Story Submitted by Kristin:

Zack was a dreamy blond that played guitar in front of school during breaks and all the girls were crazy about him.  He was polite but aloof and I guess his hard-to-get demeanor made it possible for all the ladies to overlook that he was 5'2" at most.

I set my sights on him.  Word spread that he'd broken up with his mysteriously older university girlfriend and my efforts paid off.  After a while, he asked me out - the first girl in the school to ever be asked on a date with him.  Victory!

After our date out at an Italian restaurant, we drove to a scenic spot right next to a sewage treatment plant.

After that, we went back to his parents' house to hang out in their basement rec room.  A smelly dog rushed to greet us and Zack said, "You must be hot.  My dog has a boner."

Very nice.  Classy.  I changed the subject to talk about our families, and he said, "Your brothers are sure lucky to have a hot sister like you."

I asked, "Why would that make them lucky?"

He thought about it for a moment and said, "I guess they're not so lucky, then."

Nice recovery.  It was easy to let someone else take him off of my hands.

Story Submitted by Patrick:

My first date with Theresa was at her house.  She offered to cook me dinner, which is a hell of a nice first date, based on what I'm used to.

I brought over some wine, and one of the first things she said was, "Why wine?  I have plenty."

I had brought it over to be nice, to at least show some appreciation that she was going through the trouble of cooking.  She took it from me and said, "Bring me something useful next time."

At the time, I took it as playing around, but in light of what happened after, I'm not so sure.

She started her homemade pasta on the stove and we sat down on her couch to talk.  Talking turned into touching, which soon turned into something else for several minutes.

She broke away form me.  "Shit!  The pasta!"  She jumped off of me and ran for the kitchen.

A scream.  I ran for the kitchen but she intercepted me at the door.  She said, shaking, "Please wait outside my house for a moment."

I knew better than to mess with a furious woman, but that didn't stop me from asking her if there was anything I could do to help.

She repeated, "Please wait outside my house for a moment."

I left by the front door, closed it behind me, and waited on the porch.

What I heard next could only be described as the sound of a tornado made of broken glass, ripping through a six-year-old's birthday party.  There were crashes, bangs, shatters, and Theresa's screams... the screams...

"Fuck mother fuck fuck motherfucker fucking fuck fuck fuck!"

She was tearing her kitchen apart.  More than that.  It sounded like she was ripping entire appliances in half.  I had never, ever heard anyone that furious.

I spent what was probably a little too long waiting for her to call me back in before I reentered. 

She was still tearing the place apart and screaming, and when I entered her kitchen, there was smoke all over the place.  I was amazed that a smoke alarm hadn't gone off.

"You okay?" I asked, like an idiot.

"Do I look fucking okay?" she said, then shrieked.

"Uh... I'm probably going to go," I said, and I left without looking back.  That day to this, I haven't heard from her.  I have no idea what set her off, and I hope for the sake of whoever ends up with her that it wasn't the pasta.

Story Submitted by Sarah:

Roger and I met on an Internet dating site.  I didn't normally respond to most messages, but his were just the right mix of funny and dopey/sweet, so we progressed to phone calls and finally he asked me out for a Friday evening.

His first question was, "Want to come over to my apartment?"  I wasn't too into the idea of such a thing for a first date, and I told him so.  He asked a second time, and I again was pretty firm in my request for a different meeting place.

He picked a park, and so a park it was.  We met there and walked a few blocks when, surprise surprise, we happened to be walking right past his apartment building.

He begged and pleaded to bring me inside.  "We won't even go into my place.  I want to show you something way better."

I made him tell me what he had in mind, and he said that he wanted to bring me up to the roof.  It was one of the taller buildings in the area and it was growing dark.  It struck me as an unusual opportunity.

When we made it to the top floor in the elevator, we entered a stairwell and walked up a flight.  He opened the rooftop door for me. 

I stepped onto the roof and looked around.  It was a nice view.  I looked for Roger, but he wasn't behind me.  The door had shut.  I tried to open it.  It wouldn't open.  I banged on it and yelled.

Roger's voice on the other side said, "Now don't you wish you were in my apartment instead?  I told you that we should've gone there.  Now look at you."

I could have panicked and screamed at him, but I lied back, "I was going to go back with you to your apartment, but only after dinner.  I had to know a bit more about you first."

No reply for what seemed like a year.  Then, the door opened slightly.

I shoved it open, smashing it into his face.  He yelled as I ran down the stairs, jumping down as many as I could, and pushing open a door on maybe the seventh or eighth floor.

I stomped down the hall, hoping that someone would open a door.  There was another stairwell at the other end, and I ran for it.  I heard him behind me.

When I smashed into the new stairwell, I ran upstairs a flight and a half and stopped running.  A moment later, he burst in and ran downstairs, as I hoped he would.  I ran up two more flights, entered another hallway, hid for twenty minutes in a small lounge area, then took the elevator down and ran out of the building.

He texted me, "What the hell was that about?  Where are you?"

A minute later, another text from him: "WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?"

I was well on my way home.  Luckily, he didn't know where that was.  That night, I received an e-mail from him telling me how lucky I was that he wasn't going to press charges for "assaulting" him.  I never answered anything he wrote, and since then (three years ago), I haven't heard from him.

E-mail Submitted by Lizzie:

these emails are so hard to sell your self so here goes.

Im open minded, go with the flow, dont play games, family oriented and believe in honesty and dont put up with cheaters and lairs, treat others as you want to be treated, trust is a really big thing for me and has to be there in any good solid relationship. i want a relationship that will lead to marriage, if your a constant party girl ur not the right one for me. You look like you might be.

im a one woman type of guy and expect the same respect in return, we are not kids in school right? I want to miss you when your away and have butterflies when i look at you. i like pda, i want everyone to know your with me, i still hold doors and smile at people even if there to rude to say thanks.

i have a dog that says cheese, 1 bird, 1 turkey, and 1 chicken and will soon be getting my daughter a horse for her , it seems like im a animal magnet as my family wood say cause i now ended up with a cat even tho im more of a dog person and now a couple of weeks ago 2 goats showed up hurt at my barn and noone has claimed them so now that i have them patched up Im pretty sure the girl is pregnant to boot.

Every day im on the tractor doing something, some of you may think its sexy , I just call it work, haha.

It looks like we have some of the same interests in common but an open mind and heart is a must, i look forward to learning your interests with you as much as i want to show you mine .

so if you want to know anything else or just want to say hi just ask me and ill tell ya .


**************************************
Lizzie keeps a chronicle of her own bad dates.  Read all about 'em at thisonetimeonmatch.blogspot.com!

E-mail Submitted by Tom:

hay baby.  you're kind of cute and i like your pics alot.  about me my name is sheila and i like alot of the same things that you do.  how long have you been on this site.

i like hot nights out on the town with my girls or just staying in with wine and a good snugle partner.  i think youd be good for snugling because your a big guy and big guys are like big fat comfy pillows.... haha jk.

i almost never write to guys on here but your profile and pics are great.  write me back and maybe we can go out and have a nice time and go on another date maybe in and then who knows..........

E-mail Submitted by Vanessa:

i feel like we have alot in common, I just dont know if I could go without a girl who swallows, because I'm assuming as a vegetarian that you dont.

E-mail Submitted by Clair:

Here is something I am sure you never heard of, but are you willing to try it? I am willing to compensate you for your time in the sum of $50, but before you get pissed at my approach or disgusted with what I am asking, ask yourself if it really sounds that bad, really?

Then ask yourself is it worth spending 20 minutes of your time trying it, just to say you tried it, and for a good story to tell friends.

My sexual favor would involve you pleasuring me using Swiss cheese.  I tried many different kinds of cheese, like American, Provolone, chez whiz, jack, and cheddar, but settled on Swiss as the best.

Story Submitted by Julian:

I was out at dinner with a small group, and one of my friends, Ben, had brought his girlfriend, Lauren, along, who I hadn't yet met. She was cute and personable, and we all got along great.

After dinner, we all went bowling, and, as what normally happens when my group and leisure time and beer mix, we teased and flirted with each other. Harmless, and we all knew it.

We went our separate ways, home alone or with a significant other (I was in the former category).

I woke up a little before two in the morning. My phone was ringing, a number I didn't recognize. I didn't pick up, but I set it to silent.

The next day, a Facebook friend request from Lauren. I accepted. After all, I had teased her bowling posture relentlessly the prior night. This was the least I could do.

Later that day, a phone call came, that same number that had woken me the last night.

I picked up. It was Lauren. I told her that it was good to bear from her, but asked her why she had called me so late.

"Oh, I must have been wasted," she said.

She didn't explain how she had come by my number, but I let that go for the time being. She asked if I wanted to meet up with her and Ben for an early dinner. I agreed.

When I made it to the restaurant, I saw Lauren, but no sign of Ben. She gave me a big hug and drew away slowly, as if a kiss was meant to come next. At once, I developed a funny feeling.

I asked her where Ben was and she said that he would be joining us separately. We sat down and she commenced with telling me her life story. Anytime I made a flippant comment, she laughed as if it was the funniest thing she had ever heard.

Finally, after a solid 20 minutes, after we had placed our orders and she hadn't mentioned Ben once, I stated that I didn't think that Ben was coming at all.

She confessed that he wasn't, and that she was obsessed with me. "Ever since last night, I couldn't stop thinking about you. I know you feel the same way," she said, "And I know what we can do about Ben."

Crap. This wasn't a good situation at all. Let me state that I did NOT share Lauren's skewed view of the situation. I thought she was plenty cute, but pulling a girlfriend away from a buddy is not how I operate.

