Worst, most Awesome Date EVER.

In My Humble Opinion
41

I was living in Dallas and I got to flirting with this guy in a bar. Now I should mention, while I lived in Texas I had a horrible social life with regard to guys and all my girlfriends were married except the evil girl I’d gone to the bar with. I had some kind of contact lens issue so I was wearing my glasses except, for the purposes of flirting in the bar, I was not wearing my glasses. So this guy looked good, and the idea of having a date and maybe other dates after that was really attractive.

So, he looked good. And he sounded awesome. Great voice. Mmmm. And he was kind of a celebrity, he had the morning show on a Dallas station (as well he should, with that voice). So we hooked up and left the bar together, heading for his place.

He might have been good looking and he might have sounded like warm chocolate but he was one lousy driver. I hate it when other people’s driving makes me scream. It also occurred to me, based on his driving, that he was pretty drunk, although in Texas at that time I don’t believe drunk driving was a crime unless you killed somebody. And even then, you had an excuse.

So we were heading for the freeway when suddenly he pulled over, jumped out of the car, went over to the side of the road and threw up. A lot. Definitely drunk.

At that point I took over. I took the keys, put my glasses on (because I’m not such a fool as to try to drive without them), and got us really good and lost. With my glasses on he didn’t look so great. Plus I had to pull over one more time to let him throw up some more, which made him look really unattractive. So when I finally figured out where I was, I took him back to the bar. I refused to give him his keys because I was afraid he’d try to drive and kill himself. I made him give me money to take a cab back to my place, because my evil friend had left the bar with somebody else. I gave his keys to the bartender, hopped in the cab, told him I’d call him the next day, and left him in the bar. Never called him. (He was probably relieved.)

This wasn’t even my worst date, although maybe it was his worst date.

And if you think my dates are bad, you should hear about my camping trips.

42

I gatecrashed the filming of that. I was in Dublin city centre one night, and wanted to get from D’Olier Street to Parliament Street. The most direct route is thru’ Temple Bar, the transition of which was interrupted by a solitary Garda, (Irish policeman) stopping everyone. When asked the reason for his presence, he said Tom Cruise was filming a movie down there. I, (having done my fair share of cognac imbibing after dinner) , imperiously announced that this was a republic and it wasn’t Tom Cruise’s street, and walked straight down. I was shortly greeted with frenzied screams of “WHO’S THE GUY IN THE TUX”, “CUT”, “IT’S RUINED”, “STAND DOWN”. Possibly the Garda had a point after all. But what the hell, this IS a republic, and Tom Cruise didn’t own the street.

On the OP : - I suppose the girl who dragged me around the worst parts of Dublin trying to make contact with her drug dealers, then passed out comatose when she got her hit. 15 minutes later she was still totally non-responsive, and I brought her to a casualty department. I remember thinking as I was driving her there that I’d remember this night for the rest of my life.

As it turns out, she was okay, and rang me 3 days later to arrange another date. She being possibly the most beautiful female currently walking the planet ,(apart from my wife, of course), I said yes. Such is the male condition.

43

(bolding mine) Ahhh yes, that particular part of the male condition is singularly the most pathetic and predictable part of being male. Even at 45 years of age, I still find my hard-wired DNA instincts persuading me to talk to pretty young things, even though there’s some gorgeous 35 year old female architect over yonder who clearly wants to have a relationship with me. I’m pretty lucky, I’ve maintained very good athletic fitness over the years - along with a low body fat percentage - so the pretty young things often make a point of talking to me too, but sooner or later, the 20 year age disconnect rears it’s ugly head every time. As I like to joke, clearly I’m not young enough to know everything yet! :smiley:

Just as moment of self deprecating humour attached to a 45 year old guy misinterpreting the signals of a pretty young thing amongst drinks at Christmas time, I found myself recently chatting to a very lovely young woman, and being a slight bit inebriated (I never get worse than that) I asked her if she’d ever been with an older guy? Cool as ice, she responded with “Not one as old as YOU!” Ouch! Crash and Burn!

