“I’ve been sleeping with your roommate for the past two months.”
A few weeks later, she said to my (ex-)roommate: “I’m pregnant.” That was some SWEET Karma. 
“I can talk to you very easily. The pretty girls make me too nervous to talk, but you, I can talk to.”
Thanks. Now stop talking, asshole.
I was maybe 14 at the time and walking down the street. Now, even in my younger, slender days I had a magnificent and disproportionate ass. At 14, I had also not developed a counterbalancing top half, but whatever. So this older guy starts talking to me, hitting on me. Older as in perhaps 20. I was a: somewhat flattered and b: entirely clueless as to how to get him to go away. We chatted for a while before he came out with: “You know, you’d be really hot if your ass were smaller.”
Suave.
A little over a year ago, I ran into a guy I’d gone out on a couple of dates with in high school, and after a couple of minutes of polite conversation, he said “Damn, you got fat.” I responded (with a smile on my face!) that I realized that, but since he’d gotten fat and bald, I still win. And then I spent the rest of the day trying to remember if I’d maybe fucked his best friend or something. Because really, who says something like that? Some people have no home training.
I also remember a guy telling me I’d have really pretty eyes, if they were blue. Um, thanks?
I met a pretty cute gal, and we decided to go out for some drinks. We went by my buddies house, had a couple beers, then went by her friends house for a couple beers, and ended up at the closest thing Santa Fe had to a night club, which has since closed. I bought a couple rounds of drinks, and we started dancing.
We went back to our table, and she said, “You know, I’m not really attracted to you, and my friend is here, so you can just leave whenever.”
I started walking home since I was way too trashed to be driving at this point, and on the way, I got hit by a car. 
My knee still hurts after rugby games, and that was 10 months ago.
It was Halloween. I suggested to my voluptuous, perky, flirtatious, mentally unstable hosebeast-in-training girlfriend at the time that we meet up at her place and dress like gangsters. (Both male, as she had no gun-moll type clothing and neither did I.)
She got a little too into it as she began enthusing about the idea of drawing a mustache on herself. An uneasy development, as I had hoped to use the dressing-up-and-undressing-afterwards routine as a nice segue into sex, and here she was wanting to really look like a man.
I said, “Hey, c’mon, you don’t really want a mustache, do you?” Whereupon she came back with: “Oh god, I knew it. You’re anxious about being gay.”
Which we’d never even discussed. Helloooooo??? (Sure, I’m anxious about women, but it’s got about zilch to do with gay.)
Honey, if you’re hot to trot, why go there? That was such a buzzkill.
(It was just as well, though. As I said, she was mentally unstable and a hosebeast-in-training. If I’d’a tapped that, who knows where I’d be now.)
After extolling my virtues as one of the best three lays he’d ever had: “The best sex I’ve ever had has been with ugly chicks!”
About a minute later, when he heard me breathe and realized that I hadn’t yet hung up on him: “…and you!”
I will never let him live that down. Ever.
While I was busy being a poor grad student, this guy tried to sell me magazine subscriptions to finance his college education. (Or so he said.) I was much politer back then, and so agreed to listen to his routine even though I had already explained that I didn’t want a subscription. He flipped his laminated card to the pink-highlighted side and asked,
“Do you like Cosmo?”
“No.”
“Elle?”
“No.”
“Style?”
“No.”
“Madmoiselle?”
“No.”
“People?”
“No.”
He looked at me a moment, and flipped the card over to show the blue side.
“Do you like Fortune?”
“Yes.”
“Time?”
“Yes.”
“US News?”
“Yes.”
“Business Week?”
“Yes.”
Then he moved in for the kill.
“Do you like girls?”
Smooth, friend. Smooth.
Not to me, but in my fifth grade class there was a boy who was exited about his mom having had a baby girl. Then a few days later he was sitting at his desk downcast and muttered “my baby sister died last night.”
Without missing a beat, the little girl next to him said “well, after taking one look at your ugly face I’m not surprised.”
Sometimes I think Edward Gorey had a better understanding of children than did, say, Mr. Rogers.
You didn’t say that last part, right? I mean, the guy’s got enough trouble being blind and all.
On seeing what was, at the time, my favorite picture of myself, my soon-to-be ex said, “Huh. No wonder you didn’t date in college. You looked like a lesbian.”
Geez. Way back in junior high my usual tormenter, while the class was talking about future careers, said to me, “You probably want to be a prostitute, but you’d go broke!”
My first boyfriend: “Last night I had a dream about you. Well, it was you if you’d been going to a gym for two years…”
There’s probably more. I probably just blocked it out. I think the most hurtful was reading in my husband-at-the-time’s journal about the only woman he had ever loved…and it wasn’t me. Hey dude, I wasn’t pregnant, you didn’t have to marry me.
I guess it’s just me because no one else questioned this, but why is this a nasty thing?
It kinda sounds like she was flirting with you and her friend told her to stop flirting. Other than that, I don’t get the meaning. In other contexts I’ve seen it (on TV), it’s been like a pick-up line.
I think the girl implied that the poster was stalking her, which not considered a good thing.
actually, it sounds like she implied he was stalking her, was I think the the point…
I was once making some joke about how I was ridiculously popular and hot, totally offhand, with one of the most sarcastic voices I could muster, and it related to the conversation at hand about popularity. Out of nowhere a girl I’d talked to maybe 3 times turns around to me and just goes off.
“You aren’t that great, you think you’re all that and everybody loves you, well they don’t! You’re not even that hot, and you aren’t the most popular person here!” She actually manages to continue in this vein for almost a full 2 minute long tirade.
At this point I just look at her (she was ugly as sin and telling me all this too), and go “great!” in the most cheerful voice, and turn back around to my conversation which had stopped to stare at the spectacle.
Easy question. It was:
Go fuck a tree!
Oooh. Thanks. I guess I understand. But if you’re on a college campus, wouldn’t it be likely to run into people often? That’s like going to work every day and running into someone in the next building often and have them implying you’re stalking them. So I guess I would have written that girl off as a dolt.
So I can’t think of any nasty things people have said to me, but I probably wrote them off as dolts.
While I’m not sure if it was that or a generalized sentiment of “I hate seeing you,” it was definitely not flirting. All about the tone ya know.
“You have werewolf sideburns.”
Yeah, that guy didn’t last long.
Driving home from work this last March, I called my husband to ask what time dinner reservations were…it’s his 37th and I want to change clothes first.
Me: I’m going to look hot!
Him: I’ll be the judge of that.
I didn’t change.