I met my date, R, like many other MVWDs, online. He seemed friendly and excited to communicate, so I thought I would give him a try. He appeared cute in his pictures, and we talked on the phone a few times before we met.

I should have known it would turn out badly when he insisted on going on our date on Father’s Day. He claimed it would be his only day off work for weeks, and even though I explained I had plans with my family in the morning, he insisted until I finally gave in. He called me multiple times during lunch to ask for directions, as he thought he saw a sign for a bank with the same name as my area about, oh, an hour away. He was pissed when I didn’t answer, even though I made it clear I would not be able to during the meal with my family, and kept sending me texts about how many miles away he was. I should have told him to turn around right then.

He picked me up in a very well-populated area, and though he didn’t quite match his appearance in his pictures, I didn’t think I should judge him too hard. He didn’t mention that his pick-up truck was so big it would take up two parking spaces (I live in a city with limited parking, so finding one space at all is considered lucky). Oh, he also didn’t tell me he smoked, and proceeded to light up the second we got in the car, making for a rather hazy drive.

We drove about an hour to a city north of mine, and parked to get something to eat. After walking around for about 45 minutes, he decided on a place by the water, which I thought might be semi-romantic. He proceeded to order an appetizer, discussed throughout the duration of the “meal” how he doesn’t have an appetite, and then told me how much I owed when the check came. At this point, I gave up all hopes of the date being romantic in the least. We went back to his house and watched the terrible film, Camp Dread. As I was trying to enjoy his company in a platonic manner, he suddenly pulled up my skirt half-way to ask what color underwear I was wearing. Needless to say, I was ready to go home.

On the drive back to my area, he lit up a few more times, and hounded me on whether or not I believed Led Zeppelin or the Rolling Stones deserved to be famous more. He dropped me off a good half mile from my house, saying it was easier for him to get back on the highway from there. I jumped seemingly ten feet down from his car and quickly walked away, deleting his number from my phone as I went.

Sad to say, that this is actually my second story submission. This one just happened recently and I thought I’d tell you guys another story.

I met a nice girl through a couple of friends of mine. We immediately hit it off and agreed to exchange numbers and chat a little. We would talk on the phone for a bit, met up a couple of times for a quick “hello” and a few texts here and there. Our friends approved of this so I thought for sure that this would be in the bag, no problem. Boy, was I wrong!

We arranged a date and agreed to meet at a nearby park. I sat on the bench and waited for about five minutes and she showed up right on time, so right away, she scored points. We were both well dressed, but I was a little curious about her bringing a backpack with her and it looked really full to the point where it looked like it was going to burst. But I didn’t comment just yet. We sat there talking for a little while about what we were going to do. We both agreed to a walk in the park, dinner and either mini-golf or a movie. Right before we stood up and ready to kick it off, she told me to hold up for a second. So I did and sat right back down.

She looked around nervously to make sure no one was watching and she began to unzip her back-pack and I was absolutely disgusted at what I saw. Right out in the open, she thought it was no big deal to bust out a bong and started smoking weed right in the park open for all eyes. No offense to anyone who might enjoy some weed every now and again, but to me, it’s totally not my style, I want nothing to do with it and I frown upon it in the biggest way. I’m sure even most of the tokers would agree with me that if someone has even the slightest slice of class in them, they wouldn’t bring weed on a first date. She then asked me if I wanted to take a hit. I gave her the biggest NO I have ever given anyone. She kind of sensed my powerful NO so she apologized if it was making me feel uncomfortable. But it still didn’t stop her, she kept smoking away.

I’m a major prick and I don’t put up with a lot so I told her that maybe this date was a mistake and I couldn’t see it going anywhere. If the first 30 seconds of the date starts off with smoking weed in public, just imagine what the rest of the date is going to be like! She explained that she had a far walk and it took her so long to get here. She said she was sorry and she won’t do it for the rest of the date. But I tried to explain to her that even if the rest of the date goes great, I still wouldn’t make any further moves because of her habit. (It’s OK  if you all do it, this is just my preference, that’s all. We all have preferences). She begged and said she was looking forward to the date. I stood my ground and said that it was not my problem, but I did give her money for a cab. It was the shortest date (five minutes!) I have ever been on.

Now my friends know just how against drugs I am so I called them to give them crap for not warning me. Their response: “I thought you knew? We were even wondering ourselves how the hell you agreed to a date.”

