Dating FAIL: Your Stories

MMG, you're a goddamn comedian. Excellent story.

 

Always a pleasure- besides, I need to make myself good for something around here.

 

I was in my early 20's, and had just started dating my future-brother-in-law's best friend. We were chatting on the balcony of my upstairs apartment. Down below, a fence separated my building from someone's back yard. My balcony railing was lined with several small pumpkins that I had painstakingly carved. He suddenly grabbed one and chucked it over the railing and over the fence, where it went *splat* in that person's back yard.
"My pumpkin! What the Hell?"
"Don't you see that?"
"What?"
"Down there by the shed. It's an opossum." And he chucked two more pumpkins.
"Hey! Those are my pumpkins!"
"I"m trying to nail the opossum."
"Maybe the owner would rather have an opossum than my smashed pumpkins."
"No, that's my aunt's house. She hates opossums." Another one of my pumpkins sailed over to her yard. This one nailed the opossum.
I elbowed his ribs. "Stop throwing my pumpkins! Besides, I think you killed it."
"I did?" The opossum wasn't moving. "Maybe I should throw one more, just in case."
"NO!"
"Look! It's moving again."
I turned to look at the opossum, and he reached for the last pumpkin. Before he could throw it, I also grabbed it. The tug of war was on. I finally threatened to tell his aunt that he had made the mess in her yard, and that he threw them while trying to break her shed windows instead of an opossum. He paused and glanced over the fence.
"It's gone anyway. You let it escape," he said.
And he let go of the pumpkin we were scuffling over.
And I dropped the damn thing.

 

See: any relationship I've ever been in.

I realized long ago that I'm to selfish, to emotionally closed off, and much to independent for any kind of relationship past a sexual one to last for more than a few weeks to a month at most.

 

^ honesty is refreshing

 

Sketchy Long Skirt Girl
aka
WOMEN THAT WEAR LONG SKIRTS ALL THE TIME ARE PROBABLY PSYCHOS.​

I’m pretty sure this date was before the first one but I can’t be certain. I was pretty crunk when I wasn’t absorbing lectures or playing GI Joe on the weekend with a bunch of fat guys in camo. All I remember is that I was disappointed that some fine brunette French girl was occupied. She was into motorcycles and I was hoping that her pixie cut and fabulous body would be able to distract me from the fact that she smoked cigarettes. Some scheduling conflict happened, she was in DC and it didn’t work out. What the hell am I going to do with an open Friday night? Fuck it; let’s see if anybody wants to go on a date.

Enter Sketchy Long Skirt Girl.

I figure that the plain-looking but well-written woman that messaged me a couple days back might be interested in going out to a movie. Boring but safe. Better than going by myself (which I’ve done). She was online, I sent her a message. I got her phone number. Somehow we decided to meet at her place after I admitted to her that I’d never seen The Neverending Story. Odd, but I just went with it. I’m not a pickup artist nor am I psychic so I figured it was just a movie she was really into. Like me and Memento.

It’s late. I’m standing outside her dingy basement level apartment door. I’m wearing a t-shirt and jeans. I’ve got a mushy tube of cookie dough in my left hand (everybody likes cookies and it’s a do-something kitchen activity). I knock on the door. Stereotypical librarian girl peeks out. She looks a lot older close up (always ask for a portrait), but it’s her. Dry hands. Ratty hair. She’s wearing a sweater that looks like it may have been in style sometime before I was born and a floor-length skirt. Kinda weird, but maybe she’s funny. Maybe she’s really hot under all those clothes. Maybe she’s got a vintage NES. I introduce myself and she lets me into her apartment. It’s really cramped, dimly lit, musty. Dating was now spelunking.

She asks me if I’ve eaten yet and, as per my MO, I admit that I have a tapeworm and that if I’m not hungry that she should ask again in five minutes. She offers pizza. Everybody loves pizza. I accept. She says she has to turn on the oven and heads into the kitchen. Turns out the pizza is actually one of those horrible institutional French bread pizza planks and the oven is of the toaster variety. It was rubbery and gross. I went through a couple of glasses of tap water afterward when decided I really need to bring a flask of vodka dates. Something stealthy to take the edge off while I plow through the awkwardness.