Most of us who are pretty normal like to assess things as we get older. My theory is this… when you’re younger your hormones are raging and nature’s biolgical urges tempt us into hooking up with all sorts of folks we later regret, but in all sincerity, now that I’m the age I am, as I said to a lovely young lady a week ago “For me, nowadays, the single biggest aphrodisiac I know of is intimacy and companionship.” The young lady said she thought that was lovely and how wonderfully sweet I was. She then said “OK, gotta go now. Bye.”

I kept an eye out for her as the night unfolded and she was being chased by some of the most handsome young men in the club. And she left with one. I was happy to let that prove my theory.

44

Oh, getting back to the OP, I would like to offer the most awesome date I have YET to go out on - if that makes sense.

Over the past few months I’ve being going out often enough to my favourite bar to get to know a lot of the regulars - it’s quite an upmarket bar, no roughies.

There’s a brunette and blonde, both of them 5’10", both of them stunning, and totally inseparable. They never leave each other’s sides. I got to know them well enough to know their names “Heidi” and “Leah” respectively. They’re both about 22 years old I’d say. The other day I was in the supermarket near my office and I saw Leah buying a salad for lunch. She said Hi and told me she and Heidi worked just 40 yeards away in an Italian clothes boutique and that I should pop in to say hello. So I did. I explained that I worked just 100 yards away in an office building etc etc.

Out of the blue Heidi the brunette inquired “So, when are you going to take us out to dinner?” I thought to myself huh? Well, it could be worse I thought. Then they started taking turns talking…

Leah: Of course, if you take one of us out to dinner, you have to take both of us out to dinner!

Heidi: And if you find one of us attractive, you have to find both of us attractive!

Leah: And if you seduce one of us, you have to seduce both of us!

Me: Would you remind repeating everything you just said into my mobile phone so that I can play this conversation back to my friends? You’re winding me up, surely?

Both: Well that’s for you to find out, isn’t it?

45

Mal hereby offers two to one against that Boo Boo Foo does not, in fact, get to nail both of them at once. :stuck_out_tongue:

46

Mine is an incident that happened a long time ago, back after I had just turned 18 years old. It might be fun for you to count the big mistakes as you go along. A friend of mine worked at the Arthur Treacher’s (do they still exist) on a major street in Clearwater. He didn’t have a car, so I was up to pick him up after he got off work. It was a Saturday night and he had worked the day shift. As I was sitting there bored, the smell of stale fish grease soaking into my clothes, I noticed a girl with strawberry blonde hair walking down the street. She was wearing skin tight black spandex pants, which must have been awfully hot. This was not exactly the fashion at the time, but not totally out of place, either. She seemed decent looking, and I was bored, so I went out to chat her up.

She was amenable to my conversation, so I asked where she was going. She was just heading down the road a ways, but somewhere in the conversation I agreed to give her a ride to a hotel in the area, once my friend had finished up work. Rick finished and so we all climbed into the behemoth I was driving at the time (even a POS is a decent ride when you don’t have one yourself) and we took Rhonda up to check in at the Holiday Inn on US-19. She asked if we wanted to stay and party, but Rick had to get home, so I said I’d drop him off then maybe stop back for a drink after. We did stay around while she checked in, so I could get her room number. This was in the days before mobile phones, so that was the only way to get back in touch with her. The hotel didn’t want to give her a room without a driver’s license, so I let her use mine. Rick and I hopped in the car, I dropped him off, swung by my house to spruce up a bit, then back up to the Holiday Inn.

I didn’t even realize until that night that this particular Holiday Inn had a lounge, and it was quite the happening little place. I met up with Rhonda at her room, I think we might have had a drink (I seem to recall she had a bottle of something or other), then we headed down to the lounge. The entertainment for the evening was a lounge singer that did all of the standard schtick, but specialized in Sinatra and Elvis. Rhonda was big into Elvis, something I’d never encountered in someone roughly my own age. At the lounge we had a little table right on the dance floor. Rhonda was also big into Seven & Seven, which she proceeded to pound. She loved the show, and soon struck up a conversation with a couple I’ll call Russ and Kim. Russ was a big, burly guy, probably in his early to mid thirties. His wife Kim was a tiny thing, very petite, and a bit younger than Russ, maybe in her late 20s. They’d come out to the lounge to have some fun, drink and dance.