I informed her that I didn't think that this was a good idea, that I wouldn't say anything to Ben about it, and that we should finish our dinner and be done with it.

She took my hand, but I pulled it away.

She said, "This is not cool. You obviously liked me last night.  I'm ready to break up with Ben for you, and all of a sudden, you're not interested?"

I said, "I was never interested."

"You're lying.  You were and you are."

I explained to her again that I wasn't and didn't mean to give off the impression that I was ever interested.

She said, "I'm leaving Ben for you, and you're going to have to explain it to him."

I told her that if I called Ben and explained the situation to him, he'd believe me, since he and I were friends.  At least, I hoped that he'd believe me.

She replied, "I bet he'll believe me, especially if I call him first."

She stood up and left.  I pulled out my phone, called Ben, and explained everything.  He believed me and wound up dumping her.

The following month or two involved a steady stream of texts and phone calls from her, which stopped abruptly once she probably realized that I would never, ever go out with her.

**Send A Bad Case of the Dates your sketchy e-mails.  We'll post 'em up!  abadcaseofthedates at gmail dot com!


E-mail Submitted by Seth:

I'm Anna.  You might be interested to know that I was valedectorian of my senior class and that I planned our class trip to Florida the year that we all went to Florida on a class trip.

In your profile you say that you like carpenters, guitar, and poetry.  I am also into animals, books (short and long and very long) and making dinner.

My boyfriend has been gone for a long time.  I stopped dating for a while but now I'm back and better and badder and batter than ever.  That was a cooking joke.  Cooking batter.  Do you know what the batter is all a batter?

I'd love to hear back.  Hit me batter batter batter.

Sincerely,

Anna

PS:

**********************************
Seth says, "The PS was blank.  I guess I'll never know what she wanted to add.  Or where her boyfriend went."

**Send A Bad Case of the Dates your sketchy e-mails.  We'll post 'em up!  abadcaseofthedates at gmail dot com!


E-mail Submitted by Erin:

I'M A BIG-FUN, ULTRA-KINKY, DOMINANT, SELF-MADE MILLIONAIRE, HEGELIAN, VEGAN FREAK LOOKING 4 HIS ANAL-PRINCESS 4 A SERIOUS, LONG-TERM, COMMITTED RELATIONSHIP & I THINK THAT U LOOK HOTTER THAN FUCKING HELL SO LET'S MEAT! U SHOULD GIVE ME YOUR CONTACT INFO (preferably your phone # butt at the very least your im sn) SO I CAN CONTACT U & OR U CAN USE MY CONTACT INFO BELOW 2 CONTACT ME, EITHER WAY, LET'S HOOK-UP!!! I OWN A GORGEOUS GRAMERCY PARK, MANHATTAN APARTMENT & I'M LOOKING 4 A LIVE-IN GF & MAYBE EVEN A LOT MORE THAN JUST A GF!!!!! HOW ABOUT US ENJOYING 7-DAY WEEKENDS 2GETHER, POSSIBLY EVEN TILL DEATH DO US PART?!!!!!!!!!!

RICHARD

> Let me not to the marriage of true minds
> Admit impediments. Love is not love
> Which alters when it alteration finds,
> Or bends with the remover to remove:
> O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,
> That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
> It is the star to every wandering bark,
> Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
> Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
> Within his bending sickle's compass come;
> Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
> But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
> If this be error and upon me proved,
> I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

**Send A Bad Case of the Dates your sketchy e-mails.  We'll post 'em up!  abadcaseofthedates at gmail dot com!


E-mail Submitted by Kate:

Since I am working on my masters thesis these days, and I am spending too much time about academic stuff, let's write this letter in an academic way. So, I am going to tell you about the purpose of this email right away: I am writing this email to ask you out for coffee or a drink sometime!!!! ( FYI: I AM NOT A NERD AT ALL!!!! sorry that this email is too scientific... lol... that's because I wanted to grab your attention. At the end of this email I will ask you to tell me how successful my attemps was)

I try not to judge people based on their pictures, nor what they write in their profiles. People usually claim they are great and they try to advertise for themselves in this website, however, I prefer to see them face to face, talk with them, and then judge them based on how they think, talk and behave.

I know you will ask me, if I don't judge people based on their profile and pictures, how I have picked you up and emailed you? You will probably think I am emailing everyone if I am not judging them based on their pics and profile. Well, I should say I don't judge them, but I do filter them based on my minimum expectations. I am emailing you because I have read your profile and seen your pics and I think we have those minimum and maybe it's worth it to know each other a little bit more.

I read your profile, and looked at your pics. It seems that you like adventures. That's awesome. I know many people say I felt in love with you righ away, or I got very interested in you. To be honest, I cannot claim something like that because I don't know you well. I even don't know your name, and don't know your personality and lifestyle. I am sure you don't know anything about me as well. That's why I suggested to have coffee together.

Sitting outside in a beautiful day like this, having coffee together and talking face to face will give us the opportunity to know each other better. I know we have not talked for an hour yet, but let's think what happens if we meet for coffee.There can be 3 outcomes out of it.

1. one of us is a weird person: in this case by meeting face to face the other erson will know that he/she should not keep in touch with this person anymore. This is a good outcome because he/she will save his/her time by knowing that early.

2. we are both OK, but we do not click. Then we can either be just friends-it is always good to meet new people and make new friends- or we decide not to see each other anymore. In this scenario we have tried our chance at no cost, and we will not regret it later.

3. we meet, and we click in the first meeting. This case is obviously the best scenario. If it happens, we can meet each other more and know each other better and see where we end up.

So in conclusion, meeting for coffee has the lowest cost (in terms of time and risk), but it can have great benefits for us ( again in terms of time savings, and opportunities)... lol.... by the way, this process that I just used is a scientific process known as COST BENEFIT ANALYSIS, and I can provide you with the scientific proof, and sources at your request ;)

(Let me know what you think about my email) ----> this is not part of the email

Have a good day and hope to hear from you soon.

Paul

**Send A Bad Case of the Dates your sketchy e-mails.  We'll post 'em!  abadcaseofthedates at gmail dot com!


E-Mail Submitted by Sara:

Hey how are you, My name is Jim, i'm 25 and originally from NJ, right by nyc. I don't know if you will believe this, but i'm currently employed as a saxophone player for the Ringling Bros Circus.

Currently I'm in NJ, home on vacation but I"ll be in miami, fl as of this jan 4, thursday till Mon, Jan 15.

What i'm looking for is someone that is looking for the same thing i am. i'm a Nice guy, 6'4 if u like tall guys hehe., and i'm looking for some company while in town. I would like for there to be an attraction. I want to be able to bullshit, and yet at the same time cuddle and have some pillow talk and maybe even go see the show.

I know this is hard to ask , especially since we don't know each other, that's why i'm asking for someone who's open minded to this and trusting. I'm a good guy, raised well, sweet, sensual, yet i can be aggressive when the time calls for it. Lets chat b4 i get into town.

Hope to hear from you soon.

Jim

*******************************************
Sara adds, "When I received this message I was a little confused because he said he was coming to Miami, yet I was living in Columbia, South Carolina at the time. After a visit to the circus website, I discovered that the circus was at that time in Miami, but was coming to Columbia the following week. I'm pretty sure he was sending this same message to girls in every city he visited, and when he sent it to me, he forgot to change 'Miami' to 'Columbia.' Ooops!"

**Send A Bad Case of the Dates your sketchiest e-mails.  We'll post 'em!  abadcaseofthedates at gmail dot com!


Story Submitted by Leigh:

James, who I met online, was five years older than I was (he was 30), and a high school teacher.  In a message to me, shortly before our date, he said:

"People use metaphor and hyperbole waaaaay too much.  They shouldn't be abused.  That's what's made America so idiotic."

Oddly, he never called me on anything in our introductory e-mails or in the single phone call we had leading up to the date.  The date itself, though, was a different story.

We met at a mall.  While we were walking together, I said, "I had a project at work today that took me forever."

He cut in, "Then why aren't you still doing it, if it took you forever?"

I didn't know what to say.  He continued, "Obviously, it didn't take you forever.  Be more literal, please."

I told him that everyone used such phrases all the time.  He countered with asking me, "Does that make it right?  And by the way, saying that 'everyone' uses them is another fallacy."

I was growing tired of him fast, and we had only been out for ten minutes.  "That's just how I talk," I said.

He went on a diatribe about how everyone from his family to his friends to his students are stupider now than they've ever been before.  When the language is corrupted, he explained, the mind became corrupted.

I cut in, "But what about Shakespeare?  He used metaphors and hyperbole all the time."

"Another fallacy," he retorted, "He didn't use them 'all the time,' and when he did, he used them correctly and effectively.  Oh, the Bard," he sighed, like he was missing an old friend.

I asked him if it was okay that he suspended his corrective logic for the rest of our date, because the way that I spoke couldn't be "fixed" in a single night.

He replied, "There's no better time to start.  You're very lucky to be out with me, did you know that?"

All through dinner, it was more and more.  He took forever to form a sentence, because he was probably trying as hard as he could to avoid metaphor or hyperbole.  Finally, I said something really minor, like, "I couldn't wait for the day to be over."

He said, "That's either a lie or hyperbole.  If you couldn't wait, then you wouldn't have waited.  If you did, then you just lied.  See?"  He smiled and raised his paper cup of Pepsi in my direction.

I said, "I'm just going to talk how I want, and that's it."

He shrugged and said, "Pity."

We finished dinner in awkward silence, went for another short walk (which I directed down towards the parking lot), said goodnight, and weren't in touch anymore after that.

