Spring must be in the air – there’s been more than the average amount of talk about flirting and dating lately. The ESIs, for example, are about to unveil their much-touted and anxiously awaited Revolutionary New Dating Paradigm. Also, an online discussion group in which I participate has been exchanging worst date stories. I LOVE worst date stories.
For what it’s worth, I’ve never dated much. Somehow I’ve usually managed to bypass the dating phase and go straight from acquaintanceships into relationships. I’ve even been known to marry a virtual stranger. (Not that I advocate any of this: I don’t. Clearly I have no clue what I’m doing.)
However, I’ve done enough dating to be able to contribute a story or two to any discussion on dating hell. Here’s one of my best worst date stories from my own personal dating archives.
I was a 27-year-old single parent and student at the time. My son’s father had him every sixth weekend. I used to look forward to those sixth weekends as opportunities to put my life in order and catch up on my schoolwork, housework, recreational activities, sleep and social life. (By the end of every sixth weekend I would invariably feel I’d fallen short because I hadn’t gotten all caught up on all things. But, if I was lucky, I’d have had some grown-up fun and I would be feeling either refreshed or exhausted.)
So. This one particular Sixth Weekend, I was invited to spend a Saturday afternoon and evening at a cottage up near Masham, Quebec. “It’s a party at my friend’s cottage,” explained my date, “Great people, it’ll be lots of fun.”
We got there around mid-afternoon to find about twenty men and zero women at this party. I know first impressions can be deceiving, but these twenty men didn’t strike me as very likable or friendly. They were drinking heavily and consuming some serious drugs in startling quantities. Aside from the drugs and alcohol, the main sources of entertainment appeared to be gambling and watching porn.
I’m a good sport, really I am, and I like a good party as much as the next person. But you don’t need finely tuned spidey senses to get a funny feeling about a party like this.
I took my date aside and told him I wasn’t comfortable and I wanted to leave. He assured me that we’d leave as soon as he finished his beer. I thought he meant the beer he was currently drinking, but apparently he meant all the beer he’d brought to the party. Not only that, but he must have gotten into the drugs because he started drooling and talking in tongues. It was like a whole different language – I had no idea what he was trying to say.
Not that it mattered, because he obviously was in no condition to drive me home, and nobody else seemed either sober enough or kind enough to help me. I was stone cold sober, but I didn’t have a vehicle or a driver’s license. Nevertheless, one thing was certain: there was no way in hell I was going to be at that cottage when the sun went down.
Desperate times call for desperate measures. I ended up walking about half an hour out to the highway and sticking my thumb out. I got picked up by a big, horny drunk driver who was every bit as charming as he sounds.
I did make it home safely, which was when I realized I’d lost my keys somewhere along the way. I had to break a window to get into my own apartment, but being home was so worth the cost of replacing the glass.
Okay, that’s my story. Now cheer me up and tell me about your worst date ever.
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I haven’t had many bad dates. But this one comes to mind:
It was this girl I met back in BBS land, before the Internet as we know it. This was in Vancouver. On the boards she was open and funny and weird, which, at the time, were the very three things.
I’d recently had a bad date – well it was a good date, but the follow-through was distinctly lacking, so I was feeling very sorry myself.
She picked up on this and suggested a phone call.
So we talked. After a fashion. It was good to talk to someone (I was new to the city and didn’t have many friends), and although I wasn’t entirely comfortable with her, we talked again the next day.
Her voice got husky. “Come on over, I want to see you”, she said.
I got on my bike and drove over. She opened the door. It’s always strange seeing someone for the first time after having only interacted with them on-line.
She wasn’t exactly slender, if you get my drift, but not unattractive at all. She had a directness I liked. Well, for the moment anyways.
As soon as the door was closed she came right into my space – as if we were already lovers – and put her arms around me. I was suffocated by eager flesh and body odour. I backed off a bit and looked for someplace to sit. She brought through some herbal tea.
She said, “Holding you there was like being all wrapped up by a great big stick insect.”
I didn’t know what to say.
She went on:
“It was wonderful. I want to feel you naked.”
She moved fast, this one. Stick insect. Body odour. Naked. I eyed the door. My helmet was right there on the chair with my leather jacket.
I looked into her eyes, carressed her face, and said: “I gotta go.”
And I did, lickedy split.
A week or so later she started to write open posts about her various sexual exploits. Not just to me personally, but to the forum in general.
A few weeks later she came out of the closet. She changed her pseudonym – GothicLez or something along those lines. The boards were abuzz.
There are some dates you walk out of feeling “Phew!”
That was one of those.
I once got myself and my date expelled from a restaurant after getting into arguments with the waiter and cook. They were serving bluefish tuna at a time when I had a backpack full of data on how endangered they are. Both men insisted that bluefin populations are just fine.