I was getting a bit nervous about all of the drinks Rhonda was pounding, but as she seemed to be more fun talking with Russ and Kim, I just let it slide and planned my escape. But before I knew it the show was over and we were all walking out to the parking lot. Rhonda was faced, but did recall that the hotel had a pool somewhere on the premises and we should all have some fun and go skinny dipping. By this point Kim and I had sort of struck up a conversation, and I thought what the hell, and we went to find the pool. This hotel was kind of big, I think it’s gone now, but it took a while to track down the pool, what with the drunkenness and the talking. It was after midnight, but probably still not 2 am. The pool was actually indoors, which was good, because even though this is Florida it was getting a bit chilly out.

(To be continued)

47

Ah! You’re killin’ me!

48

Imagine our surprise to find three people, a couple of guys and a woman already skinny dipping in the pool. We went in and asked if they’d mind if we joined them. Everybody got naked and there was lots of flirting, but nothing more serious at first. Russ and Rhonda drifted off to frolic with the threesome that proceeded us, while Kim and I became better acquainted in the shallow end of the pool.

Now, I lost most of my youthful innocence around 15-17 years old, but I could still be fairly naïve at times. It didn’t occur to me fully, until probably after the night was done, that Russ and Kim embraced a more open, “swinging” lifestyle than what I’d be previously exposed to. Kim was cute, and more my type than Rhonda. She kissed me and started to stroke my leg. I asked her if this was okay with her husband at the other end of the pool. She said not to worry, it seemed he was having a pretty good time.

That’s when all hell broke loose. But not like I expected. Somehow, and I have no idea why, but Rhonda and the other mystery woman (who was a bit of a hottie) got into a sudden screaming match, which quickly devolved into a catfight. The two guys and Russ pulled them apart. Talk about your rotten timing… kind of embarrassing to have to jump out of the pool in my “state”. But I quickly pulled on my jeans and shirt over my wet body, slipped on my shoes and the four of us, me helping Russ to restrain Rhonda, beat an exit from the pool area. Rhonda was cursing up a blue streak, begging us to let her go so that she could get back inside and “kick that bitch’s ass!”

Finally it seemed that she had calmed down. Russ and I talked to her and asked her if she was okay. She asked us to let her go. Not if she was going to cause trouble. She promised to be good so we carefully let her go, so that she could put her clothes back on. She immediately lunged for the door, only to find it had been locked from the inside. The exterior side with the door was all glass, so we could see a similar but not as frantic scene going on inside, through the fogged windows. We tried to grab hold of her again, but her fury had returned, and we were all a bit wet and slippery. She spun out of our grasp, and to my amazement, spun around and kicked the glass like something out of a Bruce Lee movie. I was surprised to see the glass shatter, and watched in horror as her bare leg came down on the jagged glass below where she’d kicked, and blood began to pump out in large quantities. She screamed and flung herself back on the grass.

(to be continued)

49

I pulled off my shirt, wrapped it around her leg, and then used the muscle in my bicep to stop the flow of blood. Russ and Kim were totally freaked and sort of running around us. I have no idea what became of the folks inside the pool area. I told Russ that he need to get some help, and he ran along the outside of the hotel rooms, shouting for help. It was quickly apparent that either because it was low season and those rooms were not let for the night, or because no one wants to open the doors to hollering bear late at night, no help was forthcoming. I instructed them to get to the front office, call an ambulance, and bring back some blankets.

It seemed like forever before the paramedics arrived, but it was probably less than an hour. My arm was aching from applying direct pressure, and I was shivering cold, with no shirt and temperature really dipping down, my hair and jeans still wet. I am telling Rhonda anything and everything to keep her alert and from slipping into shock. She is hurt, cold, scared and still crazy drunk. She begs us not to leave her. We promise not to. The paramedics come and start to tend to her. She asks that I hold her hand, and I do. Finally, after another half hour to an hour, they get ready to load her up in the ambulance. They tell us (Russ and Kim are still there) that we can follow in our own vehicles. Rhonda starts to holler, saying she’s sure she’s going to die, and she wants me in the back with her. The emergency workers concede and I ride in the back with her so that she’ll stay calm. The ride is not a long one and I don’t recall any sirens or anything going in. Russ and Kim agree to drive my car and meet me at the small community hospital where we go. From there Rhonda is off into surgery. I fill out what little information that I can so that she can be admitted, although it was just her first and last name with my mailing address at my parents’ house. She is wheeled off to surgery, and Russ and Kim and I shake our heads and say our goodbyes. I never see them again.

