That’s it. Laura was the brunette, Kate was the blonde. I thought that Kate was Laura.
I knew a man who was one of the world’s great seducers. Beautiful man. One evening, he introduced me to a friend of his, also intensely beautiful. Said friend asks for my number. Now given the context, I wasn’t expecting anything more than possibly some fun nookie, but I was definitely up for some fun nookie with this guy.
He calls, we arrange to meet at a restaurant I know well. I arrive fully five minutes late (in NYC, where anything less than 20 minutes goes unnoticed) and he has already ordered an appetizer and gives me a passive-aggressive whine about being late. I apologize, but make it clear that I’m not going to put up with more whining about a five minute discrepancy.
When the waiter comes to take my order, he declines to order anything other than the appetizer he is already eating. I am confused by this, as it will mean that we’re eating entirely at separate times. Whatever. He also doesn’t want a drink of any kind. I get the feeling that, despite being born and raised in NYC, he is strangely unfamiliar with the concept of restaurants, and also hasn’t brought enough money to cover more than his appetizer.
After about 20 minutes in which I try (and fail) to make conversation, he suddenly decides to start talking. And talking. And talking. For at least an hour I can’t get a word in edgewise, and the stories start getting weirder and more grandiose.
At some point, he starts talking about the D.C. sniper attacks, which were then in progress. He declared that he had just decided that enough was enough, really, and since he was pretty sure he knew who the shooter was, he was going to take his posse down to D.C. and rough the guy up. This guy was scaring people, see, and that sort of shit just didn’t fly.
At this point, I think to myself: either your date is a self-aggrandizing moron with a tenuous grasp on reality (bad), or he is the sort of person who knows homocidal lunatics and fails to report them to the police when they go on rampages (very bad). Either way, he is someone who thinks that it’s okay to reveal this information to a first date (also bad).
Eventually, I break into his monologue, explain that I have to go, pay for my portion of the check, and leave. I don’t think I left any impression that I ever wanted to have anything to do with this guy again. Unsurprisingly, he did not call again.
Until four months later, when he phoned out of the blue. He asked if I remembered him, and I said yes, I remembered him, but I hadn’t expected to hear from him again since our last meeting had gone so poorly. He, shocked and hurt, said that he had thought we got along swimmingly and was eager to hang out with me again. I very gently explained to him that I hadn’t felt any spark and wasn’t inclined to explore the relationship further.
How do you get to be that smokin’ hot without ever learning the rudiments of social interactions?
Maybe if you are that smokin’ hot, you don’t need to. 
My worst date:
It was a guy I met online (I think Match.com, which is also where I met the man I’m marrying, but anyway…). We were meeting for dinner at a restaurant in the area which is a nicer restaurant, not “jacket required” but pretty nice. He shows up wearing cutoff jean shorts (I thought those things went into extinction in the mid 90s!) and a cutoff T-shirt. And he was sweaty. Eew. So I had a drink with him and he went on and on about himself and his mutt giving birth (not exactly good pre-dinner conversation), burping and otherwise being gross. After a bit he asked if I wanted to get a table. I said, “No, thank you. I’m just not feeling it.” Then, loudly, he proclaimed, “Well, I wouldn’t want to have dinner with you either, you bitch!” Everyone in the bar area looked at us… I was so embarrassed. I muttered something like “I’m sorry” and threw some money on the bar (Lord knows he wasn’t going to pay for my drinks) and left.
I was too embarrassed to show my face in that restaurant for quite some time. I didn’t want the waitstaff thinking “That’s the bitch.” or anything like that. And I really like that restaurant!
Is it really bad that I’m really loving this? I have more bad date stories - but I don’t want to hog the thread.
I was really hoping at the end of that LSD story in the aunt’s fancy house that both of them would have shat on the bed or something…Mine involved a first date where my date (not driving, it was a double date) drank enough Bali Hai (cheap fruity wine) that he vomited onto my mini-skirt clad lap in the back seat. Apologized, hung his head out the window and continued vomiting, which coated that side of the car. It was impressive, none of us realized so much upchuck could come out of one human. We finished off the evening at a car wash. I did not give my date a kiss goodnight. I did not want to go on another date with him, either. C’est la vie.
I have a couple.
In one I’d used Yahoo personals. I had a few email exchanges with this woman who sounded nice, was funny, etc. We traded photos and agreed to meet at a coffee shop.
I got there early, found a table and started watching the door. After about 45 minutes no one matching her photo had come in. I got up and walked around the joint. Nobody even close.
As I was going back to my table to finish my coffee and head out if she hadn’t shown up by then a woman touched my arm and asked me if I was (my name). I was genuinely confused. She was about twice the size of the girl in the picture and was at the table with two kids, around a year and a half and four.
I said yes and she said she was whatever her name was. I said, “Sorry. I didn’t recognize you. Let me get my stuff and join you,” even though my instinct was to run away. The out of date picture and two previously unmentioned children set of lots of alarm bells, but I hate being rude.