I’ve been lucky… no seriously bad dates, certainly none like that… however, when Dave and I first started dating he took me to his cottage for my birthday (in December). I thought it was so sweet… romantic weekend away and all that… and it was, until about 11 pm that night when his two male friedns show up. When I raise a questioning eyebrow the response is “tomorrow is Friday the 13th… we always go to Dover” (his cottage is 10 minutes from Port Dover. Of course, he had told me nothing of this, and just assumed I would have already thought about it because it was “thier tradition”. My response… “It’s f*#$ing DECEMBER how many bikes do you think are going to be there?1? and what in the hell makes you think I want to spend MY BIRTHDAY with your two idiotic friends who only want to sit around and drink and talk about cars they’ll never own.” Fortunately, his one friends picked up on the uncomfortable vibes eminating off me and they left about and hour later.
oh.my.god…Zoom! You were indeed extremely wise to get the *#@& out of there. Yikes!!!
In grade eleven my friend Rakhi met some guy who she liked, but couldn’t go out with because her parents were very strict and forbid her to date. Especially white guys. She convinced me to come with her, her guy, and her guy’s friend to Canada’s Wonderland for a day, figuring that if her parents asked she could use my presence as a cover. Her guy’s friend was supposed to be my date for the day. Rakhi didn’t care how old the boys she dated were, so her guy was a few years younger than she was. I had a thing about this and made her PROMISE me that the dude’s friend would be at least my age. She promised.
One of the first things I learned about my date was that he was three years younger than me. And age wasn’t the only thing we failed to have in common. I was a cranky, counter-culture bookworm and when I asked him what his favourite book was he instantly told me he didn’t read. Also, he made fun of R.E.M. which was my favourite band at the time. While we were having this discussion, Rakhi and her boyfriend were making out in the background. I counted the hours until the date would be over. Seven.
We went on rides and Rakhi and her guy made out the whole day, leaving me to sit in sullen silence a few feet away from my date. At one point we went on a water ride and I got soaking wet. I was on my period at the time and blood leaked all over my pants because of the water. I had to stand in a bathroom stall in my underpants while Rakhi washed my shorts in the sink to get the blood out. Finally, hours later, my mom came to pick us up and the date was finally over.
I don’t think I spoke to Rakhi for days after that. Now she’s married with two kids and she lives in Orleans. We’re still friends, miraculously!
J.
Milan cracks me up! But, anyway, I’m having a hard time choosing which of my worst ever dates was the very worst. In the bottom 10 at least was an evening with a Business Admin. professor when I was at university (not my professor… I’d never take Business Admin.). Turns out he really wanted to be a Psych professor, but had to settle for Bus. Admin. and was very bitter about it. For the next several hours he told me in great detail all about his personal psychological journey. Exactly how is bitch of a mother had messed him up; how his bitch of an ex-wife had messed him up; how all the women he’s dated were bitches and only wanted to play mind games with him, etc., etc. Then he started analyzing me. Although I’d had no chance to say anything all night, he had developed a very disturbing profile of me –which he told me about at great length. I was apparently a dangerously ill person. And yet, at the end of the night as I scrambled to get out of the car, he very cheerfully asked me when I’d like to go out next.
I have a worse date trilogy. Being single all through my 20’s all 3 of my siblings felt the need to set me up on blind dates. Yikes! First was my brothers choice of clean-cut (I can’t remember his name…we’ll call him Ned)Ned. Nice enough fellow but within half an hour he explained how much he wanted to get married and have lots of kids. He took me to his house and horror of horrors his favorite artwork was a landscape on black velvet. I quickly ended the evening.
Next was sister Lynn’s choice, nerd Chris. He shows up in a big van with a plush gold dashboard and dingle-balls around the windshield. And once again a man desperate to get married so the date couldn’t end quick enough.
And finally sister Debbie’s, material man Bob. This date wasn’t so bad as we went water-skiing but it became quite obvious very quickly that it was all about HIS big boat and HIS beautiful house and HIS wonderful career and HIS wonderful life and very little about anything else.
And it left me wondering…who are these people I call siblings and why would they set me up with guys that were so not me???
Can we do our very worst sex stories next?
Andrew, I laughed all the way through that one. Stick insect, body odor, space invasion…
Milan, I can’t help but wonder what happened next…did you and your date go somewhere else and eat something more ethical? Or had she lost her appetite by then? Was there another date?
Valerie, I see your point – there’s nothing like a romantic getaway weekend with him and his buddies.
Jo – ah yes, the supportive double dating ordeal!
XUP – so where did you go for your second date?
Bonnie – I’ve only tried playing matchmaker once and it didn’t go so well. I actually went on the date with them. One of them had a great time, and the other one was probably thinking “What the hell was she thinking, setting me up with him??”
XUP – of course we can do worst sex stories next. You go first.
Dear sweet mercies, that sounds awful. Not too many bad dating stories here, guess I’ve been lucky!!
If I have to go first, I’m doing it on my own blog
Ok, let’s all go over to XUP’s place for sex stories,
Notice how I never put any of my dating stories on here. I, like Zoom am not a good dater. I date someone and then end up in a relationship for years. My only blind date…was a 100% success. I married him and am madly in love still.
I can’t help but wonder what happened next…did you and your date go somewhere else and eat something more ethical? Or had she lost her appetite by then? Was there another date?
We did go somewhere else to eat that night – I think we got bread, cheese, and tasty beer to eat on the beach at English Bay. As for other dates, she soon decided authoritatively that men do not interest her.