“and then i pulled out my derringer and shot him.”
(that’s how I’m ending it in my mind - what a cad he was!)
That would make you more interesting, I bet! But I have a feeling you’re plenty interesting enough without having to shoot jerks, Tuba. I mean, you’re on the SDMB, right?! hehe
OK, this ROFLMAO story I just received in a newsletter takes the absolute cake.
Would win this thread so hard we’d all end up knocked into last year.
Oh. My. God. [Not inherently NSFW, but some extremely Rabelaisian MS Paint pictures, subject and language!!!]
That is not only so wrong and sad, but in a sick way, pretty funny!
I’d say that the pictures are pretty much NSFW but they do add a certain something to the narrative.
Even though it’s probably not true, I still laughed 'till I cried. Literally.
Thank you.
I will just link to an old post.
(It’s not a really bad date without high-velocity pooping, IMHO.)
Piss bottles? Won’t poo in a public toilet? Got what he deserved. Actually, deserved worse than he got.
My story… the date itself wasn’t horrible, but the other events kinda make it “special”.
I volunteered to judge a science fair. Gave up a Saturday to help some kids. While there, met a couple of women from the college education program.
After the event I received an email from one of the ladies, it was a bit excited and gushing, but not in a creepy way. I had to guess which one it was, but from the description was reasonably sure who it was. Wasn’t necessarily on my hot list, but I figured I could go on 1 date, it wouldn’t hurt me. So I replied, and we set up a date for the following weekend. She lived over an hour away from me.
I pick up a cold, but decide to go through with the date and see what happens. After driving to an area of town I wasn’t familiar and reaching the restaurant, she shows up.
Everything is going smoothly, or at least as smoothly as they ever do for me, and we’re chatting casually on the “get to know you stuff”, so I mention I read science fiction books. Then she comments that she collects unicorns. Okay, fantasy, kinda sorta related I guess, trying to make a connection. Then she mentions this one picture she got that she got rid of “because it was Satanic”. It was a black unicorn with fiery hooves or something. That triggered my caution flag. She brought it up, so religion surfaced, so I began to explain about being a secular humanist. She was listening all intently and not freaking out, so I thought she was okay with it.
We had talked about going to a movie, but I didn’t feel like sitting in the dark for 2 hours ignoring each other, so we went to a nearby mall and wandered around continuing the conversation. Finally I begged off with my cold and took her back to her car. It was the end of the night, I was legitimately a bit sick, and I wasn’t feeling any sparks. And given the comments about the unicorn and such, I didn’t think we were on the same page. So I said goodnight.
She said I could kiss her goodnight. In retrospect, I should have kissed her, it wouldn’t have hurt me any and I think not kissing her really did hurt her feelings. But I wasn’t thinking about that, so I passed by virtue of being sick. She got out of the car.
After driving home, I was trying to figure out something to say to let her know I wasn’t interested, but I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. (Oops, too late.) Anyway, I struggled for a couple of days, and finally sent her an email saying that I just didn’t think we were suited for each other.
She sent me a reply saying she agreed, and that there was no way she would want to be with a “SATAN WORSHIPPER”. Blah blah blah pray for me blah blah blah. That was the odd part. Here I was trying to find a way to keep from hurting her feelings and then she goes and slams me as hard as she could. It broke all my tension, I laughed it off, and felt better. And quietly wished her well.
So here’s my version of the worst first date that never happened.
I’m out drinking at the bars on High Street during the period I was ostensibly attending OSU. Late 70’s. I was well into the intoxicated zone when I spotted a young woman who I had to get to know. Details are fuzzy at best, but I ended up with her phone number, which I called a couple of days later when the damage was mitigated.
Someone answered the telephone after a couple of rings, “Good afternoon, Columbus Alcoholics Anonymous.” I hung up & never found her again. . .
You gotta admit…that was a good one on her part 
Forgive me if this is slightly off-topic. The story I am about to relate wasn’t really a first date; in fact it wasn’t a date at all-- but I think it is nonetheless germane to this thread.