Worst date ever.  No hyperbole.

Lots of us are on dating sites.  We hear plenty of great stories about dates that happened, but what about the ones that don't make it that far?  For every person you meet, there are bound to be several who don't make the cut.  Why not?

Whether it's from years ago or that weirdo who messaged you last week (sorry about that), send in some of the worst "romantic" e-mails you've received to abadcaseofthedates at gmail dot com!

- JMG

Story Submitted by Michelle:

I met Tyler when I was in a play in graduate school. He was the photographer hired to take our head shots. He was a good-looking man, so I waited with anticipation while the other cast members had their time with him. When it came to be my turn, I was stunned, caught like a deer in the headlights of his mesmerizing  blue eyes.

That night after rehearsal, he invited me to join him for dinner and I readily accepted. There, he regaled me with stories of travel and adventure. Having been both a model and a photographer, there were few places he had left unvisited.

I was most enthralled by his camping trip through Prince Edward Island, Canada. He spent a few weeks there, exploring the island's riches with only his dog as a companion. I was smitten by his charm and charisma.

For our next date, he prepared me a special vegetarian meal. The food was delicious. His place was quaint and eclectic. Our chemistry was palpable. The problem was mainly the conversation.

He told me how much he loved dogs. In fact, one of his favorite activities was to take walks in the evening, find dogs penned up in yards, let them out, take them for a spin, and bring them back.

Interesting. Okay, I could understand feeling like the poor creatures had been cooped up all day and wanting to make sure they were able to get a modicum of exercise. On the other hand, having been a dog owner, if I looked out my window and saw some random guy taking my dog for a walk, I might not have felt the same way. No worries, it was probably harmless.

He told me about his former dogs, even opening one of his kitchen cabinets to reveal laminated copies of the lost dog flyers had had put up when they had gone missing.

We moved off of the subject, and talked about various other topics when he said, "Did I ever tell you about the time I backpacked around Prince Edward Island with my girlfriend?"

"Girlfriend? I thought you backpacked with your dog."

"Yeah. Sometimes I called her my girlfriend.  She kept me warm on a lot of cold, lonely nights.  You know how it can be."

I'm not sure what flimsy excuse I used at that point to let me gracefully exit his apartment, but exit I did.

A few days later, on the opening night of my show, he called to invite me out for what might have been our third date.

He asked, "Do you have any plans tonight?"

"Actually, yes, it's opening night of my show."

He said, "That's right.  I was wondering if you wanted to make a porno.  I'm house sitting and I wanted to see if you wanted to come over. There's a hottub.  We could have some alcohol and some clothes or lots of alcohol and no clothes. Your choice."

Click.

**NEW ABCotD FEATURE: This is a dating site e-mail.  A bad one.  Do you have any cringe-worthy ones of your own?  Send 'em into abadcaseofthedates at gmail dot com!


E-mail Submitted by Alexa:

well hello i am just looking around. first off my name is jacob a down to earth guy looking for some fun . i love to do about anything i aim to please and wont stop till the job is compleate. i love woman just to be around wonderful respectful ladie is great. i have a lil thing for pretty feet meaning well kept painted etc i do not like to suck or lick jus to rub give a lil tickle lol but i have learned that some woman dont like their feet played with and i also have a thing with hair you can always find me taken my fingers to put a womans hair behind her ears or taken my finger tips and massaging her scalp jus love to have her feeling very calm wanted and to let her no how beautiful she is . i have learned that woman that post a profile tend to post it out of a mood they were in and never respond i have sent a couple of ladies messages with no luck theres not too many on here that fit what iam looking for but as in you your picture is very pretty and i could deffently want to chat with you try to see if i could be something you would want. well ne who girl get back at me let me no either way so i no iam not just sending messages to fake profiles thanks and again my name is jacob you can call me jack ttyl

Submitted by Rory:

At a college study break that had degenerated into a drunken party, I met Kim, a petite blonde.  We talked for a while, kissed a fair amount, and I somehow had the presence of mind to ask her for her number.

I called her a few days later and asked her out.  All went according to plan, just the way I like it.

On our date, I couldn't help but notice that she wore no bra under a tight top.  I like that, too.

What I didn't like started just after the waitress took our drink orders.

"You were checking her out," Kim accused.

It was difficult, if not impossible for me to check out anything that night other than the bra-less girl sitting across the table from me.  I said, "No, I didn't," and it was the truth.

"Don't lie to me," Kim continued, "Don't forget who you're here with."

I remembered how nice it was the last time we had seen each other, when there was a bit less talking and a bit more fooling around.  Ah, nostalgia.

The waitress came back with our drinks, and we ordered our food.

After she left, Kim said, "You did it again."

I said, "I just looked at her when I ordered.  I'm allowed to look at a waitress when I order my dinner, aren't I?"

"There's a difference between 'looking' and 'checking out.'  You were checking her out."

I asked Kim to show me the difference between the two.  She said, "This is looking," and then glanced up and down quickly, as if the waitress was still there.  Then, she said, "This is checking her out," and then stared upwards, mouth agape.

"I didn't do that.  I just looked at her."

Then, Kim said, "Whatever.  Like she'd ever sleep with you.  Like anyone would."

Ouch, Kim!  That wasn't very nice.  I said, "Wow."

She asked, "What?"

And I said, "You're a real bitch.  Someone shit in your cereal?"

She made a hilarious face that looked like the mating of a raisin and a beaver.  She stood up, tried to shove the table at me (it was bolted down) and stormed off.

Both dinners came, and I had them wrapped up for myself to go.  Nothing wrong with having dinner for a couple of nights.

She called and texted me like the end of the world was going down, but I didn't acknowledge a single one of her messages.

Submitted by Kate:

I met Dennis online.  We hit it off, and I asked him if he'd be up for meeting on a Friday or Saturday.

He said that he could "pencil me in" on the following Wednesday evening, and he named a place.  This place, however, was a bit of a hassle for me to visit on a weeknight, as it was on the other side of the city.  I asked him if he'd want to meet in a more central location.

For that, he said that I'd then have to wait a while, as he "didn't have any other openings for the immediate future."

This seemed like a silly thing for me to be hung up on, so I agreed to meet him at the place he specified.  "Don't be late," he warned me via e-mail.

The day of the date, he called for two reasons.  First was to perfunctorily ask me how I was doing.  The second was to tell me, "Be on time, please."

What was with this guy?  I valued punctuality, but he seemed a little too hands-on about it.  I said I'd be on time.  What else do you want?

I made it there well before 6:30, our scheduled meeting time.  When I went inside the cafe, I saw that he was already there, speaking to another woman.  He didn't notice me, and I didn't think anything of it at the time, but ordered a tea and waited until just before 6:30 to go over to him.

Just before 6:30, she stood up and left.  I walked over to him with my tea.  He greeted me warmly.  I told him that I had made it there early and had waited while he was with his friend.  He said, "Oh yeah.  She's just someone from work."

Time flew.  I had a decent time with him, although he checked his watch every few minutes.  After a little while, he glanced at his watch once more and said, "Well, time to wrap things up."

"That was fast.  You have to go?" I asked.

He said, "No.  You do.  I have another date right at 7:30, and it's 7:27.  Time to go.  I'll call if I'm interested."

He had run it like a job interview.  I felt humiliated.  Then, I knew exactly what to say:

"I'll answer if I'm interested."

I left.

He called.

I didn't answer.

Submitted by Tim:

Rachel was an elementary school teacher whose profile I found online.  She was really attractive and seemed very bright.  She was the sort of women who you wrote to and really prayed that she'd get back in touch.  Lucky for me (or so I thought), she did.  She asked me a lot of questions, and we had plenty to talk about for quite a while.  We both had brothers who were engineers, we both were just out of two-year relationships, and we both liked football.  Imagine that.

I asked her on a date, and planned to pick her up at her house that Friday night.  Awesome, right?

I made it to her house, went up to the front door, and found it ajar.  I knocked and called her name several times.  No answer.  I tried her phone.  Voicemail.  I waited for several more minutes, then pushed the door open.

I called "Hello" about a hundred times and stepped inside.

Right to my left, when I walked in, was a small but well-cleaned dining room, and sitting at the head of the table was Rachel.  She looked as if she had just woken up, and was in pajamas.  She had a curious smile on her face and stared straight ahead, as if she didn't see me at all.  She blinked and I saw her breathing, so at least she was alive.

"Rachel?  Are you all right?" I asked, stepping beside her and touching her shoulder. 

No response.  I looked around, and called her name a few more times before shouting, "Hello?" to the house once more.

I cupped her face in my hands and tried turning her to face me, but she was stiff as a wooden board.  I had never felt anything like that before.  I said, "Rachel, if you don't respond, then I'm going to call 911."

No response.  I pulled out my phone.

She twisted her head to me and loudly said, "Don't call 911."

I nearly evacuated my bowels in shock.  She turned back to staring over the table.  "I'm just thinking," she said.

At that point, I noticed a strange noise coming from somewhere in the house, like someone cracking his or her knuckles over and over again.  I said, "Okay," and I left.

I didn't hear from her again.  The best theory that I have is that she had second thoughts about seeing me and wanted to creep me out as best she could.  It worked.

Submitted by Mia:

Back in college, I was taking part in a group volleyball game on one of the quads when I met Aaron. An economics major, he was tall, smart, and had a great ass.  We caught each other's eye, exchanged small talk, I gave him my number, and after a break, we went back to the game, where my team proceeded to kick his team into next week.