But there was more to the night than this…

I came home and I had a message on a dating site from a girl who wanted to meet that night. She was attractive and had a really well-written profile so I agreed to a coffee. We met up, and again, we hit it off. We went walking downtown and told me she had to make a pit-stop real quick at a friends house. I agreed. When we got there, I realized what was up. The house looked terrible on the outside and even worse on the inside and it smelt awful. Right away, I knew she was going to buy something to smoke or snort. I told her that I wasn’t feeling well and had to leave. She hit me back with “Oh, don’t worry, as soon as I buy dope off this guy we’ll be out of here in no time.”

I waited for her to be out of my sight and then made a break for it and went straight home. She texted me to call me a “stuck-up prude who looks down on other people and their habits.” I’m neither of those. I just don’t like being lied to. Her online profile asked if she did drugs and her answer was no. I had no idea what she bought that day nor do I want to know.

Two drug addicts in one day. Unbelievable, just unbelievable.

I joined a dating site recently, got talking to a guy who admired my piercings and music taste. He had a picture up on his profile, but it was blurry and he had his chin up so I couldn’t really see his face properly. That should have sent alarm bells ringing, but I thought it was just because he was doing a Thrasher pose with a guitar. He texted me all day, asked to meet in a local shopping street, so I agreed (in public, daylight, etc). I put on a summer dress, heels, made sure I smelt nice (it was a real hot day) and went into town.

I wish I had never bothered.

I was waiting there, when this overweight (in the guy’s profile pics, he looked a lot slimmer), scruffy guy came lumbering up to me–not looking at my face but at my breasts (note: he did this constantly throughout our short time together). He came over to hug me and I swear that he smelt like a combination of shit and stale sweat. Seriously, this guy reeked and I nearly gagged. His shirt was also stained with God knows what. The worst part is, this guy stated on his profile that his match had to smell nice.

Not wanting to be rude, I suggested that we go to a park and sit on the bench. Big mistake. He put his hand on my leg and kept on asking about my nursing course (all while staring at my legs, then breasts). I moved away from him and put my arms by my side to buffer him, but he was persistent and rested his arm behind me. I decided there and then that this was enough, so I confronted him about his profile picture–turns out it was an old picture of him. I got up to go to the toilet and ring my friend to plan an escape. When I came back. Oh God, when I came back, he was sitting there. With an obvious hard-on.

I walked off and ignored his cries of asking me how to get back to the station (he didn’t know the area well), wishing for a shower.

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.

This Very Worst Date is my own damn fault. Being a wide-eyed, incredibly naive 23-year-old lands you in some dumb situations.

It (MVWD) happens after a hard break-up. Internet dating exists but hadn’t really taken off and besides, the profile business is way unromantic, right?  So I post it on Craigslist.  Mistake #1.

There are some crazy people on Craigslist. There are also (at the time) no picture capabilities. And so, it turns out, that attracts a certain type of demographic.

But that’s foreshadowing. Rewind to the emails I start to receive, some of which seem pretty promising! Intelligent and articulate professionals.  One guy is a lawyer at a good firm, and I set up a date to meet him. I don’t think to ask for a picture, or for details, because in my la-la-land head, the person on the other side of this email exchange must look…like me, right?  Normal. Maybe even kinda cute. Mistake #2.

The guy who turns up is built like an Oompa Loompa, with a face to match. He is 5 inches shorter than me and I’m 5’2. It’s like someone has set me up on a cruel gag blind date–except that cruel person is me.

But I am nice. So nice, I go through with the whole dinner date and politely laugh at jokes and then politely thank him when I leave because dang, it’s not his fault he’s only-a-mother-could-love ugly, right? Mistake #3.

My plan, though, is that when he tries to set up a second date I’ll tell him nope, sayonara. Nicely. Mistake #4.

Sure enough he calls, and I say thanks but no thanks. He asks why.  I cannot tell him the reason, so I make up anything. Everything that comes to mind. At some point I remember b.s.ing that our, uh, personalities are too much alike! You know, Type A personalities, and I’m looking for Type B…

I spend an hour on the phone explaining in every possible way I can think of that doesn’t include the words “hideous” or “ugly” that I will not date him. I get off the phone when I think he has finally accepted his fate.

Of course he calls back a few days later. I spend 20 minutes turning him down.

And then he calls again a week later. I am getting mad. But he protests that the date went so well! He’s never had a date that went so well!  That must mean something!

(At this point, ladies, I have to tell you that if you haven’t already done so, please read Gavin de Becker’s The Gift of Fear, especially the chapter on why not to let a guy down nicely.)

