I met him online.  We talked on the phone for hours, had similar interests and seemed to get along quite nicely.  He lived about an hour away from me in a big city so we finally set up a date to meet for dinner at a restaurant near his apartment and then head downtown for a comedy show.  Usually a two-part first date isn’t my thing, but we got along so well on the phone that I was for it.  He gave me the address to the restaurant so on the night of the date, I plugged it into my GPS and was on my way.

I finally arrived at the restaurant address to find that it was an apartment complex.  When I called him to ask where I was supposed to be, he told me that he had looked up the restaurant online so the address must have been wrong.  He met me in the parking lot that I was sitting in (to my excitement, he was completely gorgeous) and told me there was another restaurant just up the street that we could go to.  The restaurant up the street was actually in a strip mall next to this sketchy biker bar where the men outside were cat-calling any woman that walked by.  The restaurant was scheduled to close in 30 minutes, so I suggested going to another place but my date assured me it was fine and whisked me into the empty restaurant.  Luckily the wait staff was kind enough to keep the buffet up for us to fill our plates and sit down.

During dinner, he somehow managed to get on the topic of how he hated the US government (he was originally from Romania).  He started ranting about how we spend too much money on our defense and somehow knew all this information about a military base close by that had six airplanes just sitting there, and how each propeller on the airplane was $30,000.  It was all a bit odd to me because he didn’t work for the government, so I had no idea how he knew any of this – or why he felt it was a good first-date conversation.  Trying to lure him away from the subject, I started talking about cars (one of our common interests).  It was going fine until…

Him: I love driving fast.  Man, I hate cops.  They’re all jacka**es.  I mean why can they speed on the interstate but I can’t?  It’s so f**king stupid.
Me: .. I mean, if everyone went as fast as they wanted there would probably be more accidents, right?
Him: No, I mean maybe the idiots would get in accidents, but I wouldn’t.  I’m a great driver.  I just think the social contract is stupid.  Just because we live in society doesn’t mean we should have to abide by rules.  It’s so dumb.
Me: I think it’s just how life is.. otherwise there would be chaos…

He started ranting on, and on about the government again, never letting me get two words in edgewise.  It was just a bit infuriating because he continued to bash the USA and try to tell me, an American, how corrupt we all were.  Finally, he demanded the check from the waiter by saying, “Hey, we’re done. Check.”

I hoped his anti-American rant was just his nerves, so I thought going to the comedy show would maybe get him to relax a bit and bring back that connection we had on the phone.  He wanted to ride together to the show so he asked me if he could drive us in my car (a new BMW that I hadn’t ever let anyone else drive).  When I told him that I would drive us if we were taking my car, he huffed, “Fine, whatever” and got in.  On the way to the show, he insulted my driving saying I was going too slow and if he had been driving, he would’ve been going at least 80 miles-per-hour in the 55 miles-per-hour zone.

We got to the show and sat down at the table.  The show had a two drink per person minimum so he asked me what kind of beer I wanted and then ordered four of them to cover the drink minimum.  He downed two of them in the opening act as I sipped on my one. Then he asked me “Are you going to drink that?” about the third beer.  I told him he could have it, but he wanted to share it so he poured a little into my bottle.  The comedian was great, but ironically he told a joke about people hating the “social contract” and how they were all idiots.

Comedian:  Have you guys ever met someone against the “social contract”?  Can you imagine what it would be like at Starbucks if there was no social contract?   It’d be f**king chaos in there!  People would be jumping on the counters screaming “Give me my latte!!!”  Those people should go live on their own island and see how having no social contract goes..

After the show, the first thing my date said to me was, “What was that guy’s problem with Starbucks?”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him it was people like him that he had the problem with.  I took him back to his car and didn’t see him again.

