Maybe he was trying to get you into his Sims shower.
You look really sexy when you’re naked and pixellated.
Was his name Martin? If so he might have moved out to your area of the country in which case you and everyone you know should just avoid Wal-Mart forever.
This didn’t happen in my area of the country, but I’ll be sure to inform all of the greater Los Angeles area.
Y’know, there’s a patch that unpixelates you. 
Anyway - after a little while, I told him I had to go back to help host at my Sims lot and took off. A month or so later he left the game, and gave me all his simoleans and property and lot, and just disappeared.
He was a Congressman, I was about 22 years old. He took me to dinner at “The Capitol Grille” back when that was a tough place to get a table.
In the ladies room, I heard some women talking cattily about “Number 9” “Did you see number 9?” etc. . .
I came out of the stall and the shocked hush led me to believe I was somehow involved.
After the cats left, the one remaining woman looked at me kindly through the mirror and said “You do know he’s still married to number 8, right?”
Shocked and horrified, I asked a passing waiter to show me out the back way, and the Maitre d’ sent a cab around for me. I gave my home address, then realized I had only about $10 on me, so had him drop me at the L’Enfant metro and made my way home from there.
Yeah, that really sucked.
I had a blind date with someone who actually was blind and didn’t know it. She knew she was blind, mind you, just no one bothered to clue me in. Lets just say I put my foot in my mouth badly early on and never recovered.
Luckily, I seem to have escaped the weirdo dates, but mein Herr took me up to his college town to go to a very fancy Chinese restaurant with a bunch of his college buddies. We hadn’t been dating very long and I wanted them to like me, since they had all known and been friends with his former girlfriend. One of his friends was Chinese and ordered family-style food for all of us. Mein Herr was sitting to my left, and I put a bowl of food between us, and quietly nudged him to take the bowl and pass it on. He hit the serving spoon with his elbow, flipping a huge spoonful of hot gooey stuff into my lap. Instant humiliation as I try to scoop the food off my skirt before it burns the skin off my thighs. 
Mine took a little longer to type than yours! LOL.
So online dating, huh? My friend did that once but the guy stood her up. I’m curious what that was like . . .
I really liked Sara when I was seventeen, and as she was a proto-goth, one day she arranged for us to go to the Rocky Horror Picture show in a nearby city - the full audience participation version.
I thought it was a date. Not sure if she did. She certainly wouldn’t consider it a date by the end of the evening.
Can’t remember what I wore, but I think it was something to do with white facepaint. She wore a basque, and had her shoulder-length hair spiked up with a couple of cans of hairspray.
During the show, when the song “There’s a Light” starts, everyone holds up cigarette lighters. I had one that you could turn the flame up a long long way, so I did - about two feet high. I thought it looked great.
This was back in the days when you could smoke in movie theaters, so when she asked for a light, I handed her my lighter.
Whoomph.
I hadn’t turned the flame down. It set fire to her hairsprayed hair. I had a rolled-up newspaper as a prop for a different part of the show, so I used it to beat out the flames on her head. She was too shocked by the fireball going on in her face to know what I was doing, so all she knew was that I had sabotaged her with fire, and was now smacking her round the head.
When the action subsided, it transpired that she was missing most of her eyebrows and eyelashes, and the front of her hair. Unfortunately, I couldn’t stop laughing, which made her very, very angry indeed.
The evening actually got worse from then onwards, but that was the most interesting part. We never went out again.
zomg, jjimm, I know it’s a horrible thing - but I’m laughing so hard right now!
Actually, note that I mentioned this was telephone dating, circa 1995 as most of the world had yet to join the 'net bandwagon (I was already, though), so online dating wouldn’t have been profitable back then.
jjimm wins the thread. 
Sorry, I meant phone dating.
I am very familiar with online dating.
(did my story at least make you chuckle?)
Well it was funny even at the time - for me, anyway.
I will share one of the other things. We were pretty broke, and only had a few coins between us, and only one suitable for a payphone. She wanted her dad to pick us up, so we went to a callbox and she called home. Unfortunately the phone was busted, so he couldn’t hear her.
She slammed the phone back in the cradle angrily, saying “Dad must think I’m some kind of pervert!”
Cue me breaking down into gales of laughter again, which earned me a slap.
We spent the last of our money on a bus home. I sat down next to her, then intuited very strongly, almost like I heard her words in my head: “I wish he’d get away from me.” So I went and sat in another seat, and we didn’t speak for the rest of the journey.
I’ve been thinking about this one, and it’s still not an amusing story. The “punchline” of the story, though, is that the date ended up with her telling me something incredibly sad. I couldn’t fake happy anymore. My jaw just dropped to the floor and I said “Wow. That is so sad!” Not a great way to end things. I was sad for the rest of the night.
Weird though, that when we parted ways, she looked really happy and told me she had a great time. And she looked like she was waiting for me to do… something. But I didn’t try to kiss her, didn’t try to hug her, didn’t even offer to walk her to her car.