Long story short: I dodge periodic phone calls from him for, oh, just under a year. Despite the fact that I’ve learned (when I do accidentally pick up the phone) to cut him off and hang up. Despite the fact that every time he calls, I grow increasingly hostile and irate out of sheer fear. I feel stalked and I have nightmares that he will simply show up at some stalker-like place waiting for me.

But at no point do I say “ugly,” or “short.” Nor do I ever tell him the other thing I’m thinking, which is how embarrassed I am to have been such a dumb-ass, and sorry that I got us both into this mess.

I met this guy through a popular online dating service. We exchanged information and corresponded back and forth. He seemed normal.

He invited me to dinner at an Italian restaurant in Brooklyn. We’d agreed to meet in the bar, but when I arrived, he was nowhere to be seen.

Then a strange man addressed me. My date was about 50 lbs heavier and ten years older than he’d represented himself to be. I didn’t comment about it, but I was put off.

Over dinner we talked about the dating website. He said, casually, “Yeah, I’m ready to have a girlfriend again. I’m tired of seeing escorts.” He wasn’t joking.

Then he bitterly criticized his ex-wife, saying that she “claimed that he’d hit her” during the divorce. I was so creeped out and uncomfortable that I hardly spoke or ate.

He also stared at my breasts the entire time (and I was wearing a modest blouse). Towards the end of the date, I was so fed up, I said, “I wore a padded bra tonight, but I had no idea it would be such a success!”

Unperturbed, he said, “Actually, I’m more of an ass man.”

Then he got testy when I declined to let him drive me home.

My Very Worst Date was a guy I met on an online dating site. Right off, I had some reservations. His response to my ad sounded cut-and-pasted because he didn’t address his email to my screen name or mention anything specific about my ad. Also, he had only one picture in which he was holding a coffee cup near his head. However, he sounded normal and looked potentially cute though it was difficult to tell.

We met at a neighborhood bar in the afternoon. As soon as I saw him, I realized that the strategically-positioned coffee cup in the picture was to hide a very receding hairline. He said hello, asked me if I had biked there, then launched into a story about how he had been hit on his bike by a “rich couple” who had gotten out of paying his medical bills by taking the case to court. He then told me that he found the couple’s home address and, wielding a large wrench, asked, “What’s for dinner? You owe me.” He then intimidated the man into writing him a check for $5,000.

At this point I asked him if he had been wearing a helmet during this accident, thinking maybe a head injury was affecting him. Apparently this wasn’t the case. I considered getting up and leaving. I’ve handled my share of bad dates and was somewhat curious how much worse this one could get so I decided to stay and finish my one drink.

During the next twenty minutes, he proceeded to try to feel my leg several times, stood in the bar and lifted his shirt to show me his tattoos, told me about his last date who “throat-f**ked” him in her car and asked if I would do that. When he realized that he wasn’t getting anywhere, he got up and left without saying goodbye.

“Brian” and I met online, and the first few times we met in person, everything went great. He was fun, articulate (which was a nice change!), and the sex was spectacular. We lived a couple of hours apart, though, so we didn’t see each other often, and just kept things casual. All fun, no pressure. After a while, we agreed to a weekend at a B&B in the San Juan Islands. There was a great deal of hinting about what would transpire in the evening hours on this little trip, and he was very enthusiastic when I told him I planned to stop into a lingerie store before we left. I made the reservations and let him know how much the B&B, ferry, and gas would probably be, as we had agreed to go Dutch.

With cash in wallet and lingerie in overnight bag, I picked him up and we headed out. I should have smelled a fish when he made no move to cough up anything for the ferry, but foolishly assumed he would pay the return fare. I should have smelled a whole barrel of rotten fish when conversation was stilted and awkward the entire time. Naive little me assumed he was just nervous. Or, ever the optimist I was, excited.

Lunch? I paid. Whale-watching tour? I paid. Gas? I paid. I finally–and passive-aggressively–asked if he wanted to split the cost of dinner. Come to find out he only had about $80 to his name, and part of that had to put gas in his tank on Monday. So in terms of money, I was pretty well f**ked. Even if we didn’t stay for the duration of our reservation, I’d still have to pay for both nights at the B&B. The total tab by the end of the weekend was well over $400, not counting the lingerie I’d bought before we left. He coughed up about $30 for lunch on the last day.