About 7 or 8 in the morning, I arrive back at my house. I still have my shirt, which was a white, terrycloth-ish shirt with a collar. It is now red. The front of my jeans are soaked, from my waist to my feet, in blood. I am exhausted. My mother is standing there when I open the door. I tell her that I am okay, that it’s not my blood, and I will explain when I wake up. I go into my room, pull off my jeans and go to sleep.

Epilogue

For a couple of years after that, I got bills from the hospital for tens of thousands of dollars. They were not addressed to me, but came to my address in Rhonda’s name. As far as I know the hospital never got paid. I got a bill for $125 from the Holiday Inn to replace the plate glass window. I wrote them a check for the window at my father’s insistence, although I did not feel personally responsible for that. It was a very large some of money for me at the time, almost 30 years ago. I probably made $4/hour at work, before taxes. I hope that windows around pools are now built with safety glass and not the dangerous crap that window was built from. I did see Rhonda, once as she got out of the hospital. She checked into a small rental room nearby for few weeks until her leg was better. She was from somewhere in Texas, although she allegedly had an uncle somewhere in this area.

50

Ok, honestly? I’m sitting here with bated breath :eek:

arghh…simulpost

51

After the ex and I split up I was testing the waters of dating again through the lovely world of blind dates. Big mistake. Here are two for your consideration:

  • In college I had a friend who I hung out with only on rare occasions - you know the one who you will go to the bar with if the rest of your friends are busy? After college I would run into her maybe once every six months or so - say hi, blah blah. We ran into each other maybe a year after I became single again. We chatted and the whole mess was discussed (she somewhat knew my ex through some other friends-of-friends). She stated she knew a guy who would be “perfect” for me. Eh, why not. She gave me his number and I called him. We has a nice chat, he lived near where I grew up, liked the same music as I did, was cool with the whole single mom thing, just seemed nice. We agreed to meet for lunch at a nearby restaurant.

Okay, I figured he was a little older than I was (I was 25 at the time) by his voice and some of his life experiences he told me about. When he pulled up I changed the “few years older” to maybe 15 years older than me. I was still a ways off. He was 53. In fact, I briefly dated his youngest son back in high school.

We ended up having a fairly decent lunch, discussing what his kids were doing, growing up in the old neighborhood. “May I see you again?” No thanks, too creepy.

  • Worst blind date for me overall: met a guy on a phone dating thing. Seemed kinda kooky, but I liked that. We spoke a few times, had lively conversations on numerous subjects. Agreed to meet for dinner at a Chili’s type place in his area. Asked how I would recognize him - he assured me I would know it when he arrived. So I’m at the table waiting for a tall, blonde haired, auto mechanic… and in walks a relatively short, dirt brown haired college looking guy in tie dye, torn jeans, and tons of cheesy hemp necklaces.

I figured well, hell, I’m already there and we did have great convos. Twitch starts off by telling me I wasn’t bad looking for a breeder. BEER please! That beer followed by another and another. I was wondering who I had been talking to before as it wasn’t this tweaker sitting across from me with melted cheese caught in his scraggly assed moustache.

Realizing I had too much to drink and that I couldn’t afford a cab, I agreed to platonically go to his house and sober up a bit or call a friend for pick up. Get to his house - all the lights were off except for the stairway to the basement. He stated that’s where his living room was. We went downstairs, he brought me a soda, clicked on the TV and we just kind of vegged out. After maybe 30 minutes he asked if I smoked. Cigarettes? yeah. No, weed. No I don’t. No I don’t mind if you light up. So he did. Then Twitch got freaky. Dogs in heat were less randy. I faked passing out so he would leave me alone.

As I’m slouched in the chair trying to figure out how the hell I was going to get out of there, the phone rang. He was a drug dealer. I heard that I was a fat chick just waiting to get laid. Sure, c’mon over, she ain’t going anywhere. I got up, grabbed my purse, and bolted upstairs. He was fast behind me asking me where I was going. I slapped on the light upstairs so I could find my shoes. There were stacks of papers all over, a shredded couch, broken lamps, and cat shit in the ‘normal’ living room. Ran out of there barefooted.

