A really cute girl I had known in a class a few months earlier called me out of the blue and invited me out for coffee, saying she’d meet me at a certain corner. Was very pleased at the invite and met her there. Before we went out, though, she said she needed to stop by her office, and could I come along? So I went along, and once we were inside she sat me down for one of her coworkers to do an hour long, one-on-one Amway-clone multilevel marketing presentation. Did my best to be polite, and at the end (and still clueless) I turned to her and said, “OK, now are you ready to go?” She responded, “oh, sorry, I have stuff I have to do here, let’s do it another time.”
I have to admit, I went on a date with a guy who told me he was “a nudist” and then proved it by stripping down and sitting on his towel covered chair, smoking his hand-rolled cigarettes in his raggedy double-wide trailer.
Of course, back when I re-entered the dating pool, and was dating quite a few winners, I would give each of them nicknames. This made it easier for my bff to keep up with who I was talking about.
These nicknames included: Bra Boy, Nude Dude (see above), Reek Geek, Taxi Man, Old Guy, Fallen Preacher, Rock Star, etc. . .
This guy asked me out. I was maybe 16 and he was in his 20s. He was working in a bank and I went in, he thought I was pretty and he got my phone number from my account. Looking back, this is creepy, but at the time I was flattered an older guy was interested.
It was totally obvious from the beginning that we had nothing in common and he was looking for some ass, which I was not interested in providing. I kept making up excuses for why I had to leave earlier and earlier.
I remembered a school study section the next morning, then remembered I’d promised to have a very early breakfast with a friend, then finally remembered my grandmother would be called later that night so I better go home RIGHT NOW!
I went home and was glad that I never heard from him again.
I’m not proud of this one though it’s not spectacularily bad.
I met a girl at my local hash group and after seeing each other a few times decided to go out on a date. In fact, we were getting fairly frisky at the bar that night (could have been the beer) and kissed at her car because I was all gentleman-like and walked her to it.
So I met her in her town at a local bar and we shared a pitcher or so of beer and had some dinner. at some point, we decided to head back to her place. Somehow, I had too much and I’m not sure how because I’m not a raging alcoholic or anything and I thought that I was able to watch how much I drank in social situations but this night my judgement on how much I drank may have been a little off (could have been the beer).
I wound up passing out on her couch while listening to music with her saying something to the effect of “Gosh (grrrr), Intergalactic Gladiator, I sure wish you weren’t passed out on my couch.” Eventually I came to enough when her mom came home and she chased me out the back door before mom came in the front.
I made it home OK and I saw her a few times since, but we never went on another date or anything. I felt bad about my behavior, but a hasher gets one free pass right?
Well, I do admit to a little creative license on the hot tub scenario (I’m not even sure if they make a lemon-scented tanning butter), but, otherwise, all true to the best of my recollection ~20 years later. Did I mention she gave me a bad case of the crabs? (I kid).
Heh just popped in to say I loved your story; I had to muffle my guffaws. Though I may take it with a little grain of salt. Or at least, a grain of salted butter.
I was wandering through an upscale shopping mall one time, just window shopping, when a man struck up a conversation with me, about something I was looking at. We chatting for a little while, and he asked me out for drinks the next week. I agreed, and we traded phone numbers.
We talked a few dates later and picked a bar. We meet and order a drink each, which he pays for. The conversation turns to dinner, we agree on a restaurant, and he offers to drive us both there. Being a little cautious still, I tell him I will meet him there, but I would like to drive myself over. Whoa Nelly, that was apparently THE WRONG THING to say. All of a sudden he goes off about how if he had been the white boy next door (he looked Indian/Pakistani to me, I never asked) I would jump in the car with him/have sex/be his sex slave blah blah blah. (Ok, I over stated that a bit, but you get the picture). He just kept harping on his race and accusing me of being a bigot. (So I agreed to a date why?) After I picked my jaw up off the floor, I glared at him, grabbed my purse and headed for the door and my car.
His car was apparently closer then mine. By the time I got to the parking lot, he was pulled up on the road between the lot and my car, waiting for me to walk by. He rolled down the passengers side window, started swearing at me and told me I owed him for the drink he had paid for. I took $5 out of my wallet (it was the '80, $5 more then covered it) and tossed it in the window, hoping he would go away. As I was looking down to put my wallet back in my purse, he got out of the car, ran around the car, slugged me in the arm and headed back to the drivers side. I got out of there as fast as possible.
Then the idiot started calling me at home, telling me that I could prove I wasn’t a bigot, by going out with him. “I owed him.” That went on for a couple of weeks. Several months later, I saw him on the TV news. He had been arrested and charged with assault. Apparently he had trouble translating what “hitting on” a date meant.