Aaron called me a few hours after the game ended, and the conversation was so nervous, fumbled, and funny, that I had to say yes when he asked me on a date. 

He picked me up at the house that I subletted with four other women, and off we went. 

Aaron had a sort of funny quirk.  If he had to make a right turn at a red light, he would always make it, even if a sign forbade it.

He said, "I did it once, right in front of a cop, and he didn't pull me over. I've never been pulled over for doing it. It's a sham, like it's only meant for bad drivers only. As long as you're careful, you're cool."

I didn't exactly agree with his logic, and I told him so, but he brushed it off. He said, "You'll save so much time this way. Here," and as we pulled up to another red light, he signaled and turned right onto a suburban road. "See?"

I said, "Great, but there wasn't a no turn on red sign there. What you just did was legal."

"Shit," he said, then promised to find one for me. I told him that he didn't have to, but he ignored me.

We drove for a little while until we hit a big intersection that had a fair amount of traffic and a no turn sign. He checked both ways, then tore into his right turn, right in front of a tractor trailer!

It honked and flashed its brights. Aaron barked, "Asshole! We had enough time for the turn. He's definitely exceeding the speed limit. Where's a cop when you need one?"

At dinner, he helped himself to plenty from my plate, only afterward asking, "Do you mind?"

I asked him, "Can I take from yours?" and not waiting for a response, I took some of my own food back. He didn't seem to notice or care.

For all of the points he had scored the day we first spoke, he had lost too many to really seem attractive to me for any longer.  After dinner, I was ready to go home, and asked Aaron to drive me back.

"Score," he said in response, coupled with an arm pump. 

We made it back to my house, where two of my housemates were talking on the front stoop.

"Those your lovers?" he asked as we pulled up.

"You wish," I said, then, "Thanks for the date."  I opened my car door.

He said, "Oh.  We're done?"

I said, "Yeah, I'm kind of tired."

"I'm good at tucking people in.  Let me sing you a lullaby."

I couldn't help but smile, mostly out of embarrassment, for his sake.  Then, he started singing, "Lullaby... and goodnight... put your head down and sleep tight..."

"Good night, Aaron."

He kept singing and I closed the door.  I greeted my housemates and was about to enter the house when I heard Aaron shouting, "Lullaby and goodnight... da da da da da da da..."  He had jumped out of his car and was sing-shouting the song in my direction.

I waved and hurried inside.  He shouted for a few more moments before one of my housemates, still outside, yelled, "She said goodnight!"

He gave her the finger, climbed back into his car, and flew off.

He called me the next day to say that he had a great time.  I told him that I wasn't really feeling a connection.

Submitted by John:

Jillian and I were packed together on a double seat on my regular rush hour train to the city. She was drop dead gorgeous, and I still can't believe that I mustered up the courage to talk to her.

She was from a town two stops before mine, worked in international finance, and was a lounge singer every other weekend. Somehow or other, right before we made it to our final stop, I asked for her number, which she gave me.

I called her the next day, a Tuesday, to see if she wanted to meet up that weekend.

"It took you long enough," I remember her saying, "I was wondering if you were ever going to call."

She said that she was going to be at her lounge singing gig that Friday night and Saturday night and asked if I would go and watch her sing. I was into the idea, and offered to take her out for drinks afterward.  She went for it.

I planned to call her once or twice before then to check in and see how she was doing, but each day, she beat me to the punch, calling me up first to talk and talk for close to an hour each time.  Even when we ran out of things to talk about (she wasn't a great conversationalist), we'd stay on the phone in silence.  When I'd try to wrap things up, she'd ask me a random question, out of nowhere, like, "What's your favorite color?"

That Friday night, I went to her bar, a nice, dark place I had never been to that overlooked the city.  It wasn't too busy, and I sat myself down at one of the tables, ordered a drink, and enjoyed her set.

Afterward, she came up to me, and she didn't seem happy.  "Where are your friends?" she asked.

I had no idea what she was talking about.  "What friends?" I asked her.

"I told you to bring as many friends as possible.  The owner is thinking about canceling my act, because not enough people come in.  I asked you to bring a group.  You're telling me that you're it?"

Never, and I mean never once in our entire week of talking, did she mention a single thing about me bringing anyone other than myself.  I would have remembered that, as "bring friends" is girl code for, "it's not a date."

I said, "You never told me to bring friends.  I thought that it was going to be just us?"

"Just us?  You and I?  Ugh.  Dream on.  No."

Over the past week, on the phone, she made it seem as though she practically couldn't live without me.  Who was this person?

Having detected ample amounts of crazy, I started to leave.  She said, "If you think you're going to leave without at least buying me a drink, after this stunt, then you're out of your mind.  You've got a lot of nerve."

I called a waiter over and asked her what she wanted.  She ordered one of the most expensive martinis on the menu.  After the waiter took her order, I stood up, said, "Enjoy your drink," and bolted out of there.

Submitted by Tracy:

I met Robert at a community picnic. He was a volunteer fireman and a single dad.

"My wife died in a fire. Ironic," he said shortly after I met him.

The stare I gave him must have been enough. He went on. "Kidding. She's in Vegas with her lover."

He paid plenty of attention to me, and we were each full of questions for each other. I was impressed with his public service career, and he was impressed with my work as a psychiatrist. We spoke all through dinner, and I gave him my number when everything was closing up.

After a week, he hadn't called, and I surmised that I wouldn't be hearing from him. I thought about calling the fire department where I knew he volunteered, but that would've been a bit obsessive. He had my number. He knew what to do with it.

I had arrived home on a subsequent Saturday night after seeing friends. It was around one in the morning. I was about to climb into bed when I heard a fire engine siren some distance off.

Nothing too unusual. I climbed into bed and opened a book.

The fire engine whined louder.

"Must be something close by," I thought.

Louder.

"Must be in my neighborhood."

Louder.

"Oh no... it must be on my street."

I hopped out of bed and looked out my window. A giant fire engine, sirens screaming and lights flashing, stopped right in front of my house. Neighbors were opening their doors to look.

I ran downstairs, panicked.

Banging on the door. "Fire department! Open up!"

I ran for the door and opened it, convinced that my roof was on fire.

Robert stood on the doorstep, in a full fireman's uniform. He pulled off his helmet.

"Tracy!" he said.

I word-vomited, "Oh my God! Robert! What's wrong? Is my house on fire? What's going on?"

"No, no. I just wanted to surprise you."

I could barely hear him over my heartbeat, so I asked him to repeat himself. He did. He had done it to surprise me.

I took a minute to catch my breath and figure out what to say.

I asked, "Are you fucking crazy? A fire engine? At this time of night? Waking everyone up? Scaring me to death?"

He became defensive, "Hey, I did this for you. I wanted to give you the best surprise you've ever had."

"Flowers! A nice dinner! A play! A hike! A trip to the zoo! You surprise me with a fire engine? Banging on my door?"

"Yup!"

"Get away from me!"

I slammed the door shut between us, and, shaking like never before, called the police.

I heard him yell, "Fucking bitch!" from the front yard, and I heard the fire engine moving. I was afraid that he was going to drive it into the house, but he blasted the sirens and drove away.

The next day, I called up his fire station and demanded to speak to the chief. He was very understanding, mentioned that Robert had a record of disciplinary problems.  I had him fired.

He wasn't arrested for that stunt, but last I heard, the city was investigating him for something else, regarding embezzlement.

Definitely the strangest and most unwelcome surprise I've ever had from a guy. I laugh about it now, but I'm sure that the entire incident probably shortened my life somewhat.

Submitted by Mallory:

Andrew and I met on a Christian dating site.  It was for all levels of belief, and all levels of belief, I think, were represented on the site.  To describe me as "lapsed" would give me too much credit.  I was basically on there to find a like-minded guy.

Andrew e-mailed me, and I looked at his profile.  The phrase "soldier of Christ Jesus" was mentioned twice, which, I have to confess, was a big red flag. 

His message, however, was devoid of any judgment or anything Jesus-loving.  He came across as a nice guy.  After sending a few messages back and forth with him on the site itself, he asked if we could switch to e-mail, which was fine.

It was in my first e-mail to him that I asked him about his identification as a soldier of Christ Jesus.  He explained that it was a long story, and that he didn't actually keep the faith as strongly as he implied in his profile, but that it wasn't up to him.

This made me curious, and lowered the original red flags a bit, although it raised up some brand-new ones in their place.  He asked if we could meet in person.  Other than this whole "soldier" business, he seemed normal, and really, really nice.  Nice guys on a Christian dating site, I don't know if you're aware, are actually pretty hard to find.

The tall Andrew showed up looking clean-cut, and he wore a terrific smile.  I really wanted things to work out, although, as a few years of Internet dating taught me, it was always best to be cautious.

We sat down to dinner and we made small talk until I finally asked him, "Okay, so explain the whole 'soldier' thing."

"My mother made me put it in there," he explained, "She stumbled on my profile a few months back, and she's really into Jesus, and she said that I'd either have to put it into my profile or she'd cancel my account."

"She pays for your account?"

He nodded.

I asked, "Why not pay for it yourself?  You could put anything on there that you want."

He said, "It's thirty dollars a month.  It's worth it to have it paid for, if the only trade off is putting that phrase in the profile.  And that I let her read the e-mails I get."

Suddenly, I lost my appetite.  I asked him to elaborate.  He said that that was why he had asked me to switch the conversation to e-mail, to an account that his mother didn't know that he had.

"She has my password for the dating site," he said, "It's a condition of her paying for it."

I asked, "Is it really worth it to you, to have it for free?"