In college one of my good guy friends had a roommate who really liked me. We were all in the same program and so were together a lot. C wasn’t particularly good looking and was very socially awkward. He used to follow me around all the time and make excuses to be wherever I was. It was more pathetic than creepy though. And he was always super nice to me and wanted to do things for me. I was chasing another guy at the time without too much success, so C’s attentions made me feel a little better. I let him buy me lunch a couple of times and we went skiing once. I felt like I should give him a chance because he was so nice. I kept thinking, “Okay, underneath all the awkwardness there’s probably a really great and fun guy.” But I never managed to really see a glimpse of that inner self I thought he must have. He was just really boring and awkward.

Finally it came time for the annual winter formal at our school. C asked me, and although I didn’t really want to go with him, I figured I would give him one last chance to show me something worth my time. I got all dolled up and looked really hot. We went with a group of friends. During the first slow song, C asked me to dance. That’s when I smelled it…yucky, filthy dried BO. He had gone to the gym right before the dance and not showered – just gotten into his tux (which I’m not sure was clean in the first place). Plus he kept trying to grab my ass. I was so disgusted but didn’t feel like I could just bail on him either. I suggested we dance to some fast songs (so we wouldn’t have to touch) but he didn’t want to. I refused to do another slow dance with him so he went and found some other girl who would. I spend the rest of the ball sitting down at our table, holding my breath when he passed by.

I was talking to this guy who was an avid shooter, and as a date we were going to go to an indoor shooting range. To make it more “datelike” we decided to have dinner at this really great restaurant. We had a really nice dinner, but his must not have agreed with him. When we were leaving the restaurant we were talking and he promptly ripped a huge juicy fart. I don’t mind farts, but this was like the Atom Bomb of butt bombs. And instead of apologizing for it, he laughed and pushed out another one. Seriously?

I shrugged it off and ignored it, and  we got in the truck and started heading to the place where he got ammo. Suddenly he said “Oh nos (yes, oh nos, he said that) I need to take a crap!” At this time I was thinking, “No you need to take me home.” I was absolutely grossed out by that point.

So he pulled into a Casey’s General Store, hopped out, and went inside. No more than five minutes later he came out, opened the truck door and said “We need to run to Farm and Fleet, I need new jeans.” I just looked at him and he said “I got to the bathroom and when I went to undo my pants I pushed out a fart but it wasn’t a fart.” He shit his pants. So that grossed me out even more. Really, if you know you have to crap and you are THIS CLOSE to sitting on the john, why would you push out a fart!? Why wouldn’t you wait?! Here’s the nasty part.

He had crap ALL OVER the back of his jeans. Very obviously crap all over. War zone. He went into the store, picked out jeans, and instead of CHANGING into them and out of his crap covered pants, he BROWSED THE FRIGGING STORE! WITH CRAP ALL OVER HIM!

I was done after that.

I went to one of the larger Universities in Los Angeles and there were a few local bars in the area. I frequented one of them the most, as it had a decent bar set up with areas for my friends and I could dance. It was the place all your friends went to and you were always guaranteed to have a good time. Oh, and it had an amazing two dollar pint night/four dollar liter night.

I had broken up with a boyfriend that summer (by this time, maybe two months prior) and was on the prowl. My priority at this time was to just have fun and that night was going pretty well. Dancing and drinks later, this decent looking guy came up to me. He had said that he left the bar with his friends and saw me enter, only to wait in line and come back in to be able to talk to me. Flattering line, right? The guy was clearly drunk but I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, because really what did I have to lose, and I gave him my phone number.

Normal Date #1: After he had called me, the first date we planned on was a hiking date in Runyan Canyon. I enjoy doing outdoorsy activities and was pleased I had met someone that had a common interest. All in all, the date ended well and I was hoping I would get a second.

Disaster Date #2: Let me start by saying that I am not a shallow person. Physical attraction is important to me, but coupled with that has to come other good attributes. This guy was cute, not a stud, but with the type of person he is… I wouldn’t be surprised if he dies alone. Or gets divorced a few times before he seeks some sort of therapy and heals his disgusting personality. Maybe you will agree with me…

We had a plan to go to Skybar on Sunset Boulevard. I dressed nicely and was pleased with the way he appeared; another plus as a man – he has to be a good dresser for appropriate situations. He drove a nice car, had a nice smile… how bad could it be, right?