A few months later I was watching the news and his picture was shown - he was arrested for being a serial rapist. He would meet women on the dating line, bring them home, drug them and rape them.

52

It was a toss-up between this and the guy holding the woman’s cuts closed after she kicked out a glass door, but on reflection I think you win the thread. :eek:

53

These are great stories, but I love StuffLikeThatThere’s the bestest.

My worst date pales by comparison to many, but it does fit into the “could have ended up stuffed in a freezer” category. While in college I was asked on a date by a law student who was somewhat older – maybe 28 or so. I mention his age only because he was old enough to have developed at least a passing familiarity with how to act on a date.

When he asked me out I wasn’t all that interested, but I wasn’t dating anyone and I hardly knew him, so I was willing to give him a chance. We arranged dinner followed by a movie.

During dinner conversation, several random subjects came up: I mentioned that I only drank wine, never beer; didn’t like to try to have conversations over blaring music; liked jazz better than country music. But I was starting to feel very creeped out, because the guy gave off vibes like he was Hannibal Lecter in training. He had a very flat affect, but seemed to assume everything would happen just. the. way. he. wanted. it.

So, the movie we saw was a remake of “Invasion of the Body Snatchers.” Hint to everyone in the dating world: do NOT choose this as a first date movie. I would not have minded it ordinarily, but the combination of his skeevy behavior and the movie about people who look normal but in reality are coldly inhuman aliens … well, it was a bit much. I was pretty sure my date was one of the Pod People.

Afterward he asked what I wanted to do, and I said I’d just as soon go home. We get in his car, and soon are driving on the highway. Very fast. Well, I’m kind of a goody-two-shoes about traffic safety, so I asked him to please slow down to the speed limit. It was as if he was deaf – he didn’t even acknowledge my remarks, just kept on driving at 80 mph (this was back in the days of 55 mph limits).

Then, he pulls into a C&W bar, telling me it is a place he knows and likes. Totally ignoring the fact I’ve told him I want to go home. And that I’ve told him I don’t care for country & western. Sweet young thing that I was, I went into the bar with him. We sit down and the music is BLARING. And he orders me A BEER.

Obviously, I made it through the evening safely somehow and never went out with him again.

Thank god there were no roofies in those days.

54

Good Entertainment all around, bearing in mind that IT DIDN’T HAPPEN TO ME.

Fortunately, I’ve never had such horrible dates. The worst I’ve had were;

1> We go see a movie. As we are leaving the theater, she vanishes into the crowd. I slow down, looking all around for her. When I get out of the theater, I spot her standing next to my car. Yup, good clue. I’ll take you straight home and not bother speaking to you again.

2> I’d known her for a few years. She’d been the long time girlfriend of a cousin of my best friend. After they break up, she puts the moves on me. We schedule a first date, within a couple of days of my birthday.

At 3:45pm, 15 minutes before I’m going to leave work to get ready, I get an E-MAIL telling me that she’s cancelling out because her brother is going to be flying up north and she’s never been in a small plane before. “It will be more fun”.

Yeah thanks for telling me that it will be “more fun” than a date with me.

Especially when she came back and tried to hook up again and was shocked and dismayed when I no longer had any interest in a relationship with her.

I guess my whole Self-Respect thing got in the way. :rolleyes:

55

I would never share one of my dating stories online.

So here’s one of my wife’s dating stories:

A year or so before we met, my wife went on a blind date with another student. As these things happen, the two of them did have that good a time, the guy because he was a fool and my wife because she doesn’t suffer fools kindly. As the night went on the two of them became more and more sullen and hostile towards each other, until when the time came for him to take her home they were barely speaking.

So they were driving back through the middle of nowhere when their car developed a sudden case of a flat tire. The guy got out, glanced at the wheel, climbed back in and muttered something in the order of “the hell with this”. He then leaned his seat back and went to sleep.

My wife says she stared at him, astonished, for a full minute.

