that most Americans can’t find on the map. I met X and after a month of dating I was beginning to think he was a keeper. The Sunday of the Gay Pride Parade, I went over to his apartment to meet up and walk to public transportation in order to show off one of the well known local traditions of my region that X expressed an interest in. He was in his pajamas Skype-ing friends back home, speaking a language I did not understand at all, occasionally looking at me and laughing. I sat around while he did this for an hour.

We finally arrived at the parade and met up with two of his friends from his country. Even though they spoke English fluently and I am fluent in French, they chose to speak over my head in their native Arabic dialect for three hours, with X only occasionally stopping to grab my hand or kiss me to demonstrate that he was heterosexual. Needless to say that when I ran into two good friends, I was relieved to have some company at long last after being linguistically excluded from the group I was with. However, this relief was short-lived because he and his friends became bored and wandered off, leaving me stranded in the middle of a giant crowd. Due to cell phone activity at the packed venue, it took 45 minutes to reconnect. I was furious. On the ride back, I found myself seated in-between the three boys, once again being talked over in Arabic. This did not change after I asked to swap seats with X because I did not enjoy being in the middle of a conversation I could not participate in. His response: “Why?”

We returned to his apartment to recoup before the second half of the date, a David Guetta concert with his friends that he got me a ticket for. When his friends came over, everyone spoke French except two other Americans so I struck up a conversation with one of them in order that he would have someone to talk to. X, who had been cold with me since I told him I did not appreciate being abandoned and ignored, became angry and informed me in French that he did not invite me over so that I could hang out with his friends. After some drinking, however, things seemed to smooth out and I was optimistic that the evening might go a little better.

Yet when we arrived at the venue, it became apparent that X had a lot more to drink than I had thought. In between yelling at his friends and picking fights with strangers, he put his hands everywhere on me on a very public dance floor. The final straw came when, while fighting his hands off, I noticed a rather trashy looking girl grinding on two large men. When I turned to X to comment on this absolutely hilarious display, I saw him reach in and grab the girl’s stomach roll because apparently, “she got [me] hot.” This in turn started a fight with the large men that I had to diffuse. After that I gave X a nasty look and wandered off to join his less inebriated, fun friends who were dancing without incident. He decided this was cold and unwarranted so to punish me, he started grinding on, making out with and getting numbers from various girls.

When I finally got him to leave the club after taking down one last final number, he still thought he had a chance to patch things up, stating that if we slept together, all of this would blow over. After I said that would never happen, he yelled at me for being possessive of a man who belongs to no one and acting like a girlfriend. I countered that I expect to be treated with respect by everyone I associate with. Two months after the fact, I am still getting texts from him asking me to join him at group events. I changed his name in my phone to Icky.

I recently moved to another country and decided to give online dating a try as a way to meet locals. Soon afterwards, I received a nice introductory poem from an attractive man. He was a bit older than my preferred age range but, I figured, he was charming and it could be fun to give him a chance. We exchanged emails for two weeks before finally arranging a date at a scenic park. I was instantly attracted to him; he was cute, athletic, sarcastic and really interesting. He told me I was beautiful and asked to see me the following day. On our second date he didn’t let me talk and we didn’t have a great conversation, but I gave him one last chance.

For our final date we met up at the Tate Modern because I’ve always appreciated seeing great works of art. Before arranging the date, I mentioned that he didn’t have to come if he wouldn’t enjoy it. He reassured me that he wanted to spend the day with me. Sadly, the entire time there, this 33-year-old man acted like a spoiled four year old. He criticized almost every painting and sculpture, declaring how everything was “complete bullocks.” I tried to share my interpretation on several pieces and he remarked that I was stupid and the entire gallery was useless. There were people around and I was so embarrassed that I remained speechless while he spoke to me in an argumentative tone. We went outside the museum and he continued to belittle my views until I finally couldn’t take the abuse anymore.