How does one recover from that? I was just going to not talk to her anymore. But I got to thinking that if I tell her exactly what I was feeling at the time, she might see it as a bonding thing. I just sent her an e-mail.
Wish me luck!
Nonsense, this is the sort of thing animals dream about. Like the time I dropped a container of unexpectedly hot tomato sauce, and sauce and meatballs wound up all over the floor and walls, to the delight of our Labrador. (this was not however on a date).
If there is ever a competition for Most Memorable Lines On The Straight Dope, I’m nominating this.
jjimm, generally I think it’s a good idea to set your date on fire. But your technique is waaaaaay off.
Good luck!
Thanks!
In college, I had a friend named John who had a car. I only had a motorcycle. I had asked a girl (Robin) out on a date for Friday night, but the weather was too cold to ride the bike. John said he would drive us in his car if we found a date for him, thinking that Robin would get him a friend.
Now, Robin had known John for about 6 or 7 years or so, because John was her cousin’s best friend. Knowing him as quite a “handy fellow” (if you catch my drift), she was reluctant to allow him near any of her college roommates.
There was a girl named Chrissy at college whom I had known when I was in 6th and 7th grade back in Indonesia. We had met on campus once or twice and had remarked at how small of a world it was.
I asked Chrissy if she would like to go to a play with John and Robin and me, and her face lit up like a Christmas tree. She was all sorts of excited. John and I picked up Robin and Chrissy at the Freshman Girls’ dorm, and we headed to the car.
At the car, there was a little awkward moment when I opened the front door for Chrissy and she stepped out of the way and motioned Robin to get in. I didn’t really notice what had happened, and invited Chrissy to sit up front.
Robin and I got in the back seat and sat really close together. (It was a small car, after all.) I was sitting behind John, and Chrissy kept looking over her shoulder at me, shooting weird glances my way.
Somewhere along the line, Robin picked up on the negative vibes and whispered, “Does she know that she’s John’s date and not yours?”
Strangely, Chrissy never spoke to me after that.
Me and Robin?
Celebrated 26 years of marriage this past July.
Hmm… I can’t think of many very dramatic first dates, although I’m sure there’s a few horrorshows I’ve blocked out. But I did have a rough night last Friday which resulted in sort of a first date. Wanna hear it, here it goes:
My coworker invited me out to a very nice swanky restaurant – one of the few in my fair city that actually takes reservations and in which jeans are not really appropriate. It’s not really your standard happy hour kind of place, but my coworker’s friend knew the owner or the chef or something. Whatever. I show up at 6 p.m. and my coworker and her friend are deep into their first bottle of red wine. They finished their second bottle by 8 p.m. Three other people were there: another coworker and her husband (both good friends of mine - we hang out socially outside of work) and the husband’s friend (who I know from hanging out with my coworker and her DH).
Around that time, I glance over to my left at coworker’s friend and she’s doing that propped up by her elbow almost passed out stance that you do when you’ve had far too much to drink way too fast. I make eye contact with coworker and quietly suggest that her friend is done for the night and we should get the checks so she can get her friend home. She agreed with me.
Suddenly, coworker’s friend sort of pops her head up off her hand and stands up. This gives her the spins, of course, so she leaned forward against my back to steady herself. I heard the tell-tale pre-burp noise and, as I tried to hop out of the way, she threw up down my back and all over my bar stool. I now have vomit dripping down the crack of my ass in one of the nicest restaurants in town. We are all horrified.
Coworker jumps up and shepherds her friend off to the bathroom, who vomited again on her way there. (Yes, we tipped HUGE, out of shame.) My other coworker (the married one) jumps up and runs to the bar to get the checks brought to us. I’m reeking of puke, so I go outside to smoke while we waited for the checks. The guys used whatever clean napkins we could find to mop up the bar stool and whatever else they could get to. The checks come, I sign off on mine, and bolt for the door.
The married couple has invited me back to their house for more drinks. So I run home, strip down, scrub my ass (twice), start my sweater soaking in the sink, put on clean clothes and go right. back. out. 'Cause I’m a party trooper that way. And no way am I ready to be done for the night at 8:30.
Head over to the married couple’s house for a few more drinks. The husband decides this is the perfect moment to teach me how to swing dance. He teaches me a couple of steps and then steps back to invite his smokin’ hot single Latino friend to dance with me. I give SHSLF an encouraging, “Yeah! Come dance with me!” So he gets up and dances with me for a minute or two until I, the smoker, am winded and am ready to sit down.
Married guy goes back into the kitchen to dance with his lovely wife, leaving me alone with SHSLF. After a bit of chatter, SHSLF finally turns to me and says, “Wanna get outta here?”
Aw hell yeah.
So we went over to the wine bar around the corner from my house and closed the place down.
I’m thinking if I’d freaked out in any way over the puking thing, I probably would have been seen as a tad too uptight and SHSLF might not have taken me to the bar.
They are all now invited to my house for New Year’s Eve, but the girl that puked is only allowed to drink clear liquids while standing on the tile. No red wine on the rug for her!