Anyway, we talked. The kids were hers, she was divorced, looking to go back into the Air Force, etc. Then she drove the last nail in an already tightly sealed coffin. “Maybe, since you’re a workout buff, once we get serious you can help me get back in shape so I can pass the Air Force physical fitness tests.”
So, let’s see: Conceals major life situation / status information, misrepresents her appearance, has goals completely incompatible with my life direction wants a free personal trainer and has already decided we were going to “get serious”…
That was the first time in my life I ever faked a cell phone call. I went outside for two minutes, came back in and told her my sister had a flat and that I needed to go help her out, covered our tab, said goodbye to the (nice and well-behaved) kids and high tailed it out of there.
I just don’t understand people misrepresenting themselves in online dating sites. When my marriage ended and I started hitting the dating sites, I made sure to use realistic pictures of myself. I even made it a point to post a new picture each month so people would know it was truly recent. I’m fat and fabu, and I would never want to date anyone who didn’t agree.
I always loved when I would meet someone and they would tell me, “You’re prettier than your picture!”
I would hate it if someone met me in real life after seeing the picture and thought I looked worse.
FWIW - YMMV.
In another instance, I was home from my second year of college and hanging out at the bar attached to the bowling alley in my rinky dink home town, since it had the only level pool table and I was hustling for tuition, in addition to working a summer job.
The counter girl at the bowling alley developed a huge crush on me. She was really cute and pretty, with gorgeous red hair, nice body and a great smile. The bar manager let me know and I asked her out.
We went out for dinner and a movie. I never once got a bad vibe off her. She seemed to be having a good time. I was a gentleman and well-behaved throughout the night. I drove her home, walked her to her door and went to kiss her goodnight, only to be met with, “Ohmigod, please don’t kiss me!” I was caught flat footed, but I shook her hand, thanked her for a nice evening then drove home.
Talking to the bar manager the next day it turns out the girl had constructed an entire identity for me and was repulsed when I didn’t turn out to be the guy she’d made up.
Yeah, I always had a knack for attracting the crazy.
I think you answered your own question.
So did you find out the differences between the you in her head and the you that was you?
My story.
Is it really a bad date if you didn’t know you were on a date?
I was working on an out of town contract and living in a hotel. The restaurant in the hotel was decent so I’d eat dinner there most nights. And flirt outragously with the waitress. She’d flirt back and everyone was having a good time. I’d been there a couple of weeks and knew everyone by name.
One evening I’m going to get supper and ran into the day shift cook who was just getting off. I’ll call him Bill. He suggests grabbing a bite somewhere else and just hanging out for a while. Sounded like a good idea since I didn’t really know anyone socially in the town. We went to a bar/grill and had a few drinks and a good meal. General chit-chat about the area and other unmemorable topics. The only noteworthy event was when some redneck type guy tries to pick a fight with Bill for flirting with his girl and gets himself thrown out. IIRC, the flirting amounted to looking in her direction and smiling politely.
After that, Bill suggested that we go to his place and watch some TV. No problem, lead on! We get to his place and I get settled in with a beer and something on the TV. Bill announces that he needs a shower after work and being at the bar and heads off to the bathroom. -queue shower sounds-
About 5 minutes later he comes out with a towel around his waist and sits down on the couch beside me. Then lays his head in my lap and declares that he finds me incredibly attractive. :eek: A few seconds later he gets up and returns to the shower. At that point I depart and drive back to my own hotel. I don’t recall if I ever did see him again at his work.
Now, my gaydar has never been finely tuned, but I can usually tell when another guy is attracted to or hitting on me. That came completely in from left field.
Not as bad as not knowing you were having sex (Nava’s story)
Wow. Mine’s boring and pathetic compared to these.
Essentially, I asked this flirtatious little minx, with whom I’d been making eyes for weeks, out on a date. She readily agreed. We had a nice dinner. I paid. She then got a phone call, and announced that she would have to be leaving, since her BOYFRIEND wanted to meet up with her for a movie.
:smack:
I’ve always wondered if that phone call was a prearranged event, and she just wanted a free meal.
Huh? I generally find people born and raised in NYC to have exceptional social skills, at least in the making-idle-chit-chat phases of a relationship, if not so much in the deep intimacy phases. Certainly, every native New Yorker I’ve met knows restaurant etiquette, given that eating out is so common.
That’s how I interpreted it, too, which wouldn’t really be de-virginizing her, really (or if it would, there are tons of lothario tampons out there. Like lesbians and horsebackriding, yet another monkey wrench in the definition of virginity).
This is why you don’t put the prick on a pedestal! (Sorry, it was the best I could do, and I don’t even know if you’re a dude.)
That reminds me of an awkward first date averted: when my sister turned 28 a bunch of us had dinner and then went to a club. The club was a very “mixed” venue, and once a month had a women’s dance (read: lesbian night at the club). We picked that night for her birthday party (ETA: she’s gay and was single at the time), and a long-time family friend of ours “David” and I were the only guys in the club.
