Mr. "Reveal All My Flaws To You On The First Date" Guy.

Editors Note: I snuck over to http://oystersnbeer.blogspot.com and grabbed this story. (Sadielady owns the blog and earlier said it's ok...hope it still is) anyway, as always, her dates are hilarious. Go visit her blog.
This is a guy I met in law school. We went to two different law schools in the same city, and we met one night at a mixer our two schools hosted. A get to know-other-law-school-students-in-the-city thing. And the thing is, he seemed so damn normal that night. Well, maybe not completely normal, because what completely normal person chooses to go to law school, but normal in that comparative sense. He was laid-back, friendly, and funny, not pushy but definitely interested, plus he was pretty good-looking. So when he asked for my number at the end of the night, I gave it to him. And when he later called, I accepted a dinner invitation from him.

Now, I'm not very high-maintenance, so I like to think, but nevertheless, I expect certain things in certain social situations. A request for a telephone number to call me up for a date + an official phone call to ask for that date + telling me you are planning to pick me up and take me to dinner = I am going to dress nicely, I expect you will dress nicely (nicely does not mean fancy, but you should make an effort to look nice), and I expect that you are interested enough in me that you are probably going to try to make a good impression, as I am going to be doing also. So when I'm wearing a cute little sundress, and you show up in torn haven't-been-washed-in-weeks jeans and an un-tucked, too big for you t-shirt, I'm not going to be thrilled. And when we live in a city that is full of great places to eat, including not-very-pricey great places to eat, and you drive me way out on the outskirts of the city to some family restaurant that serves pre-packaged looking seafood dishes (and our city is on big water and famous for seafood), and the table has a plastic tablecloth, and every other table is filled with ugly people with screaming children, and they don't serve liquor and only offer sweet wine or your choice of 6 different types of cheap beer, I'm really not going to be thrilled. But, I could look past this if you are still the laid-back, friendly, funny guy I met and enjoyed hanging out with at the mixer. It's really difficult to keep upbeat about our date, though, when you start off by telling me that the clothes you're wearing tonight don't belong to you, they belong to your roommate, and that they're too big, but you didn't have anything of your own to wear so you got stuck wearing these clothes, which you're embarrassed to be wearing on our date, especially considering that the jeans have a big hole on the back pocket so that your boxers are showing, and to show me what you're talking about you stand up and turn around and point out the hole and the view of the boxers. Nice. This is definitely off to an awkward start, and I'm wishing now that I were not on this date. Then you tell me about one of your most embarrassing moments in life, which earned you the ridicule of all your guy friends, because you fainted in front of all of them at a football game when someone got hurt, and how they had to carry you to the car and take you to the hospital, and how you fainted again, and how they all laughed and called you a wimp because the injury wasn't even that bad: ok, this is a good story to tell a girl you're on a first date with and trying to impress. Definitely makes her see that masculine side of you. And the conversation just gets worse from there; I mean, I realize that I've got an entire meal to suffer through here, so I try to perk things up with conversation of my own, but somehow you manage to put yourself down or make yourself seem sad and pathetic no matter what topic we try. And when the check comes, and I am so anxious to just get out of this date already that I really, really insist that I pay my half the bill and you really, really won't let me and insist on paying for me, this maybe could have scored you end-of-the-evening points, except that as soon as the waitress walks away with your card you turn to me and say "see this way, you will feel obligated to repay me, which guarantees me a second date." Well guess what, dude, you have no fucking idea how wrong you are there. And at the very, very end of the evening, when you drop me back off and walk me to my door, you have the audacity to assume that I was going to invite you inside and cut me off first by telling me that you hate to not come in, but that you've really got to call it an early evening tonight, since your roommate is going through a tough time right now and you really think he needs to talk about it. And while I'm relieved, and stepping inside with a wave and a good night, you explain to me your roommate's troubles: you see, he's gotten his girlfriend pregnant, and she's all crying and upset, and he's freaked out, and he wants her to get an abortion, but she's against getting an abortion, and they just have no idea what to do, and they only found out just last night that she's pregnant, so it's really crucial that he get back home in case his freaked-out roommate needs to talk - - - well, that's way, way, way more information than I wanted or needed to know, and p.s. I'm so sure that your roommate and his girlfriend would be just thrilled to know that you shared this new and extremely personal information with a girl you just met and they don't know. You obviously have no problem distinguishing between things that are appropriate and inappropriate to say to relative strangers. So thanks so much for dinner, and please never call me again.

