MVWD  happened when I was 23, and because both of us were idiots (mostly him). I had just recently moved to town, and thought posting a “strictly platonic” ad on Craigslist might result in meeting potential friends. This guy was my age and had also just moved into the area, so I emailed him back and we chatted online. I was flattered when he said he was interested in a date. I figured he’d end up a friend, which is what I was hoping for all along, but I was game.

We exchanged numbers and talked a couple times before we met. Things started going badly even before meeting this guy. Before making plans, I made it clear that I would only meet in our city’s downtown area, and he agreed. The day of the date, he told me what he was planning. I was expecting him to tell me to meet him downtown, but he was talking about coming to my apartment and taking me to a miniature golf course about 45 minutes away  in some town I’d never been to. I told him that I had no interest in that, and that I didn’t care if he was Jesus Christ himself – he’s not knowing where I live, and I wouldn’t get into his car and drive out of town with him. Turns out that was a rude thing to a deeply religious Catholic guy. He then admitted that he never had any intention of going downtown because before he moved, he had gotten into a pretty bad car wreck and he was nervous about driving in heavy traffic. My response was, “So, you lied? Isn’t lying a sin to Catholics? And, if you’re that nervous about driving in traffic, why did you move to one of those biggest metro areas in the country? The only way I’m meeting up with you is if you meet me downtown like you promised.” He relented and agreed to my demands.

I felt bad so I tried to smooth things over by changing the subject. I don’t remember how he segued to this topic, but he told me that he had neurofibromatosis (somewhat similar to what the elephant man had). He also mentioned that he once had a tumor that affected a nerve that caused him a lot of pain. I was sympathetic until he matter-of-factly stated that what he experienced was even more painful than childbirth, and he’s sick of women complaining and making such a big deal about it. He tells me he inherited it from his dad, who “has a tumor the size of a watermelon hanging off his ass”. He said he told me all of this because he wanted children one day and thought his potential wife should know. I’m very understanding of medical problems and physical handicaps, but he sounded like such an ass and was so crass about it all, I was unimpressed and turned off. I agreed to still meet him because I didn’t want to look like a jerk and I was kind of curious about how this would all go down.

He was about half a foot shorter than he said he was, and he had a large tumor on the side of his head that he cleverly hid in his photos with trick angles. I tried to be talkative, but it was hard to do because he’d barely respond. I was miserable. He planned dinner and a movie, but he screwed up the movie times. He suggested another movie that was starting right then, saying he heard it was good. Turned out it was “My Brother’s Wife”, a movie full of sex and nakedness. It was awkward. We got out of the movie theater, and he said that he remembered he had to do laundry and couldn’t do dinner. It was music to my ears. I said goodbye and thought that was that, but he ending up IMing me later – just chatting as if we didn’t have a terrible date. He asked me out of nowhere if I was a virgin and what my “number” was. After I dodged his question, he said his “number” was 7 or 8, which seemed like a lot for a 23-year-old religious guy who told me he was a virgin until he was 20. When he immediately started in after that revelation about how he volunteered at a Catholic summer camp for teenagers, I freaked out and I blocked his screenname.

MVWD wasn’t so much a specific date as a two-and-a-half year flirtation that began my freshman year of college and ended (awkwardly) during the beginning of junior year. B lived down the hall from me and I knew he had a crush on me. He was a self-proclaimed nerd and I probably had a good 20 pounds on him, so I never really saw him as more than a goofy friend.

During the rest of the year and sophomore year, we saw each other sometimes and were friendly-bordering-on-flirty. Junior year, I realized that B had grown into his skinny frame a little bit and was actually on his way to becoming cuter.

We hung out one night and were joking around and somehow started talking about physical attractiveness. He said, “You know, you should know that you’re actually…like, pretty. You’re probably a 7.”

I knew him well enough to know that this was his own weird way of complimenting me, so I thanked him. I’m no bombshell, but I’m decently cute, so I figured being a “7″ was fairly accurate. Then I asked, “So who’s a 10, then?” expecting him to name some beautiful celebrity or something. Instead, he named a girl we both knew–a girl who resembled a slightly taller, more preppy version of me.

“I feel like she and I sort of look alike,” I said, setting myself up for disaster.

“OH no. No, no, no,” he said, shaking his head with unnecessary enthusiasm. “Not at all.”

“Okay,” I replied, “Why not?”

“Well,” he said. “She dresses better. And she’s athletic.”

“What!” I laughed. “She plays volleyball! I run marathons and I swam in high school!”

“Yeah, but volleyball is a sport that makes you SKINNY,” he answered.

I don’t remember what else happened that night, but I stupidly forgave him for his weird ways and decided to hang out with him again. A few months later, we ended up making out and I thought we were on to something. Unfortunately, I had misjudged his potential (or maybe my freshman self was right about him all along.)The day before Thanksgiving break we went out to coffee, and he spent the entire time quoting “Family Guy” and explaining in great detail which states had the lowest pot prices.

