Don't I Know It

Profile Sent in by Arthur:

What I'm doing with my life:

My dad is a worldwide economist and he says the u.s. is going broke! When you are ready you should email me your plan just in case! Where will you go? Where will you live? How will you provide for a family that needs warm and good looking clothes?

I'm kind of a clothing nut so this is important to me. we could always pick clothes off the dead but I won't wear them until you've washed them and even then I probably shouldn't know where you got them! Dead clothes are weird. Who wants to smell like mothballs and putrid flesh haha?

The Spittin' Image

Story Sent in by Kim:

I was waiting to meet Jeremy for our first date outside of a cafe on a late Saturday morning. He was late, but only by about five minutes when he showed up. However, it wasn't his lateness that struck me.

He walked toward me, down the sidewalk, carrying a translucent glass flask in his left hand. It looked about a quarter full with brown sludge. He stuck a finger in his mouth and rubbed it around. It was then that I realized that he was using chewing tobacco.

We had met online, and he hadn't mentioned that he was a user. It wasn't a complete deal breaker, but it was close, because it grossed me out.

"Hey," he said as he came up to me, then spat a wad into his flask.

"Hey," I replied, "So, chewing tobacco, huh?"

"That a problem?" he asked.

Before I could reply, he reared his head back and spat a generous amount right against my blouse. I was shocked, and I stepped back and screamed. When he laughed, I slapped the smile right off of his face.

"You bitch!" he yelled, "You shitty bitch! What the fuck was that for? Aw, God! Right in the face, too!"

"You spat your shit at me!" I yelled back, "Or did you forget, asshole?"

He said, "You don't go slapping a guy for having some fun! You need to grow up!" he stormed away, down the sidewalk.

"Look who's talking!" I yelled back, loud enough for him to hear. I hurried back home, ripped that shirt off, and took a long shower.

Tweety's a Boy

Email Sent in by Cammie:

If I were to compare myself with a looney tune I would be Sylvester cat. He is black and white (I have blacks and whites in my family) he always says suffering succotash (I have my own catch phrases too) and he's always after delicious tweetie bird. Tweetie bird could be many things she could be food or blood or sex (the sweetest meat of all!?) and so I think that chasing Tweetie means going after what I want. I guess I could ask what your tweetie is? Or what kind of looney tune are you?

Don

House of the Troubled

Story Sent in by Aaron:

Natalie and I were out to dinner together on our first date and I'd say that it was a good time. We had plenty to talk about and I seemed to make her laugh regularly.

Out of the blue, she asked me, "Who's Josie?"

I asked her back, "I don't know. Who's Josie? Should I know?"

She asked, "Well, do you know a Josie?"

I did, in college, but I hadn't spoken to her much since then. I told Natalie, "In college, but that's it."

"How did things end between you two?"

I said, "We didn't date." She looked very confused but didn't say anything. I asked her, "Why are we even talking about her? Or was she the Josie you were referring to?"

"There were other Josies?"

"No."

"I'd like to meet her. Do you still have her contact info?"

It was then my turn to be confused. "Why would you want to contact her?"

"To just, you know, feel out the competition."

"There is no competition. She and I never dated."

Natalie didn't reply, and we were quiet for a little bit until I changed the subject to ask about her family. It seemed as though she had forgotten all about Josie, and I breathed a silent sigh of relief.

Near the end of dinner, she took out her smartphone and typed into it. I asked her, "Everything okay?"

"You'll see," she said.

After a few minutes, a smile appeared on her face and she looked up at me. "We have after-dinner plans!" she announced.

"Cool. What are we doing?" I asked.

She gave me a bigger smile and replied, "It's a surprise."

Once we were out of the restaurant, she asked me, "Up for a walk? It's a little over a half-mile."

It was warm out, and I was intrigued, and had all but forgotten the earlier exchange about Josie. I followed where Natalie led. She seemed to be in a great mood, and we had a lively walk.

We turned a few corners into a quiet neighborhood and she asked me, "Look familiar?"

It didn't. I might have driven through the area once or twice before, but I didn't have any specific memories of it. She stopped in front of a beige house with black shutters and dark windows. I had no recollections of it at all, and I asked Natalie, "Should it?"

She nodded and said, "It's Josie's house."