P.S. He did call again, about 4 or 5 times. Each time he left a message (I was home two of those times he called but let it go to voice mail when I saw who was calling), and each time he said he definitely wanted to see me again. I guess he eventually picked up on the fact that the date really didn't go as well as he seemed to think it had gone. p

Everymans Nightmare (at least one of them)

Many thanks again to Kathryn for letting me use this story from the blog section of her website http://www.find-a-sweetheart.com :
Remember that horrible song about personal ads? "I love pina coladas..." where these two people meet and it turns out that they have been communicating with their spouse? Well, here's a real-life story that nobody could make up: Daniel Arceneaux of Marseilles, France, traded emails for months with "Sweet Juliette" as "The Prince of Pleasure." Finally they arranged to meet on a remote beach, and understandably were shocked to find out that they were mother and son. And then, to make matters worse, they were arrested for being on a restricted beach after dark. They blurted out the whole story, the cop wrote up a report, the local TV station got it, and now they are famous.

A Bloody Nose And A Frozen Juice Box

Editors Note: Thanks again to Sadielady for letting me poach another one of her stories. Read more about her adventures at her blog http://oystersnbeer.blogspot.com .
When I first started dating the guy who became my boyfriend for 3 years in college, he totally did not want to be in a "relationship," and he made that clear up front. So for about 3 months, we dated each other AND other people.

Well I had a formal to go to, and I needed a date. And the guy I was seeing the most of, the "I don't want to be in a relationship" guy, turned me down; he said he didn't want to go, it was a sorority thing and it just wasn't his scene, he didn't want to wear a tux, etc. etc. So I asked this other guy who I had met at the beginning of freshman year, a real cutie, but someone who I was just friends with, nothing more.

We had a fabulous time the night of the formal - at first, that is. We went to a cool little cocktail party, dinner at a fantastic restaurant with a few other couples, lots of good stuff to drink. We had a great time when we first got to the event, too; my date was a dancer, or at least he was the kind of guy who is up for getting out on the dance floor with his date if that's what she wants to do. So he and I were dancing at one point, having a great time. He had some nice moves, I remember thinking his mom probably made him take ballroom dance lessons as a kid or something: I know a lot of people who did that. Anyway, at one point during a fairly slow song he dipped me back, a nice low dip, and as he pulled me back up fast, this other couple got in our way, and as I came up my face slammed into another girl's elbow - - HARD!! The blood immediately started gushing from my nose and flowing down my face, and I ran to the bathroom. Several other girls rushed in after me to see if I was okay; well, I wasn't. My nose was fucking broken, if you can believe that shit! I mean, there was full force going in both directions when the collision took place; my date pulling me fast back up from the low dip, and the extremely drunk girl who slammed her elbow down in my direction while dancing. (She was way too drunk to even realize what had happened - - she just kept on dancing, the bitch.) So somebody got a towel and held it up to my nose, and someone got ice from somewhere, and someone got a wet towel to help wipe up the blood. So there I was, sitting on the floor in the ladies' room off of the ballroom of an elegant hotel, in my strapless black-velvet formal gown, with a bloody towel in front of my face, my nose totally swelling up. My date was such a good date kind of guy, and so clueless about what to do, he just hung around the door to the ladies room, and every time it opened and someone went in or came out, he would say "is she ok? Sadie, are you ok in there? Is there anything I can do?" Poor guy. Finally I was ready to just get out of there, so one of the girls said "yes, can you get a cab and take her back to her dorm room?" Which he did, the sweetie. I felt so bad; I kept apologizing for ruining our evening, and I told him how embarassed I was. He felt bad too: he kept saying "I don't know how it happened! It just happened so fast!" Oh, he felt bad about it. He paid the cabbie, helped me walk up the stairs to my room, walked me inside and sat me on the bed, and kept asking if there was anything else he could do. I said no, no, I'm just so embarassed, I'll be okay though, let's just say goodnight. So then he left. (I think he was pretty relieved to be leaving.)