After standing in the kitchen eating the world’s least appetizing pizza over the sink for 10 minutes, it was time for the main event: the movie. She busted out a well-used VHS cassette of The Neverending Story. VHS. Yeah. I sat tucked in tight on the far right corner of her worn loveseat (the seat closest to the door) and assumed a modified position of attention. The story was pretty amusing and we talked about other kid movies we liked. I still think The Emperor’s New Groove is the best thing Disney has put out. All was chill until the gremlins appeared. Like all demons, they appear friendly at first. Then they strike.

Her two cats came waltzing out of her bed-cave after the appropriate amount of “Danger Sense!” time. Now, I love cats. I do. I have one. I’m going to have two when I get a house (so they can engage in mortal combat at 3 AM and cause me to nearly lose bowel control as I roll out of bed and grab for my home defense rifle). Her cats? They wanted to eat my soul. After shredding me to pieces. True story.

One cat, the white one, sat on “mommy’s lap” during most of the first half hour of the movie. Docile. Now it’s about halfway through the film when the gray one starts rubbing his butt on my calf and sniffing my boots. I pet him and he purrs. Then all hell breaks loose. He jumps up on my left thigh and sits there, staring at my face (into my soul) as he rolls his razor sharp claws into my thigh meat through my jeans. I’m not talking “Hey, that’s uncomfortable.” I’m talking John Rambo in First Blood. Freddy Krueger jokes came to mind. This bastard had some serious pushing power. It was straight up painful. Death of a thousand papercuts kinda stuff.

“Hey, uh… he’s a little aggressive with his daggers, huh? You wanna ease up on me, Wolverine?”

“Oh, that just means he likes you. He only does that to people that he likes. Just let him do it.”

“Uh, yeah, no. No, I’m going to have to set him down. I don’t have… health insurance.”

Apparently she let him do this to her on a regular basis. Extra weird. I'd had enough of that shit, though. I grabbed Titus McStabbypants and set him on the dusty floor. My jeans now have little threads pulled up on the area he was attacking and I would see the patch of scratches on my skin later that night. Said cat wasn’t too happy about getting evicted. He was visibly pissed and wandered off to the kitchen, presumably to find the only edible morsels in there: Meow Mix. I figured that was the end of it.

Boy, was I wrong. The white one decided that I needed some laceration lovin’, too. She hopped over to my right thigh and basically did the same thing. The eye contact wasn’t as creepy but it still hurt. Is this woman somehow sharpening her cats’ claws? I mean, my cat’s claws get trimmed every ten days or so (and he totally hates it with the fury) and I can play hand-boxing with him without needing stitches.

“No… no-no… no. Stop it. Get down. Stop it. No.”

I removed the fuzzy xenomorph that was latched onto my leg just as the other one returned. At this point the movie was almost over and I spent the last ten minutes or so trying to keep my lap clear. Once the movie ended I immediately went into the “It’s late, I’ve got entire textbooks to memorize.” She seemed disappointed and I made sure to blade my body so that any kind of parting embrace would be impossible or at least involve a good shoulder check. She got the hint. There was a brief moment of fear as I slid out the door. Wild, irrational fear. Something like: My god, she’s gonna stuff me. Her cats are going to kill me and then she's gonna stuff me like a fucking hunting trophy. So, yeah, not even interested in being a victim of her hidden taxidermy hobby / fetish. Not even interested in some really awkward missionary-style in-the-dark sex (her favorite, I’d imagine).

...

And that's why I'm never going to watch The Neverending Story ever again.

 

And now you watch films at the theater by yourself, don't you Plan9?

 

I forgot to mention that I left the cookie dough behind. I remember thinking about it a few days later.

 

I went on a date with a girl who showed up wearing an honest to God pajama top. That did not go so well.

 

This thread makes me glad I'm an introvert.

 

Or at least smart enough to not date. This thread right here is reason enough to stay single for life. However it is full of comedy gold.

 

I started running down the list of actual dates I've been on and I can't think of a single good one. I've met plenty of girls in bars and such that ended awesome but none were real dates. I've also had my fair share of horrible one night stands.

I met this girl at my now ex-brother-in-law's bar. She was super hot and both of us were pretty drunk. We flirted back and forth all night. The playful type of flirting... stealing my hat, hiding my phone... innocent type stuff. I'm thinking she's pretty cool. I'm feeling good about myself. I'm a bottle of wine and a few shots into my night and I'm Frank Fucking Sinatra as far as this girl is concerned. I'm making all the right moves. We're taking funny pictures of each other... I'm trying on her shoes... we're laughing and having a great time. Everyone around us must have been super annoyed. My brother-in-law is taking care of us with food and drink.