I turned to him and said, “I don’t think we have enough in common”. He looked confused because this was the first time that I really stood up for myself. He mumbled, “Okay I’ll call you” and kissed me on the cheek. As he was walking off, I yelled after him “NO, don’t call me!” and walked the opposite direction.

Being single is lonely but at least I can enjoy the Tate with my art-loving friends.

I had been working with this guy for about a year, and he and I seemed to always meet in the break room and chat during our breaks. He was sweet, geeky and a little bit shy but he finally asked me out on a date. I accepted and he and I went out to dinner.

We had a great time at dinner, laughing and chatting over dinner and wine, and he kept talking about his “family” (which he had done at work as well), but I didn’t think anything about it. I just assumed he and his family were close. We went out again — on a picnic in the park this time. Beautiful weather, great conversation, lots of wine and laughter. In short, a perfect day and a fantastic time.

Finally, for our third date, he asked me to come to his apartment so that he could “cook me the meal of my dreams.” We set the date and I said I would bring the wine. I arrived at the appointed time, and he opened the door. Everything smelled wonderfully good, just as he had said, and I said I would uncork the wine to give it a chance to breathe.

As I was uncorking the wine, I heard a noise behind me. A woman with a doubled up fist was striding towards me, screaming, “You whore, get out of my house, he’s MY brother and I am going to f**k him, not you, you slut!!” I swung my purse at her just as she was attempting to hit me in the face and hauled ass out of there.

The next day, he actually had the balls to ask me why I had left and said, “Well, I did warn you I was close to my family.”

I had gone out on two pretty good dates with this one guy, when we met up the day after Thanksgiving for a movie and a little shopping. He showed up late to our third date, but I really didn’t think much of it. Right before the movie, we were chatting, and he casually mentioned the reason why he was late was that he wasn’t feeling well, and he had a bit of an accident. As in crapped his pants accident. I’m thinking to myself, “Only this shit would happen to me. Literally.”  So, the movie starts and I couldn’t escape. After the movie, I unwisely agreed to go get coffee. While waiting for our drinks he interrupted me mid-sentence to mention that I seemed rather bossy because I ordered soy with no whipped cream (I’m lactose intolerant) and that threw me off a bit. Miffed, I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, so I agreed to go to a close-out sale at a nearby linen store, since I wanted new sheets. I found the sheets I wanted and he also decided to buy a set. Then he looked at me and asked, “Why are we both buying the same sheet set if we’re going to live together someday?”  He asked me out for a fourth date, but I replied, “Thanks, but I’m not really feeling it” and left.

I had dated J, my long distance boyfriend for nearly two months when he called me on a Friday afternoon to tell me he booked a plane ticket for me to come see him that weekend. He picked me up from the airport and immediately took me out for a night on the town. After we left, I was stunned when we pulled into a hotel to stay for the night. When I asked J why we weren’t going back to his house (he claimed it was several thousand square feet in the nicest part of town), he explained that he didn’t want to drive that far so late at night. Having never been there before, I smiled, nodded and proceeded to fall asleep.

The next morning, we went shopping then sat down for lunch at a local dive. It was over our 5th or 6th beer when he said that we needed to go so he could get me to the airport in time for my flight. This was the first I had heard about me leaving a day early, so I was more than a little surprised. When I asked why, he explained that he had a work Christmas party that evening and since they’re used to seeing him with his ex,he didn’t want to confuse his coworkers. We had made friends with a few people seated next to us when J looked down at his watch and realized he was late to the party. He asked our new friends to take care of me and said he’d pick me up in the morning. I cried and asked him to take me back to his house while he was at the party. He said that he didn’t have time to go home and was going to go to the party as-is (in a baseball cap, t-shirt, and jeans – yeah right).