Well you're probably thinking that's the end of the embarassing story, right? Are you kidding - - do you not know me well enough yet to know that there's got to be an even more embarassing part to the story?

I went to the bathroom on my hall to look in the mirror and wash my face, and I ran into another girl who lived on my hall. She was totally drunk, like me. She said "you've got to put some ice on that!" I said "where am I going to get ice?" She said "I know! Come with me." So I followed her back to her room, and she opened her mini fridge, which had a freezer shelf on the top of it. "I don't have any ice, but here, this Hawaiian Punch juice box has been in the freezer for the longest time, it's frozen solid by now. Put this against your nose!" So I did. I went back to my room and sat on my bed, still in my formal dress mind you, and held the frozen juice box to my nose.

But I was still really unhappy, and there was no one else around, since the drunk girl went back outside to re-join her friends. And man, I don't think I did enough justice earlier in this story to the amount of alcohol I had to drink that night: from a pre-cocktail or two while my friend and I got ready to go out, to several cocktails at the cocktail party, to lots of bottles of wine at our table at dinner, to more drinks at the formal - - I was shit-faced. Shit-faced with a shitty broken nose. But not drunk enough to do what I should've done, which was pass out in my bed - no no, I wanted some sympathy, I wanted somebody, so I decided that I wanted Craig - - the guy who I had been seeing casually for a few months and who had turned down being my date to the formal. So I got up, left my dorm room, and went over to his dorm, just across a small quad from mine. I went inside, went to his room - - open, but empty. So I went down the hall to the lounge, and there he was, hanging out with a bunch of other people, listening to music and laughing and getting high. I could see him in there, but he had his back to me at first. "Um, Craig?", some guy who recognized me said. "What?" "Dude, turn around." So he turned around, and his eyes got big as saucers. There I was, standing in the doorway, in my formal dress, barefoot, and holding a frozen juice box up against my obviously broken nose. Oh, and I had cried earlier in the bathroom at the hotel, so my eyes were completely bloodshot. Plus, I was fucked up. But then again so was he; we were just fucked up on different stuff. "Heeeeeyy! What happened to you?" All the guys were just staring at me; they didn't quite know what to think, except that I looked pretty crazy. Craig told me later "man, you don't know how stoned I was when you came in there, and it kind of freaked me out, because suddenly I had to deal. That was fucked up! Don't ever do that shit to me again! Or at least wait til I'm sober to do shit like that to me!"

Anyway, so that's my story about the bloody nose and the frozen juice box. I probably completely scared the nice guy who was my date that night, but at least I didn't scare off Craig; he and I started dating exclusively pretty soon after that hideous night, and he did go to the rest of my formals with me, through the end of college. None of his friends who were there that night when I walked in ever let me live down the frozen Hawaiian Punch box I was using to help the swelling of my broken nose, though.

G.I. Jane

A buddy (using the term loosely) wanted to set me up with his cousin. She was about my age, not bad looking (he showed me an older pic) and since I was having in a dry spell (I'm not George Clooney) I agreed and the date was set.
It was a weekend morning and we had decided to meet in the coffee shop area of a local bookstore. I got there first and was trying not to look nervous, one eye scanning the store for the demure slip of girl that I'd seen in the photo, when in swaggers the person, jeans, black t-shirt, MUSCLES , no make-up and a hair that I would describe as a modified mullet!I was polite and tried to hide my confusion as I went to the counter and got her a coffee. When I returned to the table, my date (whom I'll call "Sarge") mentionedthat she had just gotten out of the service, missed it terribly, and started telling me stories about her military adventures around the globe with her best pal (whose name I forgot) also a woman officer...now this date wasn't so much bad as confusing. I know , as we talked, that Sarge was checking out girls from the corner of her eye (I was too) and the date ended with a too firm handshake (Owww Sarge!!) and she said she'd like to see me again...what the hell for? This girl was clearly a pretty butch lesbian...anyway, I'm still scratching my head.
Editors Note: Maybe she just wanted to "Take A Walk On The Mild Side"!