A work friend of my sister’s was there, Laura From Work. She asked if I was single, at the time I was, and said she had a friend I’d be perfect for. :dubious: She went on to describe a “young Korean hottie” named Seng-hee and in my mind, I was picturing an exotic lass like Yumiko from Karate Kid: Part II. Rowr!
I swear I don’t remember hearing any pronoun’s in the discussion! I blame the loud music at the club. Or the fact that I was too distracted by my filthy mind’s daydreams about that raven haired vixen, Yumiko. Rowr! In any case, Laura From Work collected my email to pass along to the Korean hottie, and thus a blind date was in the works for yours truly.
My sister caught wind of the set-up in time to avert an awkward meet-up and tell me “Okay, so… Seng-hee is a guy’s name.” … 
… :eek: … :smack:
Apparently, things went awry due to Laura From Work asking my sister about gay siblings and my sister either misheard or misinterpreted the question and said: “Yes, I have a younger brother.” So at the time she met me Laura From Work had a preconceived idea that I was gay too. Contributing to the misunderstanding: David and I had been sort of chilling out at the bar, trying really hard not to look like two skeevy straight guys who were attending lesbian night for all the wrong reasons. Laura From Work had asked David if we were “a couple” and he had answered a resounding “NO!” but hadn’t actually clarified our straightness by displaying his chest hair, burping, and crushing a beer can on his forehead. He’d only said he was an old friend and went back to sipping his dainty, little crantini.
But all’s well that ends well. FWIW I did go meet up with Seng-hee for the now-friends-only coffee date, because we were both trying to be good sports about the mix-up, we had a lot in common, and were both new to the city. We played squash a few times (not a euphemism, the actual racket sport, so get your mind out of the gutter), but he was really, really good and I was “meh”, so it wasn’t any fun for either of us.
And technically, Laura From Work was right about the “Korean hottie” stuff. He was a buff dude who kind of looked like a tall muscular B.D. Wong with awesome hair. Girls would sit on the bench behind the squash courts (glass wall) to watch him play, but totally ignored me! :mad:
This is the best thread on the Dope.
Reading all these makes me feel less bad about my own terrible dates. Keep 'em coming!
Hense the I know the “rude New Yorker” is a stereotype, but it is a prevalent stereotype, so I figured it was obvious I was riffing on the “New Yorker stereotype”
I am SO grateful right now that Mrs. Chef thought I was worth marrying all those years ago, and now I don’t ever have to go on another first date again my whole life.
And we met when I was 12 and she was 13 at a dance at my military school, and just gradually became a couple without ever going on a capital-D Date of the get-to-know-you variety, so I never even had a first date with HER.
The closest I can offer happened during the six months when I got to college, lost my mind, and broke up with her because my fraternity brothers gave me astoundingly bad advice when we were all drunk. The fraternity had an annual party on a … well, can I still call it a “riverboat” if it was on a lake? What the hell, it was a riverboat. I invited this girl to be my date because I heard she was easy. She accepted because she was attracted to one of my pledge brothers and wanted to get on the boat so she could ditch me and chase him.
One could argue that I sort of deserved it, since I hadn’t asked her out of ANY interest in her as a person, but I felt pretty mistreated. I spent the whole time on the boat pounding down Southern Comfort at way too rapid a pace, then went upstairs and sat facing a bulkhead to keep any visible movement out of my field of vision in a vain attempt to stave off vomiting.
Finally I knew it was no use, so I went to the back of the boat and stared at the churning, roiling wake. This sent me over the Puke Event Horizon within seconds, and as I began to return all that Southern Comfort to the wild, I realized soddenly that I was on the UPPER deck of this boat. And that people were hanging over the rail on the LOWER deck. Not cool, Brother Cheffie!
The lake was maybe an hour’s drive from where the frat house was, and I was NOT going to let this girl get back in my car. If she liked my pledge brother so goddamned much, she could damn well beg him and HIS date for a ride back to town, I decided in my magnificently wounded outrage. (Others prevailed on me not to ditch her; the outrage eventually yielded to my basically not-assholish nature, and I let her get in the car. I did not speak a word to her the whole way, though.)
Not long after that, I humbly crawled back to the future Mrs. Chef, who had (with a wisdom greater than mine which she retains to this day) realized that I would eventually come to my senses and decided to just outwait me. I still don’t know how I got so lucky, but I’m not screwing up again – she gets nightly footrubs.
After playing at a convention I was having a drink in the hotel bar and a guy who had been in the audience during my concert came up and started talking to me.
We wound up hanging out and talking so much that we closed the bar and as he put me in a cab he asked me out the next night.
I met him as scheduled and we had a drink at a little place and dinner down the street somewhere else. It all seemed very nice except that he got quieter and quieter and seemed less involved and was withdrawing from me. I couldn’t figure out why but it did become obvious the evening would soon be over.
So we step outside and he’s putting me in another cab. And as the cab door closes he says to me in a somewhat peeved tone of voice, “You’re not as exciting in real life as you are on stage.”
Rita Hayworth said, “Men fall in love with Gilda, but they wake up with me.” I never dreamed I’d know exactly where she was coming from. (Put the blame on Mame, boys.)