Let me just side note for a second and say that no matter how nice you think the guy, always be prepared for the worst and take the necessary precautions. In this case, my roommate (I am going to call her Jamie) gave me her pepper spray. Thank God.

My date, let us call him Andy, opened my car door for me, engaged in good conversation on the way, and was overall doing pretty well as far as dating goes. Skybar was very nice. We sat down right away outside and got a nice view of the city. The area has these beds and lounging benches that have really nice upholstery on them. Sign number one my date may not be what I had thought: Andy sat Indian style with his feet on the nice, expensive fabric to face me. Everyone was looking. Not only was his positioning awkward, as this man was hunched over balancing on a bench, but it was just so rude! The waitress was not happy and asked him to not put his shoes on the bench, a request he flat out ignored. I looked past this and tried to enjoy myself.

The waitress came back with drink menus and handed one to each of us. I hadn’t even the chance to hold the menu more than a few seconds when Andy snatched it from my hand…

Andy: “I am going to order for you.”

Me: “Excuse me, but I would rather order for myself.”

Andy: “I said I am ordering for you.”

Note, I did not like the way he is talking to me and I have allergies to certain types of alcohol…

*Awkward silence. Waitress comes back*

Andy: “We will have… blah blah blah.”

The drinks came and mine was some purple martini looking thing (strike one, I dont like martinis. I am a jack and coke kind of girl). I took a sip and it didn’t taste half bad. I took another and started feeling an uncomfortable feeling I have had before. So I asked the waitress what was in my drink. She told me. I turned to Andy, saying “This is why I wanted to order my own drink. I am allergic to champagne.” Turned back to waitress and ordered a Jack and coke with a big glass of water. Andy was not even phased by what just happened and thought everything was cool.. it was not.

At this point, I had to excuse myself to the bathroom. I texted my roommates and best friend, who were at the local bar I described earlier, and told them I may need saving. They were on standby. My other friend happened to be in the area and I told her she may have to come get me. She was also on standby.

The date proceeded…

Andy had just quit smoking cigarettes. Being an outside bar, people were smoking outside – which prompted him to mention he had just quit smoking every time someone lit up. After hearing it for what seemed the 20th time, it was beginning to get old. At one point the conversation turned to the topic of pot.

Andy: “I just quit smoking. It is really hard to be around cigarettes. Have you ever smoked pot?”

Me: “Um…”

Andy: “You know what feels really good when you are high?”

Me:” What?”

Andy: “Sex.”…. The next part of this he said with a straight face and was dead serious. “We should go get high and have sex.”

Me: “Excuse me I need to go to the bathroom…”

I began to call and text my friends SOSes in hopes I would be rescued. Two of my girls are at the local bar still and suggested I just come home and hang out with them. Sounds like a plan, I thought. I walked back and mentioned it to Andy. He said that sounded all right and asked for the check. In the meantime, he felt compelled to keep inching closer to me, probably because he thought I was going to kiss him which was not at all going to happen. When it was obvious I was uncomfortable, Andy thought telling me a story would ease the tension. He picked the wrong story… (I will try my best to retell it as accurately as possible)

Andy: “Want to hear a funny story?”

Me: What else were we gonna do? “Sure. Let’s hear it.”

(By the way, he had just moved to LA from Miami… this will be important now and a little later.)

Andy: “My dad was gone one weekend from our apartment so I decided to have my best friend over and these two girls. Don’t worry I wasn’t hooking up with them or anything. We got really drunk and were in the jacuzzi and then decided it was time to move things inside. So I take one of the girls into my Dad’s room, don’t worry we weren’t hooking up or anything, and my Dad comes home and starts yelling at me. So my friend offered to drive her home and on the ride back she gave him a blow job. But the funny thing is she thought he was me so I was supposed to get the blow job!”