"It's free," he said simply.  Then, he asked, "Want to meet her?"

"Your mother?  Not tonight, if that's okay."

"Even for a minute.  She likes meeting my dates."

I said, "No thanks."

"All of my dates."

"No.  Thank you."

Yes, I went through the rest of dinner.  We split the bill, and I returned home as soon as possible.

He wrote me that night, telling me that he told his mother all about me and that she really wanted to meet me and that I should be honored.  I wrote back a one-line response to inform him that I didn't think that things were going to work, and that I wished him the best of luck.

Submitted by Ethan:

I was on my only date with Anne when somehow or other we made it to talking about past relationships.

She said, "My last boyfriend broke up with me because I asked him if he had a hard time walking because of the stuff between his legs."

I was in a playful mood, so I responded, "So did he?"

She said, "I don't know.  Right after that he said, 'I think we should break up.'"

Something didn't add up.  She had previously mentioned that this had been a three-year relationship, and most three-year relationships I know of don't end because of a question such as that.

I asked her to elaborate more, but she became defensive and so I dropped it.

After dinner, we were walking and she asked, "Did I show you my tattoo?"

I didn't even know that she had a tattoo, and the question itself was strange.  We had just met.  Wouldn't she have remembered showing me a tattoo?

She lifted her shirt.  A verse was written in black, Chinese letters around her navel.

"What's it say?" I asked.

"It's Shakespeare," she said.

"Which verse?"

"Just his name.  In Chinese."

She rolled her shirt down and said, "I have four tattoos.  Maybe you'll see the other ones someday."

"Maybe."

She asked, "Want to know where it is?"

"Okay."

"I'm not telling."

We kept walking and made it to a bench.  When we sat, she put her leg on top of mine and said, "I'm so tempted to show you my other tattoos.  Why don't I just show you?"

"Why don't you?"

She looked around and said, "Follow me."

She stood up and I followed her down a side street and up someone's driveway.  She leaned against a garage and pulled down her pants.

Her upper left thigh had three small tattoos, in black ink, of penises and scrotum.

"A friend did them for me.  I got the first one after I lost my virginity, and every time afterward," she explained.

"Wow," I said, "That's great."

She pulled her pants back up.  "Get your mind out of the gutter. boy.  We're not going to do anything tonight."

"Okay."

She was right.  We didn't do anything that night, aside from the fact that she tried to slide her tongue deep enough to reach my small intestine when we kissed goodnight.

Submitted by Lori:

Steve and I met while doing volunteer work at an after-school program for homeless children.  I was connected to it through a local charity, and he found his way there through his college.

We basically spent the time keeping the kids occupied, watching them, playing with them, and making sure that their parents picked them up at the end of the day.  We'd then spend about 10-15 minutes cleaning the place up and making sure that it was ready for the teachers the following morning.

Steve and I became close, and our playful banter during clean-up time soon flowed into flirting.  One day after work, he asked me out.  I was pretty excited, as he was an exciting, handsome guy, and I enjoyed spending time with him at work.  Plus, he always let the kids climb all over him, and that always made me smile.

On the night of the date, he picked me up at my house and he drove me... to the school where we worked.

I asked him what we were doing there, and he pulled out a key on a key ring and twirled it around his finger.  That was surprising, as I was never given a key to the place, myself.  Why would I?  We were just after-school helpers.  Why would he have one?

He said, "I thought we could have some fun.  You know.  Inside."

I asked him, "How'd you get a key?"

All he answered was, "Come on."

He stepped out of the car.

I called after him, "I don't really want to.  Can we do dinner and we'll see what happens afterward?"

He closed his door and walked up to the building.  I opened my door and called out, "What if it's alarmed?"

He said, "It's a school."  He put the key in a side door and opened it.

All at once, he turned back to me and ran for the car.  He threw himself in and turned it on.

"Shit," he said, "There's an alarm!"

He backed out of the parking space and we zoomed down the street, through a red light.

"Slow down!" I shouted.  He pulled over to a side street and parked.  My heart was thumping.  His hands gripped the wheel.

Shaking, I said, "I'd like to go home."

He asked, "Is anyone else there?"

"My parents."

"So why would you want to go home?  Let's do dinner."

He took me to a Burger King, and once we were done there, he asked me if I knew anyplace where we could be alone.

I told him, "Maybe next time," and he drove me home.

There was no mention by anyone the next day about the alarm going off, and I wasn't going to say anything.  Steve and I still worked together for a couple of months, but every time he asked me out after that, for some reason or another, I ensured that I was too busy.

Submitted by Bob:

Kelly was a third-grade teacher who I encountered online.  She seemed very enthusiastic about teaching and had a very strong personality.  Her messages to me implied very strongly that everyone from her parents to her friends to ex-boyfriends had wronged her in various ways, but that she came out on top of things every time.

It was a little off-putting, but she seemed genuinely curious about me and we didn't have a lack of things to talk about.  I asked her out on a date to a restaurant and she accepted.

Not too long after we had ordered our meals, I excused myself to use the restroom.

I wasn't in the stall for two minutes when the door opened and someone came in.

Funny, it sounded like high heels, clicking on the tile floor.

Fingers curled around the top of my stall door.  A pair of eyes looked over the door and down at me, on the toilet.  Kelly's eyes.

I stared at her, unsure of what to say or do until the right words showed up:

"What the hell?"

She said, "Just checking," and slipped away from the door and back out to the restaurant.

After that, I hurried to finish my business and returned to the table, where she was waiting.

I didn't sit down, but I asked her, again, "What the hell?"

She said, "I had a guy on a date once excuse himself to go to the bathroom.  He was gone a long time, and when I went to look for him, I found him on the phone with some slut."

She had stopped, but I didn't say anything, hoping that she'd continue, hopefully adding something that made sense.

She finished, "So you can't blame me.  Sit down."

I sat down, and went along with the rest of the date as if her behavior was nothing to be worried about.  Not even when she said, "I might do that again, once or twice.  If you've got nothing to hide, you've got nothing to be afraid of."

I was afraid, all right, and made sure that that was the only time I ever saw her.

Submitted by Lawrence:

I found Olivia online, and I really liked what her profile had to say.  The accompanying photos of her petite, brown-haired, smiling self didn't hurt, either.  She and I both liked skiing and most of the same movies.  We scheduled a date.

Two days before it, she e-mailed to let me know that she had decided to go exclusive with another guy, and that she wished me the best of luck.

I was bummed, but I know how life can work, so I was ready to move on.

Less than a week later, she sent me another e-mail.  It didn't reference a thing about her prior message, and she asked me if I wanted to meet up.

That was a bit strange, and I messaged her back to ask her if she was sure that it was a good idea, given her previous e-mail.

She replied basically along the lines of, "But we can still meet, can't we?"

Hmmmm.

We met at a sidewalk cafe.  She looked great, and the first thing I thought was, "She looks like she's dressed up for a date."

I didn't allude to her e-mails, and she flirted pretty heavily with me, touching me, making sexual comments, and so on.  I couldn't really follow the mixed messages.

Finally, I asked her what she was doing, as she had made it pretty clear that she had found someone else and wanted to pursue a relationship with him.

She explained, "I sent him the same message.  I wouldn't want either of you thinking that I was cheating on the other one, so I'm going to try going exclusive with you both."

From where I come from, "exclusive" means, "just one," so Olivia's definition didn't make much sense to me.

Just to be sure I had it right, I asked her, "So you sent messages to me and another guy, telling us that you didn't want to see either of us anymore... because you want to see both of us?"

She agreed with my appraisal of the situation.  I informed her that I defined exclusivity a little differently than she did, although I didn't have a problem with staying friends.

She asked, "But why can't we go out?  Is there something wrong?  People do this all the time."

"Exclusive relationships with two people?"

"Yeah."

I told her, again, that I wasn't into the idea.

"But why not?  What's the problem?" she prodded.

I was becoming more and more confused.  Perhaps it was all a misunderstanding.  I asked her if she meant to "date" both of us, as opposed to being "exclusive" with both of us.  Dating more than one person, as far as I knew, made a bit more sense.

But it wasn't, apparently what she was talking about.  She said, "Exclusive, as in, I'm seeing only both of you."

"As in, we're both your boyfriends?"

"Yeah.  And neither of you date anyone else."

I asked, "But it's okay for you to date two people?"

"Yes."

I was done with this.  "I don't think so."

"Why not?"

"I just don't like the idea.  Sorry."

"Why not?"

I stood up, to drive the point home.  "I'm doing you a favor," I said, "Now you don't have to worry about dating both of us.  Just the other guy.  Have fun.  And good luck."

She looked at me like I was insane, I put some money down for the check, and I left.  Was I in the wrong, here?

Submitted by Alana:

I met Don on an online site. He was a tall, well-educated, and athletic architect who was also a guitarist. We were from the same area originally, having relocated thousands of miles to our current city.

On our first date, he took me out to a very expensive restaurant and made sure to treat me like a lady. He seemed promising, but after a few more dates, something seemed amiss.  He had a tendency to steer conversations by making statements, rather than answering the questions I had just asked.

For instance, I met his cat and asked, “What’s the cat’s name?”

He replied, “He used to belong to my old girlfriend of 10 years and he grew so close to me while we lived together that when we broke up, she let me keep him.”

“That’s great. What’s his name?”

Our penultimate date had gone rather poorly, with him blatantly criticizing me, so it surprised me when he invited me to a birthday party at his apartment complex. I thought I would give him one last opportunity to either redeem himself or hammer that proverbial nail into our "budding relationship" coffin.