Feeling sorry for my plight, he handed me his company credit card and told me to get a hotel. I immediately dried my drunken tears, bought the entire bar a round of shots and bought a new plane ticket home in one hour, but I was stuck 45 minutes from the airport with no ride. The bar called me a cab and when the cabbie arrived, I told him I’d pay him $100+ if I made my flight in time. Needless to say, I made it to the airport in record time. After stumbling barefoot through the airport, I passed out on the plane and was woken up after the plane landed and the other passengers had left. I was still drunk and couldn’t find my car, so I called another cab to pick me up and take me home – on J’s corporate card.

The reason I wasn’t allowed at his house or the Christmas party? He was living with his fiancée and three kids, all of whom I never knew existed.

We asked you to choose an alternative winner for The Very Worst Date in America contest we ran last month. You guys and gals voted this one below the highest. Congratulations to the submitter, who received a gift card as consolation for his MVWD sorrows! And for those who missed our winning entry, it’s right here.

I went out with a girl who I met at a concert. She was a gorgeous college senior and I was working at an entry level job, having graduated earlier that year. We went out on two dates and everything seemed great. Then came the third date. I picked her up from her dorm and she immediately complained about how my car’s heated passenger seat was broken. We stopped at a gas station 7-11 so that she could get some cigarettes. I topped off the car’s fuel and she quizzically asked, “Why did you get the cheap gas?”  I pointed to the “87 Unleaded” sticker on the dashboard. At the restaurant, the waiter told us that they had an excellent (and expensive) local wine on hand so I ordered a bottle. My date flashed me a nasty look and shook her head. I asked if the wine choice was okay and she flatly said, “Yeah, I guess.” We made small talk for a few minutes, but it was clear that something was wrong. When our entrees arrived, she asked if my family owned any businesses. I responded jokingly that we were the wage-seeking types.

After dinner, she told me that we needed to talk.  I was then informed that a) the four-star restaurant we dined at was not up to L.A. standards, b) I graduated from an “unranked college,” c) my family was not “legacy-oriented” because we didn’t own any businesses, and d) my German Shepard was not an “aspirational” breed.  I was told, point-blank, that she couldn’t take a man back to her parents unless he came from substantial wealth. And, really, what would they talk about with someone who ordered an obscure B-list wine? But she would try to make things work if I got a flashier car to impress her parents, although she speculated that I couldn’t afford an Italian make (Daddy loved his Lamborghinis). Then she started to cry. Stunned, I asked what could possibly be making her cry. To which I heard, “You don’t know how hard it is! I start to like a guy and then I realize that we’re at different levels, you know, socioeconomically. America is such a caste-dominated nation.” I promptly told her that this was all very interesting, but I needed to get home so I could wake up early and attend to my unimportant job.

Things were on the rocks with my boyfriend of over a year, so he decided to surprise me with an evening on the town. We lived in different cities that summer, so it was indeed a surprise when he showed up at my door decked out in a brand new suit. Dinner, a carriage ride, shakes and a movie were the plan. He handed me a brand new outfit he had bought for me and said to get dressed. The skirt was a size 4 (I’m a size 9), but luckily it was long enough to grin and bear at the waist without ruining his magical evening. He didn’t have a car, so we were going to walk. As soon as we stepped outside it poured buckets. He was incredibly angry, but I kept a positive attitude and said we could share an umbrella. We arrived at dinner soaked to the bone anyway, had to wolf it down to be in time for a carriage ride only to search for half an hour and find none. He had never actually checked for a schedule or location. The shake shop was closed.

Frustrated, we headed to the movies, where the indie theater was playing The Wind that Shakes the Barley, a movie about the ravages of war during anti-Brit rebellions in Ireland. Not a great date movie, but he knew I loved Cillian Murphy. Afterwards, he did nothing but rant angrily for the entire walk about how he didn’t understand the movie, the pointlessness of war or humanity’s sorry state. With my roommate mysteriously gone when we returned, I tried to calm him down with a makeout session to redeem the evening, but he was unable to get into it, raving for the next five hours about how upsetting the movie was and how sorry he was he had to sit through it. I later found out a friend of his had come while we were gone expressly to sexile my (very angry) roommate so we could have alone time afterwards, time which he spent on a political and philosophical tirade. What a waste of his own plans!

