I have one. I met a guy on the chat line a couple of years ago. He wouldn't send me any pictures because he said he didn't have a camera phone. I talked to him for about 2 weeks and then we agreed to meet. He picked me up from a friends house and we went out to Chilli's to eat. Ok I am a very nice looking young lady--I only wanted to see what the chat line was all about. This guy was about 350lbs and on a breathing machine. Ok I said "I'm going to deal with it because I am hungry and I want a steak." We got to the restaurant and he brought the oxygen machine in with him. I was so embarassed. He ordered so much food that there was not enough room for my meal. He had three different types of ribs and all kinds of entrees. People were looking at us laughing and probably talking about us as well. Anyway--the waitress made a lil space open for my meal.
Description--He told me he was 30 when he looked every bit of 45.
He had a big bald spot in his hair and he was just disgusting all the way around. I was so ready to go. Ok-we left and I noticed that he wasnt heading for the freeway---I asked"where are we going" and he said that he had to stop at home and feed the dog. Ok-we stopped at his house and wanted me to get out of the van! I didn't want to but I did and in the middle of a snow storm. He opened the door and the pit bull came running out towards me. I am terrified of dogs and fell off of the porch in a desparate attempt to get away from it. It paid me no attention but there I was laying in the snow-cold-and wet. Ok now I'm pissed. I go in the house and his mom came out drunk as a skunk. In a way I was glad his mom was home (figured he couldn't do anything stupid with his mom in the house) but she was so drunk that she didn't know if she was coming or going! I also thought it was weird that this grown azz man was still living at home with mama!! Anyways---the house was a complete mess. There were flaming hot cheetos in the carpet, m&m's, life savers and twinkie wrappers----he blamed it on his kids----right??? Anyways----to make a looooonnnnggggggg story short!! He refused to take me back to my friends house so I could get my car until the morning. He fell asleep and I plotted to steal his van and drive myself back. I was sitting in his room (and to all of you sick people---no we did not do anything in there---no touching, no talking, no nothing) I opened the room door and there was the pit bull growling at me---I was stuck in the room afraid of what the dog would do to me if I attempted to go into the hall way!! I sat in a chair all night while his fat azz slept like a fat azz baby--------he took me back to my car in the morning after asking me to pump his gas for him in the morning. That was the last time I called the chat line.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Monday, September 21, 2009
Drinking is an Art
I live in a city in which most people claim there "isn't anything fun to do," which could not be further from the truth. Imagine my delight when I met a guy who thought spending a day at the art museum would be fun.
I picked him up around 9:00 a.m. He lived a little ways out of town. I am not particularly interested in art, but breezing through the museum looking at cool things I would otherwise probably never see is a great way to spend the day, like going to a zoo with exhibits of other people's imaginations instead of animals. I'm adding this because he seemed very nervous about the museum. Like he had been studying all night. As I was reassuring him that we were just going to go walk around, it dawned on me: he was drunk.
I get drunk. I like drinking. I confess that I have woken up a little tipsy -- and it WAS Sunday morning. But he proceeded to finish his (previously unseen) beer before we hit the road.
Unlike many of the drunks on this website, he was reasonably coherent and reasonably friendly. Since he was particularly cute, I am making up excuses for him ("Hair of the dog! Who hasn't been there?"). So, the dumbass count of people on this date is now officially two.
As we are on our way to the museum, he insists we stop his car by his friend's house that he hasn't seen in awhile because he wants to introduce me to him. I am now a deer in headlights. Drunk headlights.
We spend twenty minutes while he alternately calls his friend and rings on their apartment bell. "Maybe we should just get going" doesn't seem to be working, so I give up. After wasting all of this time he remarks that his friend is probably asleep because "he works until, like, 3 in the morning." Ya think?
We are now halfway to the museum. He wants to stop at a gas station. Since we both smoke, I think nothing of this. He walks out with a six pack. Not your average six pack, no. He gets a six pack of Guinness draught pints that are expressly created to be poured into a glass. You've probably already guessed that it didn't stop him from cracking one open in the car. I eject the beer from the car and explain to him that I don't drive around with open containers. He apologizes. How sweet!
We are now almost to the museum. He remembers that an old professor of his lives just around the corner. At this point, I am thinking about ways to get rid of him, and this seems perfect. So, he cracks a beer and gets out of the car. I know what you are thinking (DRIVE DRIVE DRIVE) but he has been really nice about being a total drunk so far, and he is really cute, and me being lonely, I decide to check out this professor.
We walk for a few blocks. Wait, correction: I walked. He stumbled around and nearly fell. Mind you, he is still very much able to carry on a conversation. No motor skills though. And he is denying he is drunk. Whatever, I'm locked and loaded, although I'm pretty sure I could have outran him at this point, the revenge wheels in my brain were already starting to turn.
We finally find his professor's house. He tries the front door. Tries the back door. Looks in their mailbox. There are no curtains on this house. I ask him, "So, they, don't really care for furniture, do they?" Silly him! He forgot his professor sold that house and that he no longer lives there.
I tell him that is okay, and that there is still plenty of time to go to the museum. I tell him I think he is kinda drunk and that it would probably just be faster if I walked the three blocks to my car and picked him up. He says "No, no, no." And then I hit him with an offer he can't refuse: "If I go get my car it will be way faster -- plus your beer will be cold so you can have another before we go to the museum." His eyes light up. Sold.