I came over a little before the party to help set up. They had a gorgeous backyard, perfect for barbecues. The birthday girl had bought three piñatas and needed help stringing them from the porch to the fence. She put Don on that task and he asked if I would help.

He may have been an architect, but I would consider myself to be an excellent problem-solver.  The rope he had clearly wasn’t long enough to make it from the porch to the fence, and I suggested using the extra ethernet cable I had seen up in his apartment.

He was lost at that point, so I explained that we could tie one end of the rope to the porch, tie each piñata at different intervals along the rope so they didn’t bunch together, combine the rope and the ethernet cable, and tie off the other end to the fence.

He tied one end of the rope to the porch all the same, completely ignoring what I had said.  When he found that the rope still wasn't long enough, he looked at me and said, “That wasn’t a very good idea. I can’t believe you would suggest that. It’s not going to work at all.”

I said, “That’s because you’re not doing what I suggested.”

So I took charge and executed my idea.  The hostess told me, “That was such a great idea!” I thought I was being helpful. Apparently Don took it as a personal attack on his manhood.

During the party, after each person had taken their turn at the piñatas, I decided it was acceptable to take a turn. I didn’t want to impose, since I was just the neighbor’s date. The piñata I chose, having already been beaten to within an inch of its structural integrity, fell off on my first hit. Another guy at the party grabbed a stick and we both started beating it on the ground until it started to ooze its candy innards.

We laughed and high-fived and I turned back to Don. He stood there with his arm outstretched.

He said, “Hit me.”

“What?”

“Hit me. You can’t hit very hard. It won’t hurt. Hit me.”

It took every ounce of willpower not to take that wiffle bat and bash him upside the head. Instead, I tossed the bat at his feet, turned around, and never spoke to him again.

Submitted by Donna:

I worked in a big doctors' group practice through most of my 20s.  It paid most of my way through grad school.  While there, I met a lot of wacky patients, but even wackier were some of my coworkers, like Roger.

Roger would make a fart-sounding noise with his mouth every time he entered or exited a room.  He'd tap my head whenever he walked past me, and continued to do so even after I asked him to not do it (starting with the first time that he did it).  Also, he stole my pens.  Roger was that guy in the office.  He wasn't a bad fellow, but he was like the kid brother who was still stuck in Neverland.

Karl Adams was an intern fresh out of med school when he started work in our office.  He was everything that Roger wasn't: intelligent, charming, and very, very handsome.  Karl would go out of his way to hold a door open for me (with his wedding-ring-less hand), or smile with every "Good morning," or pass the time with a quick chat on his way from one place to another.

It didn't take too long for me to be smitten.  Of course, workplace decorum meant that I had to hide my feelings, but there was no rule on fantasizing.  No rule at all.

As if in answer to my wishes, Karl asked me out on a Monday for a following Friday.  I was so excited, I bought a new outfit and had a nervous stomach all week, leading up to it.

Dinner, drinks, and a steamy make out session later, I was certifiably head-over-heels for this guy.

The following Monday, envelopes started appearing on my desk, one every day.  Within each was a seemingly random number, printed out on a piece of paper.  Nine, thirty-three, twenty-five.  I had no idea who was behind it, although my suspicions were on Roger.

When I asked him if it was his work, he denied it.  Maybe it was Karl?  Some sort of game?  All of a sudden, it stopped being stupid and it became exciting.

The next time he walked past my desk, I said, "Nine, thirty-three, twenty-five."

He stood stock still.  "How do you know that?" he asked.

I held up the numbered papers.  "You left these here for me."

He grabbed them out of my hands and crumpled them up.  "You've been going through my desk?" he asked.

I had no idea what he was talking about, but the conversation was going places where I didn't want it to go.  I explained that the papers appeared on my desk, that I thought he was playing some sort of flirty game, and that I hadn't been through anything of his.

He didn't say anything to that, but stormed off, in the direction of where his small office was.

The next morning was another envelope on my desk.  This time, a sentence:

"Ask him about Mrs. Adams."

When Karl came in, I did indeed ask him about "Mrs. Adams."

"You know about her?  You have been going through my stuff," he said.

I shook my head and held up the paper.  "A little birdie told me," I said, "Is there a Mrs. Adams, Dr. Adams?"

Karl hardly came by my desk at all after that.  Roger did, though.

"How's Karl?" he asked.

I asked him, "How did you find out he was married, you little spy?"

Roger explained that Karl was nasty to him from the get-go, that Roger had seen Karl and I getting close, and that Roger had discovered, from spying in the mailroom, that Karl had, stupidly, mail delivered to himself at the office under the names "Dr. and Mrs. Karl Adams."

More spy work on Roger's part yielded the combination to the padlock that Karl kept on a drawer in his desk.  Presumably, it was where Karl may have stored said mail.

"Have you been spying on me?" I asked him.

He nodded.  "Yes, but only to protect you.  Karl's an asshole."

To thank Roger for watching out for me, I took him out to lunch.  I didn't want him to have a mistaken impression about anything, though, so I told him that I was just interested in being friends with him.

Wouldn't you know it, he said, "I have a girlfriend.  I just watch out for my friends."

After that, whenever he made a fart noise in the office, I couldn't help but smile.  But I also watched my back.  Thanks, Roger.

Sonia wrote to me first, over an online dating site.  She was 29 and made frequent usage of "u" for "you," "r" for "are," and "lol," much like I imagine a 13-year-old cousin would.

Repeated use of such phrases, while typically benign on the part of the user, do nothing for me except force me to make certain assumptions.  It's automatic.  Maybe it's a character flaw.  Regardless, if you use a phrase like, "How r u?  I 8 sum rabit last nite that my dad cawght.  lol," then you will likely not do my opinion of your intellect any favors.  I'm sure that you're a nice person, a compassionate person, and a caring person.  Lack of ability/willingness to to string an English sentence together, however, just doesn't do it for me.  Sorry.

As it turned out, Sonia's first message to me was, in fact, "How r u?  I 8 sum rabit last nite that my dad cawght.  lol."

There was more to the message than that, such as the information that said rabbit was sitting in a freezer since last hunting season, and that it was eaten because she was out of Cheerios.

I read her profile, and I was pleasantly surprised to see that a lot of her interests mirrored mine.  A potential girlfriend?  Probably not, but a new friend?  What's wrong with that?

I wrote her back, and after reading some of her own messages (verbatim: "i liek dogs 2, but i liek cats betters.  lol,"  "my favrit movie is dumbo," and "i never playd mase ball, but i liek watchin it is that wierd?  lol.") I decided that it was unfair for me to form an opinion based on what she had written alone.  What harm was there in meeting her?  As mentioned, making a new friend, at the very least, was always welcome.

On my way to the coffee place we had agreed upon, she called me.

She said, "Hey.  I might be a little late."

I asked, "Everything okay?"

She said, "It will be.  Give me an extra ten minutes?"

I wasn't worried.  That was the first time we had spoken over the phone, and she sounded perfectly capable of using the language.

After twenty minutes, she hadn't come by.  I called her up to ask if everything was okay.

She sounded frazzled.  "I don't know what to do," she said, "I'm stuck in my driveway."

"Your car won't start?" I asked.

"No.  I'm locked in."

Uh-oh.  I asked, "Is there anyone nearby who can help?"

"I don't know," she said.

I asked where she was, jumped into my car, and drove to her place, about five minutes away.

I walked up her driveway, and sure enough, she was in the driver's seat, fiddling with the power door switch.

"Hi," she said, "It's not working."

I tried the handle myself.  Yep.  Her door was locked, all right.  I asked, "Do the doors unlock manually?"

"What?"

"Did you try unlocking the door by pulling the lock up?"  I pointed to the lock pin, sticking up from the inner side of the door.  "Pull up on that."

She did.  Her door opened.  She covered her face with her hands.  "Oh my God," she said, "I'm embarrassed.  I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," I assured her, "It happens.  We can still go out."

She said, "I can't.  I forgot that I'm meeting up with some friends and I had that scheduled first.  I'm late for it.  Is that okay?"

"Oh.  When were you planning on telling me?"

"I just remembered.  This is embarrassing."

Off she went, and I have to be honest here, I was rather glad to let this one go.

Submitted by Cheryl:

I met Tim online.  He wrote me first, and after a day or two of thinking about it, I wrote back to him.  I haven't had much luck with Internet dating, but Tim seemed thoughtful and at least somewhat capable of intelligent conversation.

He worked at a bookstore nearby, and we made a date for a Thursday evening, after both of our workdays.

He showed up to the cafe in a bad mood.  After we introduced each other, I asked him what was wrong.

"Nothing," he said.  Then, for apparent emphasis, he repeated, "I said, nothing."

"How was work?" I asked.

"Shitty," he said, "Let's get this over with."

Talk about going from high hopes to dashed expectations!  I was as pleasant as possible to him for the rest of the light meal that we shared.  He ate as though he couldn't wait to be anywhere else, and I figured that after the date was over, I'd never be speaking to him again. 

Five minutes after we parted ways, he called.

"I'm sorry.  I just had a bad day at work.  I shouldn't have taken it out on you.  Do you still want to hang out?"

I didn't really, but I also didn't like the idea of leaving things as they were.  In any event, he acknowledged that he was the one at fault, and had apologized.

I told him that I could hang out for a little bit.  We met up again a few minutes later right there on the street.

As cheerfully as possible, I asked him, "Want to tell me about your day?"

"No," he said, and again, weirdly, for apparent emphasis, "I said, no."

We walked in silence, up and down the street.  I tried initiating conversation once or twice more, only to be met with a grunt or a snort or some sort of brusque, nonverbal response.  Why did he want to meet up again, exactly?  What was he playing at?