I stepped away and said, "I've never been here, and what the hell does Josie have to do with anything? I haven't seen her in years, she and I never dated, I don't know whose house this is…"

I went on in my honest denials, and Natalie screamed over me, "This is Josie's house! I looked it up! You go in there and tell her to come out right now and we'll settle this! I've had it with her and it's your fault we're here and now we settle this! All right? I'm done!" She finished with tears in her eyes.

I said, as calmly as I could, "Natalie, I have no clue whose house this is. If it does belong to someone named Josie then I'm pretty positive that it's a different one than the one who was my acquaintance in college."

Natalie went up the front walk and rang the bell. I backed further away from the house. I watched as she hit the bell repeatedly. No one answered or came out.

"Natalie," I said, "Come on. Let's go. Please." In response, she rang the doorbell again and again.

"Natalie, I'm leaving if you don't stop."

She held up a finger as if to tell me to wait a moment, but I was through. I strode away, left her there, and returned home.

While Natalie and I didn't end up on another date, the whole experience did inspire me to reconnect with the real Josie, and we've become closer friends as a result.

I Also Dressed Myself for the First Time Today

Profile Sent in by Elle:

I'm really good at:

I've been told that I'm like a love snake. Like one who will crawl in one space and out another. Use me as a handle, lol.

A friend of mine writes music and I write lyrics sometimes for him and his band. This inspired me to write a song called "love snake."

You yell this part: "LOOOVVVEEE SNAAAAAAAAAAAAKKEEE!!!!"
Then you yell this next part: "LOOOOOOVEEE SNAAAAAAAKEEEE!!!"
Then comes the tender part: "I love yu so much, baby. I want to cradle yu and kiss yu and I'm sorry yu were torn before but I will be your love tape." "LOOOVVVEEE SNAAAAAAAKKKKEEE!!!!!"

Ladies and my friends say I'm sensitive but I am just me, take me or leave me, love me or leave me. Proud of myself!

The Not-So-Great Gatsby

Story Sent in by Dale:

Addie and I sat in a coffee shop on our first date. She was a pretty poet who ran a local writers' group. Before we met in person, she had sent me some of her work, and I had enjoyed reading it.

After a nice chat, she asked me if I wanted to take a walk, and I did. As we passed by several small shops, a bookstore captured her interest and we went inside. While there, she said, "Let's buy a book and you can read it to me under a tree." It was an unusual idea for a first date, but I liked it (and I liked her) so I asked her what she wanted me to read.

"Your choice," she said, "Make it something good."

I picked The Great Gatsby, thinking it a solid choice. This was bolstered by Addie, who remarked, "Good choice." We split the cost of the book, exited the bookstore, found a tree in a village park, sat down, I opened to a random page, and read. So far, so good.

I read it for a good five minutes when she grabbed it from me, stood up, and read it like a slam poet, stamping her feet and yelling each word. She then stopped, stuck a finger in my face and asked me, "Do you have a Daisy Buchanan in your life?"

"Uh, no," I replied.

"No? No!" she barked, then threw the book across the park, like a frisbee. She ran after it, grabbed it, threw it further away, chased it again, threw it across a street, then ran across that, and kept repeating the process until she was out of sight.

I thought it was all some sort of strange, unannounced performance art piece, and so I stayed put for several minutes.

When she came back, she didn't say a word, but pressed herself against me and gave me the tightest hug anyone has ever given me. "Oh crap," she said.

"What?"

She let go of me and said, "I'm real dizzy. Too much excitement."

"Do you want to sit down?" I asked her.

She squeezed my arm and said, "You're so exciting! But it's too soon. Too soon, too soon. Can we get together later this week?"

"Like next weekend? Sure, I guess. Are you okay?"

She held up The Great Gatsby. "Can I keep this?"

"Sure."

"Ha ha!" she said, "See you soon!" She walked off.

I didn't hear from her for a few days, and I finally wrote her a note to ask her if she was okay, although I didn't bring up the idea of a second date.

In response, she emailed me back several pages worth of The Great Gatsby, faithfully transcribed. Nowhere in her message was any indication regarding how she was or if she wanted to meet up again, so I let it lie.

Although we've never gone out since then, I still occasionally receive emails from her with more passages from the book, but less frequently now, years later.

People Who Live in Wax Houses

Email Sent in by Sal:

I think I remember you. You worked in a wax museum when I was younger. It was you or someone who looked just like you but you're much too young now. Did you have surgery? You look great now.