I had been lesbian-identified for most of my adult life. After a lot of soul searching and exploration, I decided that not all biological males suck. When I moved to San Francisco, it seemed like it would be easier to date men, even though it’s the gay mecca. Men are more promiscuous than women and I wasn’t looking for a serious relationship at that moment. I started looking through the Craigslist personals and found an ad that was well written and really funny. I decided to respond and set up a date with S. We met at a bar near my house. He was okay looking, overweight and not really my type, but he was really funny.

We went on a few more dates after that and had fun. Unfortunately, if he had more than one drink then he couldn’t get it up. It had been a while since I had been with a man so I thought that’s how it was for men in their 30s. The last time I saw him,  he had come over to my apartment for breakfast and sex- no booze! After we had sex, he proceeded to tell me he was polyamorous and had primary and secondary girlfriends. In so many words, he was trying to tell me that he didn’t have time to see me. I asked him why he had placed the Craigslist ad then. He said, “I’m trying to write personal ads that are guaranteed to get responses from women in order to sell them to other men.”

Two years ago on Valentine’s Day, I wanted to do something extraordinarily special for my girlfriend. For the past couple of months I was really messing up, even when I didn’t intend to. It was like the big guy upstairs wanted to mess with me because he was bored. I thought long and hard about what I wanted to do. I had a lot of different ideas and suggestions, but all of them seemed expected. I mean a girl can recieve so many flowers and chocolate. People say ,”You can’t go wrong with jewelry,” and my reply to those people is, “Oh yes, you definitely can,” especially if you have a natural talent of picking horrible gifts that  you think are awesome. My friends always tell me that a blind person can choose a better gift than I could. So after days and days of thinking, I decided to re-create a scene from a drama show she liked to watch. Basically I needed to make a huge heart out of candles, somewhere special where me met, get her in the middle and tell her how much I loved her. It was completely cheesy and totally not me so I knew she would never expect it. She always said that she wanted to be romanced just like they do in the movies. I guessed this was my chance to make-up for all my incompetence from the previous months.

I had everything planned out. The event would be setup at the park near the trees and shrubs where we had our first date. I went online bought some candles, pre-ordered flowers and got all of our friends to help out. Two weeks had passed since I placed all my orders. It was the day before Valentine’s Day and I still hadn’t received the flowers or the candles. I called up the stores and they told me there was a mix-up and that my stuff would be delivered on the morning of Valentine’s Day. Being the gullible idiot that I am, I decided not to worry and went out drinking. The next day I woke up at 4pm and the group was meeting at 6pm to pull off the romantic gesture. I was still drunk and the candles and flowers were nowhere to be seen. I was now in Shitsville and was mayor of the city. I called up her friends and told them the situation and they said they would stall her as much as possible. With no time to spare, I sprayed a bottle of cologne on my clothes(from the night before) grabbed the car keys and floored it to the 99 Cent store. My drunk intuition told me I would be able to buy candles at bulk at the dollar store and for once in my life, I got lucky. Not only did I find candles, but a floral shop next to it with decent bouquets left. I took all the candles on the shelf and bolted. I got to the park and set up everything with 10 minutes to spare.

Shortly thereafter, the group arrived, and things were going according to plan. After a few drinks, I decided it was time for the suprise. I blindfolded my girlfriend while a buddy of mine lit the candles. While walking towards the lit-up heart her blindfold came off. I thought it was no biggie seeing the suprise on her face and continued to walk towards the heart. Suddenly, I felt a wave of nausea and it happened. I threw up on her. The puke cause her to stumble on the candles, which caused them to be tipped over and light the ground on fire. My romantic evening had become a flaming entrapment for my girlfriend. In the end the fire was put out, my girlfriend was unharmed except by being covered in my cocktail of beer and hot wings from the previous night, her new boots were ruined and I was taken to the hospital for alcohol poisoning. Unfortunately we are no longer together. I can’t imagine why?