From the archives, an arresting date with a co-worker. The print link is here and you can hear all about it here.

An early favorite of ours: Boy meets girl, eats Super Burrito, takes her on a camping trip…and you can listen to the rest here.

We wish you the Very Best 2011 Ever! We hope you’re having a great start to the year. Help make ours even better by gifting us with a small New Year’s treat by liking our Facebook page. We’d love to get to 1,000 fans (or more) by the end of January. We’ll give the 1,000th liker a little surprise pressie. We’ll be watching out for you but just in case, email us ASAP at myveryworstdate@gmail.com if it looks like you’re the milestone liker. We’d love some Twitter love too. Follow us here. Thank you so so much!

xoxo MVWD

Worst date?  That’s easy. It was New Years’ Eve, 1971. I had a first date as a newly-divorced woman with the guy who came to fix my TV (remember TV repairmen?). Anyway, I made a cute dress and my girlfriend was going to watch my 2 kids. We dropped off the kids and headed out to what I thought would be a nice evening. For starters he pulled in to Arctic Circle.  Now don’t get me wrong, I love Arctic Circle, but for a first date—on New Year’s.  I was nice and did not complain.  We then went to a movie, can’t remember which one, but it was over about 10PM. We then went to a tavern, not a nice bar, but a sleazy neighborhood tavern. I was so fed up by this time, I just wanted to go home. But we didn’t. Oh, no, he played pool with his buddies while I sat there and drank. Too much, of course. I remember a sloppy midnight kiss and then the ride back to my girlfriend’s place. I was sick when we got there and passed out on her couch. When I woke up an hour or so later, my date and my girlfriend were having their own New Year’s party—in her bed. Needless to say, that was my first and last date with my TV repairman. My friend, what can I say, she is still my best friend–he wasn’t worth losing a good friend for.

My soon-to-be VWD wanted to know if I wanted to come to a bonfire. I hadn’t met him yet and I thought a group outing might be a good idea so I said yes. He lived in the country so he suggested we meet at a gas station so he could get diesel fuel and then I would follow him to his place.

After nearly losing control on the gravel roads, we arrived at his house. No one else was there and I just figured people would show up later on in the night. I was wrong. He promptly walked me over to a backhoe, and invited me in. He informed me that we had to dig a hole, to put the fire wood in. I don’t know if you have ever been in a backhoe, but they are not designed for two people. We proceeded to dig a massive hole, which quickly filled with water. This wasn’t going to work for a fire.

He started to move the backhoe and in the process a tree branch came right in the window and smacked me in the face. Then we got started digging a second hole. This time the hole digging was a success and we started filling the hole (which was probably 12’ by 12’) with an old tree. Some of these logs were massive. He proceeded to pour diesel fuel all over the wood and eventually got it going. He even threw on a tire for good measure! There were so many points in the night where I kept asking myself, “How did I end up here?” and “Is this hole he’s digging actually my grave?”

At the end of the night he dropped me off at my car in the backhoe, and I promptly drove off, but only to get lost in the country for an hour!

I met M through a dating service. His description: tall, brown hair, loved the outdoors, enjoyed wine festivals, art, football and basketball, and enjoyed exercising. The person that walked through the door on the day of our did not match that description. He was tall but was completely bald and although he may have worked out in the past, it had to be at least five years prior. But I thought maybe he was a match personality-wise. Sadly, no. His version of loving the outdoors was four-wheeling and his hobbies included collecting and shooting machine guns.

He also lived with his parents. There’s nothing wrong with living with your parents when you’re growing up or even for a few years in your twenties. My experience has led me to believe that guys who live with their parents tend to expect the women in their lives to take over the role of mommy. Maybe there are ladies who dream of washing his clothing, making all their meals, and generally catering to his every desire but I am not one of them. The last straw for me was sadly none of these things. I have a dog I adore. I previously thought most guys would dig a chick with a dog, but this was not the case with M.

After he revealed that his careers included bail bondsman and proprietor of a liquor store, and talked in detail about his personal weapon arsenal, I told him I really had to get going as I had to go feed my dog. His response was that I should think about euthanizing my dog so that I could go out more. I sat there stunned until he chuckled and said it was just a joke and that I really needed to lighten up. I began to question the wisdom of ever dating another man again.

We’re in search of workplace horrors for My Very Worst Job. Tell us about your most terrible gig (nanny to the devil’s spawn?), crazy boss (her extra assignment for you: date her son!), insane intern (he’s the only one who takes two-hour liquid lunches!) or errant employee (you’re paying to be tortured?!) by going to this link. We’d also love to hear about your very first Very Worst Job.

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