I don’t recall the circumstances, but an acquaintance from high school got in touch with me somewhere around 10-15 years after we had graduated. He and I were never really close, but we used to wait for the bus together after school, partially for mutual protection from older kids.
At any rate, he contacted me and invited me to his home for dinner. When I got there, his wife, whom I had not previously met, answered the door-- topless. My friend explained that she preferred to (un-)dress that way at home, and he hoped I didn’t mind; IIRC my friend was dressed in a robe or smoking jacket or something very “Hef-at-home-at the-Mansion” like that.
I went with the flow. I suppose that some folks would see this as an opportunity-- but I should mention that the lady serving dinner was about 50 lbs. overweight, with boobs that threatened to plop themselves into the soup bowls.
After dinner, we adjourned to the conversation pit/playpen/aggregation of roughly cubical pieces of marshmallow-like poofy furniture on wheels. Wifey then began to give my friend a massage, complete with baby powder; he then invited me to strip so that she could give me the same treatment. It so happens that I usually don’t like being massaged, wasn’t at all interested in his wife doing so, and hate the smell and feel of baby powder. I managed to make some sort of lame excuse and bailed ASAP.
What kind of monster are you? No, I’m being facetious. Been there. AWKWARD.
THIS
The Date That Never Happened
I had already been working at my current place of employment for a couple of months when they brought a group of new people onto the floor to listen to our calls and get a better handle on how it works. One of them was J. A lot closer to my age than all the kids they hire.
A couple of months later, she’s on my team, and we talk at least once a day for one reason or another, both of us generally finding some excuse for at least a few words each day. Another gal on the team asked me about her, and within what should have been earshot of J, I admitted that I liked her. The other gal asked me (loudly) when I was going to ask J out.
Didn’t seem to put J out any. We started having lunch together a couple of times a week in the cafeteria.
After about a month of that, I asked J out. She said yes, but she was very busy (single mother, working full time, going to school nights) and would have to check her schedule.
Never spoke to me again.
Started avoiding me like the plague. Walking the long way around to go to the restroom at the far end of the building rather than walking past me to the close one. Staying late so she wouldn’t be leaving at the same time, going to lunch very late, etc.
A couple of weeks later, she got transfered to another unit down the floor, that paid a dollar an hour less, “so she can concentrate on her work” they said. I asked our boss if any of it involved me, but he declined to say anything. I told him the story, and said that if there were any complaints about me, I deserved to know, because I didn’t want anything coming back to haunt me later that I hadn’t been told about. He said I never came up.
Never heard from her or anyone else what the deal was. To this day, roughly 8 months later, she has never said another word to me.
Interestingly, this week the guy next to me ran a “lifetime of the call center” report of all the agents we’ve ever had and where we stand in the rankings. I’m in the top 10% of all agents. She’s in the bottom 1%. I only noticed that because he paged down to the bottom of the list, where she ranked just below two guys on my current team.
Can never help but think that I dodged a bullet there.
This was Threadspotted!
I met him on a phone line. He acted like he was so suave, not that i liked that. he was so taken with me because I was innocent.
I had him come over and meet me first, then he said he’d come take me out that Friday.
He comes in, meets the parents, we get in the car, he says “My plan is to park in my garage (he lived with his mother, he was 32) and have sex. If I got pregnant, it was all my problem, i want nothing to do with it.”
For real. At least he was honest.
I foudn him totally unattractive and said, “um…lets go out to eat.”
So he took me to a burger joint at the mall, we ate, and he dropped me off at 10.
Lord.
Oh, Christ, I just remembered someone I met back in 2002. He invited me up to his cottage – should have realized this was a giant honking mistake-in-progress, but I was 21. (This becomes relevant later.)
First, he turns out to be incredibly dull. Then the cottage turns out to be under construction. Then he ignores me for most of the time we are there in favour of talking with the various neighbours. Finally at one point my age somehow comes up in conversation, and he freaks out at me and claims I had previously lied about my age, which is not true – I have never in my life lied about my age and have no reason to. Bizarrely, he had lied about his age – he had told me before he was in his early twenties, and later he turned out to be 30.