After about twenty minutes, I had had enough.  I wished him a goodnight.

"That's it?" he asked.

I explained to him that I didn't think that we were a good match, and I wished him the best of luck.

"Why aren't we a good match?" he demanded, "You hardly know me."

"Exactly.  You're not exactly forthcoming with details about yourself."

He said, "Maybe if you stopped asking me so many stupid questions."

"Then how are we supposed to learn more about each other?"

He looked at me like I was a grade-schooler.  "By spending time together!"

"In awkward silence, when you're obviously pissed off about something?"

"You calling me awkward?"

I took a step back, and as calmly as possible, said, "I'm done.  Bye."

I must have been trembling something fierce, but to my relief, he didn't follow me as I walked away from him, down the sidewalk.  It was further away from my car, but he didn't need to know what my car looked like.

A day later, I received a message from him, the longest e-mail I've ever received.  It was like a personal manifesto of everything that was wrong in the world, especially women.

I didn't reply.

Submitted by Walter:

Rachel's profile really surprised me and stood out from the crowd, so I wrote her a message.  She wrote back, sounding very grateful for the message, and asked me all about myself.

As for her, her pictures showed her with long, brown hair and a body that could crack a priest's celibacy (no, I don't mean that she had the body of a choir boy).  She was one of those, "she seems great... why is she single?" types, so I was a little cautious.

On our first date, we went out for dinner and then to a bar.  In person, she was a little chubbier than she had appeared in her photos, and her long hair was cut short and hot pink.

Neither of these really mattered, although it would have helped me to recognize her, at first.

A little while after we made it to the bar, her phone rang.  She excused herself to answer it.

When she returned, she said, "I forgot that I have to help my father with something.  Do you think we can head over to my parents' house real quick?"

Surely unusual, but no big deal.  We had driven separately, so I followed her to her folks' home.  It was a longer distance than she had originally let on, and at this point, I felt it prudent to end the date.  No hard feelings, and I'd be up for another one.

We parked beside a driveway in a wooded area, and she jogged over to my car.  She asked, "Would you mind waiting out here?  I shouldn't be too long."

I asked, "Why don't we call it a night?"

"I'll be just a sec.  Wait here," she said, already turning back to her car.  She drove it up the driveway and out of sight.

I waited about fifteen minutes before texting her, "I'm going to go.  Let's meet again sometime."

No reply.  I drove away.

I had made it to bed when her phone call came.  "Where are you?"

I said, "Home."  This was a little over an hour after she had left me beside the driveway. 

"Well, my dad needs help moving newspapers."

I wasn't sure how to respond, so I asked, "Is he black and white and read all over?"

"Can you help?"

"I'm at home.  In bed."

She snapped, "I heard you.  My father's old.  I wouldn't be asking if it there was any other way, but I just know he's going to throw his back out and hurt himself."

"Sorry."

"You want my father to die?  I said I needed your help."

I really wanted to be done with the conversation, so I said, "Tell your father not to move papers on his own after 10pm.  What do you want me to say?"

"Fuck you," she said, and hung up.

At 3am, I received a voicemail from her.  "My father's exhausted.  Thanks a lot, asshole."

At 5am, another voicemail:  "Asshole."

Submitted by Cathy:

Jack had "hypnosis" listed on his online profile under interests.  He messaged me first, and it was one of the statements that stuck out, so I asked him about it.

"I can hypnotize people, no joke," he wrote.  In a follow-up message, he went on, "I don't usually make it public knowledge, as it either makes people laugh at me or it scares them."

I asked him, still via e-mail, "Do I have a reason to be scared?"

He replied, "It's a great power.  I can make people do things and then make them forget that they did it in the first place.  Remember Lee Harvey Oswald?"

Not personally, but I remembered that he was JFK's assassin.

Jack informed me, "He was hypnotized by Jack Ruby.  It's true."

Most people might have been willing to drop Jack at this point, but aside from this minor oddity, he seemed like a smart guy, and we shared a lot of things in common, like an unhealthy obsession for 80s arcade games.

We met in person, yes, at an arcade, and I came armed with a bunch of quarters.

In the midst of a Street Fighter II bout, I jokingly said to him, "Are you going to hypnotize me into losing?"

He turned to me, pulled a quarter out of his pocket, and told me to concentrate on the quarter.  I did.  He told me to block everything else out.  That was tough, as we were inside of an arcade.  I did my best, as I really wanted to see if he could perform as advertised.

Then he said, "You will kiss me by the end of the night."

I busted out laughing and said, "That has nothing at all to do with Street Fighter!"

He didn't find it too funny and said, "Ninety-nine percent of hypnosis failures are on the part of the person being hypnotized, not the hypnotizer."

I said, "Maybe I can't be hypnotized."

He tried it again, with the quarter.  "Try harder to block everything out.  We can do this in my car if it would be easier for you."

I assured him that I was quite able to concentrate while surrounded by shiny lights and electronic beeps.

"You will let me win at Street Fighter," he said, "And you will kiss me... and more... by the end of the night."

I repeated after him, in a robotic voice, "I will let you win at Street Fighter, and I will kiss you... and more... by the end of the night."

Needless to say, I whipped his ass in Street Fighter, he pouted about it all through dinner, and he was lucky to score a hug goodbye.

I hypnotized myself into ignoring his dozen texts and e-mails in the following days, asking me out again, pleading with me to attempt another go at hypnosis.

His last message was an angry one, yelling at me for playing him, and that it was "because of people like [me] that hypnotists had such a bad rap."

Sorry, hypnotists.  Really.

Submitted by Tiffany:

I was visiting a casino with some girlfriends and was playing some penny slots when Monty, a guy around our age, came over and introduced himself to me and Marcy, a friend who sat next to me.

He asked if he could sit with us, we told him he could, and he asked which of our laps he could sit on.  We should've told him then and there to get lost, but he started asking us questions, and I, for one, figured that his lap-question was meant to be taken with a sense of humor.

He asked us about ourselves, who we were there with, and for how long we would be in the area.  He said that he was born and grew up in our hometown, but his parents moved away when he was really young. 

Anyway, we moved our conversation to the bar, had a few drinks, and said that he had to go make a few phone calls.  Before he left, he invited us both to his hotel room.

He left, and Marcy and I talked it over.  She had done a threesome before, but I hadn't.  We decided to give it a try.   After all, we could always leave if it became too uncomfortable.

We went to his room, he let us in, gave us some champagne, and started kissing Marcy's neck.  Next thing I knew, clothes were off, and all three of us were in bed, licking, sucking, and screwing.

Marcy and I were both in the middle of making out with... er... some part of him... when his phone vibrated on the night table.

He jerked away from us.

"Shit!  My wife!"

Lights went on.  A blur of sheets.  He shoved armfuls of our clothes at us.  "Get out, get out, you have to go," he said.

He pushed us towards the door.  I said, "I'm not going out into the hall naked."  I started putting on my clothes, and he shoved me towards the door.

"Get out!" he yelled.

Marcy slapped him in the face and he fell back to the floor.  She grabbed me and we both made for the door.

We ran down the hall, probably giving some security guard watching through CCTV an eyeful, and made it to a stairwell.

We put our clothes back on, and realized that both she and I were missing our bras.  They must have been back in his room.  We weren't about to go back to ask for them, so we went to our room and cleaned ourselves up.

I was pretty shaken up, but Marcy was a really great friend through it all, and when we joined the rest of our group, we had a hell of a story to tell.

Submitted by Milos:

There's too much information, and then there's a date with Jessica. 

Some of the info she sent me, online before our date, was very forthcoming.  She said in one such message, "An ex-boyfriend got me pregnant, but I lost the baby."  In another, "I was in an amateur porno film in college."

These sorts of admissions, I thought, were rather personal, but I took it to mean that she trusted me, and I didn't discourage her sharing of them.  She said that she had "settled down quite a bit," and wasn't the wild girl that she used to be.  She seemed nice, as far as I was concerned, so what harm was there in meeting her?

When I did, we sat down for brunch and she shifted herself around in the booth.  She leaned in and whispered, "You should probably know that I'm burning."

I asked her for clarification, and she said, "My vagina.  It's kind of burning today."

"Maybe you should see a doctor?" I suggested.

She said, "I will, if it lasts."

Not five minutes later, after we had ordered tea, she stood up and said that she had to go.  I offered to drive her anywhere she wanted, but she said that she'd be fine.  She just had to go.  So she went. 

I paid for the teas and left.  An hour later, I sent her a text, asking her to shoot me a message once she was able.

She texted back, "Didn't feel any chemistry.  Sorry!"

I wasn't sure what I had said or done in those less-than-five minutes during which we spoke over barely-drank tea. 

I texted back, "Okay.  I hope your vagina's okay."

She texted in response, "OMG it isn't.  I'll write you later all about it."

Her vagina e-mail never arrived, but a week later, another message did: "Sorry I've been out of touch.  I'll send you that e-mail soon.  Promise!"

I'm still waiting for it, but certainly not with bated breath.

Submitted by Kate:

Bob and I met on the Internet.  We were both into music, and he asked me out, telling me that he had tickets to a concert on a forthcoming Friday night.  One of the bands playing was one I love, and they were on tour, so it sounded like a great plan.  We made it a date.  I was excited about it all week.

As arranged, we met outside the venue.  Bob showed up looking a little different from his online pictures.  To start, he clearly hadn't shaved in several days.

"Hey, I don't have the tickets," he said, "What do you want to do instead?"