Then she popped the trunk, took out the spare, jacked up the car, changed the tire, shook him awake and demended he take her home right this minute. Which he did without saying a word.

I don’t think there was a second date.

56

Well, I never thought of it as a “date”, but I guess it was an “appointment.”

I’ve worked as an IT Consultant for the last 6 years, for a field that’s kind of rare. A couple years back, being between projects, an agent got me a lead for a project near Paris, but the team leader wanted the interview to be in person, so I had to go up there. If I get this project, Paris is only the first part - there’s other factories that get the same project later on, one by one.

I got train tickets to go up one night and come down the next. When I told them, they said oh no, change them so you stay at least two days, it’s a shoo-in, blah blah; I get them to pay for the hotel night. The change was only 1€ but still. I get to Paris, take a taxi to the factory where the interview was (70€, ouch!), speak with one of the clients’ managers and with the team lead; the manager is happily impressed. Lunch was a chocolate bar and a soda, both from the vending machine. The team leader gives me access to the program to prepare a demo; I do.

I give a presentation to the factory managers plus several business managers, followed by a very tiny demo (this is on purpose, most people overdo the demos). They’re very happy, the two who are most closely linked to my area are nodding and saying when can I start. The only women I’d seen in my whole stay were the sales manager and the receptionist.

The team leader then goes and declares, in very sad tones, that while my presentation and demo have been very impressive, I sadly do not know how to do the job. WTF? Hon, I don’t know how to do my job like you don’t know how to visit Mrs. Palm’s. I’m not so much stunned as thinking “ok, if that’s what you want to play like I’m not interested in working for you.” I ask him to qualify that announcement but of course he doesn’t. The other people leave; as I’m closing down he gives me a pen drive and asks for “any training materials you have, yes?”

I tell him I’m sorry and all I have is the one presentation, give it to him (if he thought he’d be able to use that little thing to figure out how the system works, he sure was an optimist). I say that the hotel stay should be cancelled I guess; he is surprised, I have to explain again before he says “oh, we never made a reservation, don’t worry.” OK…

He offers me a ride downtown, yes? Well, it was 70€, so what the heck. I ask him to leave me at Gare de Lyon (if you can’t find that in Paris, you’re very, very lost), he says it’s on his way.

In the car, he asks me what does my husband think of this line of work. I say I’m not married. He says “ah, the best kind of consultant, no family and no friends!” My command of English isn’t quite good enough to convey my thoughts at this point, but I believe “schmuck” may be a good aproximation.

As we approach the City of Lights, he steers the conversation to food. Chit, chat, chit, chat. I’m reminding myself that slugging him a good one is Not A Good Idea, since he’s driving. Then he tells me that, rather than have to look for a hotel, maybe I could cook for him?

I offer him two fried eggs. He pouts and says he doesn’t think that’s very romantic. I indicate that I’m used to having fried eggs for dinner and that at the time the thought of two fried eggs con chorizo seems absolutely romantic. The “smile” I give him would show the teeth behind my wisdom teeth, if I had 'em.

The fucker didn’t say anything else until finally dropping me off at Bastille (not where I’d requested).

57

See, you missed your golden opportunity. You didn’t want to smack him while he was driving. But the minute he stopped and insisted on letting you off somewhere you didn’t want to go…

SMACK!!!

58

My then-boyfriend now-husband set the mood for movie night with candles, wine, and soft pillows on the couch. We settle in and he presses play. Now, I don’t know what he thought Capturing the Friedmans was about, but what it *is * about is a family of child molesters. Not his smoothest move.

59

This is a bad date that never happened story.

I was on the train one night after work and started chatting up a very attractive woman. She was all sorts of flirtatious with me. I asked her for her number. Instead, she told me where she worked. 1234 Cambridge Street, 3rd floor, sales office, second desk from the left. She was very specific about where she could be found, and very explicitly invited me to come see her during my lunch the next day.

So I did. When I arrived, she was appalled – appalled, I tell you! – that I had the nerve to come and see her. And then she told me, as if it were as blindly obvious as her bare finger, “You know, I’m MARRIED!”

My bad, I guess.

60

To which, if you were really quick witted, you would have replied in an even louder voice “Oh yeah? Well you just gave me a screaming dose of herpes!”