Me: *stunned expression* “WHAT?! You just told someone you are on a date with that story? What is wrong with you?!
”

Andy: “Nothing! It’s funny. All my friends thought it was funny.”

Me: “Please take me home. I would like to go home.”

I began texting my friends that I was coming home. I texted my other friend who is nearby that she needed to come get me. Unfortunately, the club she was at boxed her car in and she couldn’t leave. I decided to risk it and just have Andy take me home.

Standing at the Valet, waiting for his car to come, Andy decided to make a move on me. I was leaning against the glass walls of the hotel entrance when he approached me. I saw him go for the move and I tilted my head so he would get my cheek.

Maybe it was because I moved my head. Maybe it was because he thought it would be sexy. Maybe Andy is just plain old creepy. Instead of kissing my cheek, he licked me. He didn’t just graze my face with the tip of his tongue or anything. He licked my face like a puppy licks you when its happy to see you. The coy look he had on his face afterward made me assume he probably thought I would enjoy that. What was even worse was that I could hear people around me gasping. Who licks someone on a date? Andy, that’s who. I was mortified and just said again “take me home” as I bolted to his car.

On the ride home, I was silent. I think at this point he knew I was annoyed. Andy was new to LA so he was taking me home in an odd route. And then I got why… he was stopping at his house. Seeing that his roommates were home, and I really needed to pee, I told him I wanted to use his bathroom and then we were immeadiatly leaving. His room was empty except for a few jumbled things in a corner, which confused me. Then again, he had just moved here. I went into his bathroom and spent a long time in there because I called my friends at the bar, giving them a little recap and saying I’d be there soon. This gave Andy enough time to prepare his plan of attack…I think the fact I stepped into his house gave him some hope, but man, this guy was pathetic!

I opened the door and there was Andy. He had inflated his inflatable bed and was laying on it holding two glasses of wine with this “come hither” look. Typing this now, I am chuckling to myself. However, at the time, it was not funny. I just stared at him, walked out of his room and waited outside till he stopped his charades. Andy came outside, didn’t say anything, and we walked to the car.

The minute I got in the car, I grabbed Jamie’s pepper spray and put it by my side. The whole ride home, Andy thought he would try to kiss me everytime we hit a red light. I decided I was going to reject him every time. Fail Andy, Fail.

When we got back remotely close to the bar where my friends were, I took off out of the car at a red light and walked the rest of the way to get away from him. I entered the bar and don’t see him. My friends rejoiced that I was alive and asked me about all the details. Before I could start, Andy showed up. Not only did he not get any of my signals that I didn’t want to be around him, he followed me around like a puppy until my guy friends had to ask him to go away. Angry and hurt, Andy left the bar.

I am sure you think I was in the clear at this point in time. Nope. This date from hell would not give up without a last hurrah. About an hour went by and I was having fun with my friends. On my way home, I have to pass Inn N Out where Andy was waiting for me. As I walked in front of the patio area, he came out of nowhere and threw his Sprite at me, sending the soda all over my legs, and ran away. Just…started running to his car. At this point in time, I just started laughing. I mean, how could I not?

This isn’t actually MY Very Worst Date but I was dragged along on it.  My roommate (L) was set up on a blind date and asked me to go along because she was nervous.

B showed up at our apartment and I was appalled when he walked in.  He was wearing dirty, destroyed jeans (you just can’t call them ripped, fabric was flapping when he walked) and an equally dirty flannel shirt that was open to expose the formerly white t-shirt trying to contain his beer gut.  A few minutes later, we were in the kitchen talking.  I leaned over to pick something up and he slapped my behind.  Hard.  Then he told me I need to lose weight.  Gee, thanks, B.  Wow, you’re really turning out to be a prince of a guy.

B informed us that we were going to his place.  I was not comfortable with this because I really didn’t like him but L said it was fine.

We walked in the front door and were immediately assailed by the most foul odor ever.  It smelled as though someone had died in the next room.  B ushered us into the kitchen – and L and I stared in horror.  There were dirty dishes piled up on the table, in the sink, on the counters and even on the floor.  Black flies flitted around from plate to plate. “This is the kitchen,” said B.