I half jog to my car. I open the door -- long enough to remove his beer -- and carefully lay it down in front of my driver's side tire. I turn the car on, and ease over the cans. Pop. Fizz. Smush. I missed one, so I manually dumped it. I was so angry, I wanted to drive by the house and flip him off. Instead I turned around in a drive way, and went in the other direction, wondering how long it took him to figure out what had happened.
Too bad he lived way out in the suburbs. Hope he got home okay. I wasn't worried -- he probably knew someone that lived close by, right?
I picked him up around 9:00 a.m. He lived a little ways out of town. I am not particularly interested in art, but breezing through the museum looking at cool things I would otherwise probably never see is a great way to spend the day, like going to a zoo with exhibits of other people's imaginations instead of animals. I'm adding this because he seemed very nervous about the museum. Like he had been studying all night. As I was reassuring him that we were just going to go walk around, it dawned on me: he was drunk.
I get drunk. I like drinking. I confess that I have woken up a little tipsy -- and it WAS Sunday morning. But he proceeded to finish his (previously unseen) beer before we hit the road.
Unlike many of the drunks on this website, he was reasonably coherent and reasonably friendly. Since he was particularly cute, I am making up excuses for him ("Hair of the dog! Who hasn't been there?"). So, the dumbass count of people on this date is now officially two.
As we are on our way to the museum, he insists we stop his car by his friend's house that he hasn't seen in awhile because he wants to introduce me to him. I am now a deer in headlights. Drunk headlights.
We spend twenty minutes while he alternately calls his friend and rings on their apartment bell. "Maybe we should just get going" doesn't seem to be working, so I give up. After wasting all of this time he remarks that his friend is probably asleep because "he works until, like, 3 in the morning." Ya think?
We are now halfway to the museum. He wants to stop at a gas station. Since we both smoke, I think nothing of this. He walks out with a six pack. Not your average six pack, no. He gets a six pack of Guinness draught pints that are expressly created to be poured into a glass. You've probably already guessed that it didn't stop him from cracking one open in the car. I eject the beer from the car and explain to him that I don't drive around with open containers. He apologizes. How sweet!
We are now almost to the museum. He remembers that an old professor of his lives just around the corner. At this point, I am thinking about ways to get rid of him, and this seems perfect. So, he cracks a beer and gets out of the car. I know what you are thinking (DRIVE DRIVE DRIVE) but he has been really nice about being a total drunk so far, and he is really cute, and me being lonely, I decide to check out this professor.
We walk for a few blocks. Wait, correction: I walked. He stumbled around and nearly fell. Mind you, he is still very much able to carry on a conversation. No motor skills though. And he is denying he is drunk. Whatever, I'm locked and loaded, although I'm pretty sure I could have outran him at this point, the revenge wheels in my brain were already starting to turn.
We finally find his professor's house. He tries the front door. Tries the back door. Looks in their mailbox. There are no curtains on this house. I ask him, "So, they, don't really care for furniture, do they?" Silly him! He forgot his professor sold that house and that he no longer lives there.
I tell him that is okay, and that there is still plenty of time to go to the museum. I tell him I think he is kinda drunk and that it would probably just be faster if I walked the three blocks to my car and picked him up. He says "No, no, no." And then I hit him with an offer he can't refuse: "If I go get my car it will be way faster -- plus your beer will be cold so you can have another before we go to the museum." His eyes light up. Sold.
I half jog to my car. I open the door -- long enough to remove his beer -- and carefully lay it down in front of my driver's side tire. I turn the car on, and ease over the cans. Pop. Fizz. Smush. I missed one, so I manually dumped it. I was so angry, I wanted to drive by the house and flip him off. Instead I turned around in a drive way, and went in the other direction, wondering how long it took him to figure out what had happened.
Too bad he lived way out in the suburbs. Hope he got home okay. I wasn't worried -- he probably knew someone that lived close by, right?
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Got a True Bad Date Story to Share?
Got a true, bad date story you'd like to share with the world? If so, you've found the place to do it! Just send it as an e-mail at baddatesite@yahoo.com or leave it in the comments section below.
The Tour
i went on a date once with a guy who actually had an itinerary, a list of places he wanted to go. i thought it was strange and felt like i was on a tour and he was my tour guide. we got one drink in each place and then we'd move on to the next place. by the end of the date, my feet were killing me. i was in heels and a dress and i felt sweaty and tired because we must walked for miles and miles in downtown. then, he offered me dinner and im thinking, "finally, we can sit down for longer than one drink," so we hop in a cab and instead of going to a restaurant, we go back to his dark dingy studio apartment. it resembled the apartment in the twix commercial, where the guy claims his place is a mess because he's been robbed. so i ask him, "weren't we going to dinner?" and he said, "yes, we're eating here. i'll cook for you." i was trying to be a good sport and sometimes home cooked meals are better than a night in a restaurant but he never got to cooking. instead he served me another drink and tried getting fresh with me. that's when i made my exit. hungry, for not having had dinner, and not even buzzed because for every drink we had, we walked like 3 miles. ugh!
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