She says she lives a couple blocks away and wants to show me her kitchen. I'm a chef. People think I want to see their kitchens. We get back to her place, pop open a couple beers, she gives me the tour and we end up on the couch. Next thing I know we're fucking like mad rabbits in heat. On the couch, floor, up against the wall, in the kitchen, on the counter, bedroom floor, bed, closet, bathroom... You get the idea. After a much needed cigarette on her back patio she takes me upstairs to her attic/art studio. She takes her robe off and lays on the floor. I go to join her and she says to sit in the chair and just watch. She proceeds to masturbate for me...

So, this girl is super hot. Way into sex. Loves food and great booze. Is smart. We have a TON of shit in common. I'm thinking I found the girl of my dreams.

After a night of drinking very heavily and lots of sex we pass out in her bed. I had to get up super early the next day for work so I slip out of the house after a couple hours of rest and head home in a taxi. I was super busy with work for a week or so trying to get a new restaurant open so I didn't have time to call her. She never called me either.

I run into her a little over a week later at a club. I walk up to her to say sorry for not calling. And get this...

SHE HAS NO IDEA WHO I AM!!

Turns out she was pretty much blacked out drunk when we met. She remembers bits and pieces of the night but not really me or my name. And from what she remembered she thought she took home the bartender. I turned around and walked away.

 

No horror stories and it's been a few decades; but I'm sure I was a notably bad date for a few young ladies.

I'm an active, outdoors guy. Somewhere around date 2 or 3 I would inadvertently subject my date to the dreaded "pee in the woods" test. I'd take a date hiking, canoeing, whatever, hours from the nearest bathroom. I never really got it that this might be a problem, it took a few temper tantrums before I realized it was something I ought to mention.

 

I'd like to hear a date-fail story from a Plan9 and SeanMyklKing double date.
Sorry you'd both have to have a bad time, but it would be entertaining for us. You both tell interesting stories.

 

I don’t tend to actively date as I just don’t like the hunt. Relationships of the past have resulted from a friends first process.

Having had some friendships implode, I decided that maybe I should look into dating. Not necessarily wanting to meet someone in a bar, I turned to the interwebs. Learned that I was still not a fan of dating.

Obviously since I am not married, none of the dates I went on were good, but they weren’t totally dismal. Just meh. I have two match.com horror stories though….in two different states.

Professor Jerk

Yes he was older, but that has never been a problem for me. His charming smile in his profile picture and the fact that he had his PhD in engineering let me say yes to a date. Oh dear god I wish I wouldn’t have accepted.

I met the dude at my bar…my bar as in everyone knows me there. I didn’t recognize him from his photo, but he recognized me. Yes, he was older, but his profile picture never screamed geriatric to me. His face in person did though. I wasn’t going to totally count him out though thinking I should at least talk to the guy so we got a table on the patio.

He tried to control the entire conversation and everything I said, he had done better or could do better. I said I helped out with high school theatre where the students wrote their own one acts. The topic turned to how a woman could never right a good male character since she was not a male. He then went on and on about how he would be an excellent playwright. I asked if there would be any women in his piece, and he said he had to think if a female character would be needed.

I left the table to go inside to get another beer. I saw my buddy Tex at the bar and he asked if I was on a date. I said I was. He laughed and told me I was way out of his league, so Tex bought me a shot to help me get through the rest of my date. I wanted to hang out with Tex, who also happened to be a friend with certain benefits, but decided to just go ahead with the date.

I sucked it up and went back to my table. Professor Jerk then went back to yapping away talking about how he enjoyed working at a Historical Black College. This dude was white, but said the reason that he liked working with African Americans is to help them “better themselves” educationally. He was misogynistic and racist. I was DONE. When he asked if I wanted another drink, I declined. I didn’t want to be one to use the “I have an early meeting” excuse, but used it.

Twenty minutes or so after I was back home, I get a call from him saying he had a great time and would like to do it again sometime. I told the truth and said that I did not have a good time and that I was not interested in seeing him again.



90s Hair Guy

I should have learned my lesson with Dr. Jerk, but was living in a new state. Still not wanting to meet a man at a bar, I turned to match.com. I don’t go there anymore. I’m sticking with flirting with socially inept science nerds.

I let the guy pick where we met for drinks. I had only lived in corvy for a few months, but he lived an hour north outside of Portland. I could have just as well googled a place for drinks. I pulled into the parking lot of where we were meeting and selected a spot near a car with a person who seemed to be waiting for someone. I got out of my car and so did he. That’s when I cursed him for not updating his profile pictures. He looked like the villain from 5th Element. Holy Fuck.