He led us into the hallway and there we were slapped in the face with the smell emanating from three overflowing litter boxes.  L asked how many cats B has and he answered “Just one.”  Obviously whenever the litter box gets full, he just puts down a clean one.

B headed upstairs and stopped when he saw a tiny kitten playing with a few Styrofoam shapes.  B yelled at the cat and apologized profusely for the mess, gesturing to the shapes.  This is what he apologized for?  I couldn’t believe it.  I wanted to rescue the poor kitten and get out of there.

But no, the date continued.  B led us to his room which, as you can imagine, was just as clean as the rest of the house.  There were dirty clothes all over the floor and moldy plates piled up on his dresser.  The only place to sit was on the bed.

The rest of the afternoon consisted of B telling us how great of a catch he is. Finally, he drove us back to our apartment – where I immediately took a shower.

B called L a few days later and asked her out again.  L said no – then B asked if she thought I would be interested in going out with him.  L said she didn’t think so.  We never heard from him again.

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 T on an online dating site where I had previously met a boyfriend and several platonic friends. I live in a big city but don’t have a car. At the time, I relied solely on public transportation. T lived in a totally different city, about 20 miles away. However, he attended the university that was just a few blocks from my apartment, so we agreed to meet there for lunch. The fact that he didn’t offer to pick me up and drive me somewhere was OK, since there was a strip mall type place on campus, and I figured we could get Chinese food or something.

I didn’t know where anything was on the campus, so I wandered around for a while until I found T. And he did not look like his pictures. He was still moderately good looking, though, so I figured I’d continue.

Instead of walking to where the restaurants all were, we went to the student lounge. Which would be OK, except I wasn’t a student there, and the only food place was Subway. I like Subway as much as the next person (except maybe Jared), but not for a first date. But what’s even worse is that he didn’t order any food. He ordered himself a Diet Coke (because he only drinks Diet Coke and water) and didn’t offer to pay for my drink. But I’m a modern woman, I can handle going Dutch (even though I do believe that, traditionally, whomever asks for the first date should pay, especially if it’s only a $1.50 soda).

I was feeling a little hesitant at this point, but I stuck with it because we were compatible in our emails. But the conversation lagged. I asked questions and he gave one-word answers…until he asked me about my feelings on the zombie apocalypse. I told him I didn’t have any, because zombies aren’t real. He launched into a 30-minute diatribe on zombies. It was at this point that I called it quits and left. Luckily, he didn’t try for a kiss or a hug.

He did keep texting me for a few weeks after. It hurts me to say that I completely ignored him, but I just couldn’t handle it anymore.

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.

MVWD happened when I was in university. I met this guy, N, at a party. He seemed like a decent guy, so I agreed to go out with him.

He was supposed to call me to figure out the details of the date (we’d said ‘Saturday, dinner and movie’ but not time or place). When he called, I was in class so I asked him to call back later; I didn’t hear from him until he texted me, late afternoon the day we were supposed to be going out. He still wanted to go out, but he could only do the movie, and it’d have to be the late show. Fine, whatever.

On the date, he reeked and complained about how little money he had. I prefer to pay my own way anyway, but he didn’t give me the chance, using one of those electronic ticket booths. Even though I’d explained that I hate horror movies, sure enough he bought tickets to one. We watched it anyway, and he kept trying to grope me in the packed theatre. As he drove me home, he started calling and texting someone, making plans for after he dropped me off -we almost crashed because he wasn’t paying attention. He also wouldn’t stop talking about drugs.

At that point, I just wanted to get away from him, but he insisted on walking me to my door. Then he lunged for a kiss; I was surprised and just kind of froze, which he apparently interpreted as me being into it, because he then tried to unbutton my pants. On the first date. Still outside. I pushed him away, said goodbye, got inside my apartment and locked the door.

Naturally, I ignored the rest of his texts and calls.