Oh, but it gets better. The first night, we had some lackluster sex. He didn’t seem at all interested in the lingerie HE had picked out, and made no effort to cause any orgasms besides his own, which didn’t take much time or work… The second night, he went into the bathroom to take a long bath. For at least two hours. While I was waiting in bed. By the time he came back, I’d fallen asleep. He fell asleep too…on the floor at the foot of the bed. He didn’t touch me for the rest of the trip, and I can’t say I was terribly broken up over it. It dented my ego a bit, but I was ready to claw his eyes out by this point, so it was just as well.

We drove home in silence the next day, which was pleasant for a two-hour ferry ride and a two-hour car trip. A few months later, after I’d met my now-husband, I received an e-mail from Brian’s girlfriend asking who I was and about the nature of my relationship with him. Turned out she had just told him a few days before our trip that she was pregnant. I apologized profusely, told her I had no idea about her, etc. Fortunately, she’s a rational, sane individual, and knew what a sleezeball he was. Eight years later, she and I are still friends. Neither of us have heard from Deadbeat Brian.

I met MVWD on Match.com, which I had been using for a few months with little luck. Turned out we were both correctional officers (me at a federal prison and he at a county jail) and he seemed excited to meet someone who understood the nature of the job and the shift work, as was I. He also played hockey in a local league, which I found interesting and fun.

We decided to meet up on a day we both had off from work. I drove 45 minutes to meet him, arriving at 7:30 p.m. I assumed we would be heading out for dinner and a walk around a popular shopping district (as we had planned), but he was fixated on the hockey game on tv. At the end of the second period (past 8 p.m. now), he grabbed his car keys and said “Let’s go.” Ok…so we got in his car and headed out into the chilly December night. After about 10 minutes I notice he never put on a coat when we left, and commented on this. He explained that he never wears coats, and doesn’t get cold. He also explained in great detail about the time he got frostbite on his toes as a child. Great.

He had just moved into the house I met him at, and stated he wasn’t familiar with that part of town yet, so we were going over to where he used to live. We drove for nearly 30 minutes before settling on a local chain restaurant, where he proceeded to inhale his meal all while keeping his eyes on the hockey game. When he did speak to me, the conversation consisted of hockey stories that had a “you had to be there” vibe or back-and-forth stories from our respective prisons. I finally told him I didn’t feel like talking about work anymore, which left us in complete silence. I was also tired of listening to his fake Canadian accent, which he claimed he picked up through his hockey travels. Really, you can pick up an accent by traveling to Canada twice a year for a weekend tournament?

When we got back to his place, he invited me in and showed me around, ending the tour in the bedroom. I stopped in the doorway and proclaimed some early-morning responsibility the next day, and let myself out. Guess he felt about the same as I did, because I never heard from him again.

I was on a long cross-country trip with a relative one summer when this guy, M., who’d found me online somewhere and started writing to me. I had sort of a mentor-ly feeling toward him as he seemed somewhat inexperienced. He apparently felt more of an attraction to me and since he seemed nice, I agreed to go out with him when I got home. He seemed especially excited when I half-joked about never missing “The Golden Girls” on Lifetime. Perhaps he was hoping to demonstrate some gay street cred.

I had arranged for us to go to a moderately nice restaurant, so I was bemused upon climbing into his ratty, fry grease-smelling car to find that he was dressed in a stained t-shirt and shorts. He also hadn’t seemed to have showered for a week. He acted extremely happy to be out with me, judging from his breathless, awkward attempts at witty repartee. I tried to reply politely, but I was distracted when he reached around to the back seat and put his cavernous, hairy crack in full view. At dinner, he ordered chicken fingers off the kids’ menu and loudly dropped F-bombs into conversation as often as possible, despite the presence of actual kids at nearby tables. I ordered a couple daquiris to help see me through that and the movie afterward.

Despite having grated my teeth down to nubs by the end, I was unfortunately not stern enough when he made his next suggestion –  he’d took my comments from the other day as an invitation to go back to my place to watch “Golden Girls”. So there we were, him with his smelly arm around my shoulder in my place. I was just too nice a guy to tell him to get the hell out, but at least the antics of Sophia et al served to stifle conversation and whatever “moves” he may have planned to make.

Then, the cable went out. I had to endure the next 20 minutes with him snuggling up to me—literally rubbing his head against my shoulder like a cat—cooing that he’d never done this before and how great it was to finally “be with a guy.” The cable finally came back, the Girls finished their adventure, and I pleaded tiredness in order to shoo him away. I accept part of the blame for my awful night—I’ve learned my lesson and will be much more direct the next time I’m stuck with a horrible date!