I asked him, "Didn't you say that you had tickets?"

He said, "I think so, but I guess I was hoping to pick them up here.  But they're too expensive.  Unless you want to buy them for us."

I had been looking forward to seeing both Bob and the band.  However, Bob fell far short of my expectations, and the band probably wouldn't.

I wished Bob a good night, bought a ticket for myself, and had a great time.

Submitted by Keith:

I still carry a scar from Julianne. Literally. We met at a dance party at a bar, and let me tell you, she was one of the hottest women I had ever seen. Every move was graceful, every smile made my heart flutter. "She's out of your league," I thought to myself, "But that's never stopped you before."

We danced, I bought her a drink, and we danced some more. By the end of the night, I had scored her number and a kiss.

I offered to pick her up at her house for our first date. When I arrived, she invited me in, closed the door, pulled me toward herself, and gave me one of the most deep, passionate kisses that I've ever had the pleasure of experiencing.

She kissed down my neck, and I felt a sharp, jolting pain right where she was kissing me. She had bitten me. "Ow!" I jerked back.

"What's wrong?" she asked, as if she didn't remember two seconds ago.

I asked her not to bite me again, she apologized, and we went right back to business.

Before I knew it, she nipped me again. Same place. Hard.

I pulled away. "Hey... please!" I said, touching my lower neck to see if there was any damage.

"Most guys like that," she said, "And it's a huge turn-on for me."

"Yeah, when it's not meant to hurt. You're seriously biting into me, here."

She apologized again and we continued kissing.

It was probably a mistake, as I realized only too late. She bit me again, and this time, drew blood.

"God damn it!" I yelled, and yanked away.

She stared at me, with the smallest drop of blood on her lips, and then started laughing. Laughing! Hysterically! She couldn't even catch her breath!

I had had enough. I went to her bathroom, locked the door behind me, found some rubbing alcohol and gauze, and dressed it as best as I could. She knocked at the bathroom door, but I ignored her, seeing as how I had the little matter of a human bite on my skin to address.

I exited the bathroom and she embraced me immediately. "Aw baby," she said, "Did mommy take away your penis?"

My freaked-out meter spiraled into overdrive. I was done with this girl. She pulled me in and stuck her tongue in my ear, but I was intent on leaving.

I told her that I had to go. She protested and offered to put a movie on, make popcorn, make out some more, anything.

I left. The next day, I wrote her a message to tell her that I didn't think that we were a good match. She wrote back a long e-mail, trying to convince ms otherwise. Weird. If so many guys, as she said, had no problem being chewed on like man-jerky, then I wouldn't think that she'd have any trouble finding someone new.

Submitted by Ryan:

Kimberly showed up as a potential match on a dating website.  She was a manager at a clothing store in a nearby mall.  We seemed to have a lot in common, so I wrote to her and we had a good connection. 

Our first date went well.  I took her out to dinner and then to a bar.  We were out a lot longer than I thought we would be, talking about everything from politics to family to travel to even skydiving, and how we had both done it for the first time through the same company.

She kissed me goodnight, and I didn't have much reason to think that things would go sour.

The following week was inventory week for her, meaning that every item in the store had to be accounted for by hand.  If you've worked in retail, you'd know that it's done to account for discrepancies between how many items the computer says that you have and how many you actually have on hand.  It's long and can be stressful.

Keeping this in mind, I wrote out a nice card to her and planned to surprise her at work.  During my lunch break, I drove to the mall and slipped into her store.

Weaving between various clothing racks, I looked around for her, but didn't see her anywhere.

Then, I heard her.  Shouting.

"Have you ever heard of color coordination in your life?  Stand up straight.  Do you want to get fired?"

That was her voice, all right, coming from behind a tall aisle of shirts.  Someone mumbled in response.

"Speak up!  If I can't hear you, the customers can't hear you, and if the customers can't hear you, then how can you provide good customer service?"

Mumbled response.  Then, Kimberly went on, "Or maybe this is your way of telling me that you don't provide good customer service.  Is that it?  If you want to succeed in life, like me, then you're going to have to learn a few things, and I'd be glad to be the one to teach you.  Now stand up straight!"

I peeked through the rack.  Kimberly was standing over a short young woman, who couldn't have been older than a high school senior.

She yelled, "Look at me when I'm speaking to you!  Are you chewing gum?"

Ugh.  I had to save this poor girl.  I stepped out and handed Kimberly the card.  I said, "Hey.  I was just in the neighborhood and thought I'd drop by to say hi."

"Oh," Kimberly began, then spat, "Get lost," at the girl, who shuffled away.

"'Get lost'?" I repeated.

Kimberly said, "She's just a clerk.  It's a stupid little job to her, and she doesn't take it seriously."

Good customer service is once thing, sure, but berating an employee in public struck me as monstrous.  I stopped being into Kimberly at that moment.

We hugged goodbye, and I called her not too long afterward to tell her that I didn't think that things would work out.  Sure, the date had gone fine, but I couldn't be happy with someone who treated their employees like that.  How would she treat me?

Submitted by Denise:

I met Joe at a mutual friend's birthday party.  He had a great sense of humor, even though he relentlessly poked fun at what I do (I work at a company's investor relations unit).

When he picked me up for our first date, he opened his car door for me, insisted that he also open it when we made it to the restaurant (our "first stop of the night," as he put it), and opened the restaurant door for me.

When we sat down, he took my coat and helped me push my chair in when I sat down.  Very gentlemanly, but certainly not expected.  I had every intention of offering to pay for my share of dinner, and I told him so.

He said, "No way, José.  Not on my date.  The only thing you have to do is to be a woman."

I had that down pat.  It was a strange thing to say, though, and a little warning bell, the first of many that evening, went off.

When the waiter came to take our orders, Joe ordered for me, without having asked what I wanted.  I'm a vegetarian, and he ordered me something with chicken.  I cut in that I would have actually rather had the vegetarian wrap.

The waiter left and Joe asked, "Since when is chicken not vegetarian?"

I told him, "Since it came from an animal.  That makes it meat."

He blinked, as if I had taught him something new.  "Chicken?" he asked.

I nodded.  "It's an animal."

He stared at me for almost a full minute.  I couldn't tell if he was working something out or if he was fuming mad.  Either way, it was the most uncomfortable minute of my life.

I attempted conversation and asked him about himself.  He was all too eager to discuss that topic.

After dinner, we climbed into his car and he asked if I wanted to take a walk by a nearby river.  I'd typically be up for it, but it was chilly out, so I suggested that we hit up a coffee place for dessert.

"Dessert?" he said.

"Why not?" I asked.

"Dessert?" he repeated.

"Yes.  Or tea.  Or a snack."

"Dessert?  Dessert?" he repeated a few times more.  For the second time that night, but not the last, I felt as if things weren't going too well.

I asked, "Does that sound good?"

Instead of driving us to a coffee place, he drove me back to my neighborhood and parked a few blocks away from my house.

He turned to me.  "Do you know how to pleasure a man?"

I smirked and leaned in, closer to him.  That, of course, was a distraction.  My hand reached back and unlocked the car door.  In a flash, I was out of the car, hurrying down the street, towards my house.

But I wasn't alone.

"Hey," he said, and chased me down the block, on foot.

I sped up.  He did, too.  I could hear his feet pounding the pavement, and could hear his breathing, closer and closer.

I scrambled for my keys, found the right one, ran around to the back of my house, let myself in, slammed the door closed, and locked it.

He made it to the door right afterward and knocked as if it was a friendly visit.  I heard him say, "Hey, you forgot something.  Me!"

I didn't reply, but I did call the police.  He was gone by the time they showed up, and I never saw or heard from him again.  It was a couple of years ago, but I still look over my shoulder every now and then.

Submitted by Andrew:

Nicole and I met while we were on line to enter a concert.  We were both with our respective groups of friends, but somehow or other, we ended up being mashed together in the crowd.

I wasn't going to say anything to her at first.  I'll admit that I can be shy.  But she looked at me for a bit longer than a typical glance, and she was the most beautiful woman I had seen in a really long time. 

My first thought was, "She must have a boyfriend."

Swear to God, her first words to me were, "I don't have a boyfriend," followed by, "You want to hang out?"

We were both there with friends, but I think that we both felt an instant connection.  I told my friends that I'd catch up with them, and she told her friends the same.

The place was jam-packed, and Nicole and I were forced together, literally pressed up against each other, through much of the night.  It was awesome.  We drank and made out right on the dance floor.

When we finally made it out of there, she asked, "Your place or mine?"

This was on track to be the best evening ever.

It wasn't.

Her place was closer, but she was having trouble walking.  A lot of trouble.  I essentially carried her to her apartment and helped her into bed.

By this point, I realized that she was way too trashed, and I was not trashed enough, for us to do anything about which I wouldn't feel oddly guilty.  I liked her, sure, but I didn't want to take advantage of her.

She seemed to have her mind set, though.  She sat up quickly from her bed and wrapped her arms around my neck.  "Come to bed with me," she whispered, and hugged me tight.  I hugged her back.

Then I felt a warm, sticky sensation through my shirt and on my back.

She was vomiting.

I tore away from her and ripped my shirt off.  Next, I grabbed a towel and shoved it at her to clean up.  She heaved and coughed.  I turned a light on, brought her some water, and sat with her until she was cleaned up and started to snore.

I wrote her a note with my number on it, and left it by her night table.  It basically said that I had a good time with her, and that I hoped we could meet up sometime, hopefully under more sober conditions.

As things turned out, we did go on a date, and that one had its own set of problems.  But that's all for now.