Eventually I asked him to take me back to the city. He refused, so I threw the mother of all temper tantrums and he hurriedly agreed, thank gods. That was a bad situation all around.
Also, this wasn’t a date, it was going-out-for-coffee, but of a sort that could have led to something else – except that he pulled out his cellphone, phoned a friend, and calmly set up a subsequent engagement in front of me. Rarely have I felt so insulted.
Nuni!
I went on a simply awful date last year.
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He stared at me while I talked, and basically gave me no information about himself. It became me talking about myself and becoming increasingly uncomfortable, and him… staring. I don’t know if he usually dates dumb girls who just like to yammer on about themselves, but it was incredibly creepy and borderline threatening the way he stared.
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Then, he did talk… to tell me he was married, but was “getting a divorce.” He told me to keep it quiet, saying “not many people know.” Um, does your wife know?
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The guy insisted on paying. I know, some girls like this kind of thing, but you look like a pushy jerk if you “insist”. I firmly said “No, thanks.” End of discussion.
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I was not being particularly warm to him, but he insisted upon walking me to my door. That was fine and dandy in 1950, or with normal people, but if you’ve been a huge creeper for the whole date, it just makes me feel like you’re going to try to follow me in and kill me. He tongue-f&^$ed my mouth, and I made a quick break. I said goodnight, and he said “can I come up to use your computer?” EEEEK!
If a man can’t read when a woman is uncomfortable at dinner, we wonder if he will respond well to “no” signals elsewhere. Yikes. Ever since then, I only go on first dates in coffee shops where we meet up to chat. Creepy dudes should not know where I live.
This was not a bad date in the sense that my date was at fault in any way (she could not have been more lovely or delightful), nor do I advocate humor at the expense of other people’s physical challenges (I would not post this here, if she, weeks later when I explained the situation to her, did not see the humor and laugh). It was a bad date in so far as I placed myself in a very awkward situation and let my motor mouth go into automatic pilot.
Years ago, when I was still a poor graduate student, lacking money, time and taste for the finer things in life, I felt, with a little shuffling here and there, I could still manage to fit a little female companionship into my schedule. To expedite the process of finding a girlfriend and not disturb my otherwise busy agenda, I proceeded by way of a respectable “man seeks woman” personals ad campaign, pre-internet style.
After much deliberation, I decided to pursue one of the dozen or so responses I received—let’s call her, Lolly. On paper, we seemed to share a lot of interests, goals and similar senses of humor (always an important feature for me). We spoke on the phone a couple of times before I asked her out to dinner. She mentioned liking seafood, so I suggested Red Lobster (remember my lack of money and good taste in those days) as our fine eating establishment destination. “I don’t know about you, but I plan on chowing down on a juicy lobster tonight”, I quipped. I don’t recall hearing a response to that declaration,however.
I arrive at the front door of my blind date’s house and ring the bell. Moments later, the door unlatches and begins to open…slowly, a little too slowly. She just wants to make sure I don’t look like an ax murderer before committing to a full open door, I suppose. As the door continues its swing inward, I see, for the first time, the face of my date for the first time as it tilts into the open. It’s…magnificent! A finely featured beauty to behold, certainly better than I expected, or probably deserved. But, what’s that expression I behold on that face that could launch a thousand ships? Disgust (damn, did I forget to zip up my fly)? No. Disappointment (maybe you’re not the God’s gift to women you thought you were, Tibbs)? No. It was, hmm, a look of nervous apprehension. Yes, that is most assuredly what it is—but, why?
“Tibby, before we go out, there’s something I need to tell you. And, if you wish not to go out afterward, I completely understand—I should have told you before now.”