Ok, his hair didn't look EXACTLY like that, but it's what came to mind. Come to think of it, he even had a goatee like that.

He admitted the spot he chose sucked and asked if I liked sake. Well, yeah. I said there were two places we could go up the street and he picked the Japanese Steakhouse and said I should drive. I was hesitant to let someone in my car, but at least I was the one driving.

We got some sake and some sushi. He talked about his ex the entire time. She rents a house from him. Blah blah blah. He also talked about how he likes fixing up cars with loud radio systems…subwoofers…I don’t know the lingo and didn’t care to know. I just thought it was weird that he didn’t actually like music though. Who doesn’t like music?

Sushi was done and the sake was done, but I was too nice to end it there. I agreed to bar hop.

We went to a bar that I enjoy very much and we sat in a booth across from one another. He kept grabbing my hands and trying to hold them. I am not a prude by any means, but I just did not want HIM to touch me. Then he trapped me by taking the spot next to me in the booth. I looked around PLEADING with fellow patrons to save me, but they were focused on their own miserable lives.

THANKFULLY he had to get home, so I drove him back to his car. I sat there waiting for him to get out, but he leans over, grabs my face and tries to force my lips towards his. I did not budge, so he kissed me on the cheek. Once again, NOT a prude…I just didn’t want his lips on mine. So he gets out of the car and slams the door and stomps off to his car. I just sit in my car dumbfounded. He starts up his and floors it out of the parking lot and squeals on down the road. Oh dear GOD he was creepy.


I will NOT be going on anymore match.com dates. I really do like being single.

 

Maybe 9 and I can just date each other.

 

I was thinking the same thing. Date WIN came to mind. Because now you get to do it all over again.

However I understand and would have walked away too.

 

I snuck back over to the archives and found my old post hiding in the 50 Boyfriends Worse than Yours thread.
It was epic.

I miss Mal, too, by the way.

The Psychotic Hispanic.
First of all, there is a reason people go into the mental health field.
Some want to help and some should be clients, not providers. I should have known.
He was a coworker of a friend... Bad idea #1.
He worked in a Baker Act facility... Bad idea #2.
He met us for lunch, then insisted on dinner later that night. Hmmm...
I offered to let my friend go crash at my apartment between lunch and dinner until I got off work,
since she lived 30 miles away. He went too... Bad Idea #3.
He waited until she went into the bathroom and went through my underwear drawer...
she caught him smelling my (clean) underwear! Kissed the inside of my ear CANAL (eew!) at dinner.
How he managed to suck all the air out of my eardrum, I'll never figure out. It actually popped.
But, I digress... For some stupid reason, I met him for dinner another night... turns out he bummed
Xanax off clients for his own use and for redistribution, molested my (married) friend on my balcony and
ended up wanting to get allergy shots because I have a cat and he was allergic. 48 hours after we met.
He then proceeded to stalk the heck out of me for months and verbally/physically abuse my friend at work
because he was mad at me.

Lesson Learned: Never, ever date a man who can actually sympathize with the psychotic, naked woman
furiously masturbating on the floor of his office while screaming that the aliens are going to kill her because she's psychic.

The Italian.
Met him at a higer-class club. Wondered why he didn't stand up the whole time, but I was fascinated
with his fresh-off-the boat Italian accent and shyness. I gave him my number after much drunken discussion.
Agreed to meet him for dinner one night. Didn't realize until he got to the restaurant why he never stood up.
He was 5'2". I'm 5'6" and I love my chunky heels.
Over dinner I learned that not only was he short, but he had had an accident on an interstate at 90 mph
and suffered brain damage and his legs won't ever grow due to problems with his hips.
His personality was annoying as all heck, too. We went for wine (don't ask me why) and, though he had great taste in wine,
he was so creepy when he tried to make out with me that I made up a friend crashing at my apartment
because he kept trying to come upstairs. He spent the next few days calling incessantly because we apparently
"formed a bond" and he couldn't understand why I wasn't "all over his sexy ass".

Lesson Learned: The accent may be sexy as hell, but annoying, cocky, Italian midgets just don't do it for me.

 

Shit. I am trying to come up with disaster dates but just can't seem to remember any. Nothing on the scale of 9er or Noodle... King, yours was a mixed bag of win and lose.