*She used to be a man. She’s got leprosy. She’s a homicidal maniac. She’s a transsexual leper who compulsively kills her blind dates. Don’t let your imagination go wild, Tibbs, and for gosh sakes, don’t faint, that could be interpreted as a something less than a manly act. *I force out, “sure, Lolly, I can’t imagine my not wanting to take you out, but please, tell me what’s on your mind.” The screen door opens and Lolly walks out onto the porch (except it’s more of an antalgic shuffle than a normal gait, I observe). She’s holding her hands behind her back. *What’s she holding back there, a gift for me? A restraining order? A bloodied butcher knife? *
“I have a congenital condition called ectrodactyly, which affects my hands and feet.” She slowly brings her hands from behind her back into my full view, then shrugs. “I’ve learned to live with it and I’m actually ok about it…but a lot of people I meet aren’t, and I understand that.” Before my eyes are a pair of clawed hands.
I’m typically a calm cool and collected type of guy. And being in the medical field, I don’t shock easily, particularly with regard to things of a biological nature. And, I actually wasn’t shocked by what I was seeing, not in the least. No I was shocked by something I inadvertently said to her earlier, ("…I plan on chowing down on a juicy lobster tonight”) …and, fear of the series of faux pas that would surely come from my mouth later in the evening due to my propensity for sliding down the slippery snowballing slope of saying just the wrong thing when I’m embarrassed. ("…I plan on chowing down on a juicy lobster tonight”).
Sometimes too much knowledge can get you into trouble, and this was one of those times. I knew all about ectrodactyly, it was one of the many rare congenital malformations recently covered in one of my courses. Some things get planted firmly in one’s mind, like the fact that ectrodactyly is commonly referred to as Lobster-Claw Syndrome. (“Let’s go to Red Lobster”…”I plan on chowing down on a juicy lobster tonight” crap!). It’s going to be a bumpy night.
I ordered flounder; Lolly ordered, yes, you guessed correctly, lobster (was she having some fun at my expense, or did she simply like shell fish?) This was back in the days when smoking was allowed in restaurants and Lolly was a smoker (a less than half-pack a day smoker, to her credit). She was remarkably adept at handling silverware (even the shell crackers, I later witnessed), but she needed my assistance in flicking her Bic to ignite her cigarette. As I did so, she reached and steadied my hand with her claws just as the waitress set down her plated lobster.
The waitress obviously didn’t notice Lolly’s deformity until just that moment, as I noticed her eyes widen to inhuman proportions. And, for some reason, this struck me as funny—something along the lines of, placing a lobster in front of what appeared to be a lobster lady who was snipping off her dates fingers as he tries to cook her over an open flame. I tried very hard to suppress the inappropriate laughter that was ascending quickly up my trachea, but I was, of course, profoundly unsuccessful. Yes, I’m quite sure all the customers turned to see what all this laughter was about, compounding the embarrassment factor logarithmically. I lied to Lolly and told her I was thinking about something funny that happened to me earlier in the day, but we both know she wasn’t buying it. She shrugged and simply gave an exasperated half-hearted Mona Lisa smile.
I don’t recall the exact conversation that followed that floodgate of embarrassment, as I tried to recover some semblance of dignity and non-jerkedness back into the evening, but I’m pretty sure my auto-piloted verbal diarrhea included the following inappropriate words and phrases: boiling mad, red faced, snip, snap, snip-snap, crabs, pinchers, chitin, shellfish, Maine, invertebrate, exoskeleton, molting, swimmerets, spermatophore, antennae…and more.
We got past that awkward first date and continued on for awhile as a couple (she forgave my initial nervousness and even my poor taste in restaurants). We had sex like a couple of randy crustaceans—although I was careful not to get that certain part of a male anatomy within her snipping distance.
Life intervened and we eventually drifted (no pun intended) apart. However, the memory that sticks most closely in my mind regarding that relationship, is our time together following a particularly romantic day at the beach, when we retired to the beach club for a dip in the hot tub. As the sun was setting and we relaxed in the steaming, bubbling water, I’ll never forget how attractive Lolly looked at that moment: skin slightly reddened from the sun and glistening from the coating of lemon scented tanning butter. She really looked good enough to eat.