Your skin is plush now and waxy. From working in wax museum??? You have to keep your face away from candles or you might melt your face off! Hahaha that would be too funny. I could then be there for you like you were there for me and I could sculpt you back into a flesh head with horns.

You ever think about owning your museum or you just want to work there? I would switch heads on april fools day! President Bush's head on J.LO!!!!!! Give them all balloons to hold. Hahaha.

Thank you,
Emily

Douglas Adams Would Be Proud

Story Sent in by Mercedes:

I had already been on one date with Everett, and he seemed like a calm, low-key guy, precisely the type I was looking for after my recent break-up with a manic depressive. For our second date, he invited me to his place for dinner and perhaps a movie.

Shortly after dinner ended, I asked him if I could use the bathroom. He said, "Use the upstairs one. The one down here is broken."

I went upstairs and found the door to the bathroom closed. I opened it, and the foulest odor wafted into my nostrils. It was horrifying, like the smell of a toilet inside a mass grave. I nearly cried out, and I pulled my blouse up over my nose and promised myself that I'd go as quickly as possible.

There was no toilet paper. I checked around the toilet, under the sink, on the nearby shelves (stocked with towels) and even in the bathtub, which contained a small pile of dirty towels.

I busted out of the bathroom, went to the banister, and called down to Everett, "Hey, do you have any extra toilet paper? You're out, up here."

Everett called back, "Yeah, I've been out for weeks and keep forgetting to get more. Just use a towel."

The towels in the bathtub. That smell. It couldn't be.

"A towel?" I repeated, "You want me to use one of your towels?"

He called back, "That's what I've had everyone do. When you're done, just throw it in the bathtub. I'll wash it."

I had a pack of tissues in my purse, which came in very handy in this circumstance. After I was done, I returned downstairs and he asked me if I wanted to watch a movie. As I couldn't see myself with a guy who let toilet-stained towels collect in his bathtub, I made an excuse and left.

I later wrote him an email to let him know that I didn't sense any chemistry between us, and he never wrote back.

Proofreading Is for Champs

Email Sent in by Joe:

This may sound weird but hear me out:

I came home after work last night to an awful smell in my house. I looked everywhere and in each room. I thought maybe something crawled in and died or maybe a friend played a a practical joke.

I looked everywhere but found nothing. looked everywhere I made my brother help me look and after

making love. We went downstairs and tucked almost completely under the boiler were two dead rats. They were so tightly pressed together that my brother said that they were probably making love.

It was gross but they're out of the house noow and we opened the windows pretty much all day so now there's nothing to worry about lol.

How was your night?

Betsy

Ho'owa'awa'a

Story Sent in by Annie:

Andrew wrote to me online, and after we spoke for a little bit, he asked me out to dinner for a weeknight, after work.

I met him in the atrium of a centrally-located office building. He was in a hula skirt. "Time to luau," he said, "I'm taking you to Anuenue's, the best Hawaiian place on the planet. Woo!" He twirled, and perhaps it was the lighting, but it didn't look like he had much on under his skirt.

"Do you have anything on under your skirt?" I asked him, throwing discretion to the winds.

He lifted his skirt to show off his too-tight jockey shorts and shook his bits around a bit. Thanks for that.

From the instant we walked into the restaurant, the hosts and waitstaff (none of whom were in a hula skirt) greeted Andrew like a celebrity. I found out why soon enough. "I work here," he said as we sat down, "Two days a week. I get the employee discount, so order anything you want! It's on me!" That was nice of him to offer, but I still ended up ordering a modest salad.

Hawaiian music played over the speakers throughout our meal. When we were nearly done with dinner, he stood up next to the table and and hula-danced to the music. A large woman, who was apparently one of his coworkers, joined him in his dance, which soon devolved into a fair bit of dirty dancing, their hands eagerly seeking out the other's crotch. One of the hosts soon shouted, "Get a room, you two!"

They danced into the kitchen and out of sight. After a few minutes, our waiter came up to me and said, "Your dinner's all taken care of, Miss."

I asked, "Thank you, but where's Andrew?"

The waiter shrugged and walked away. I left the table, told the host to pass along my thanks to Andrew, and I went home.

An email arrived from Andrew the next day: "I HAD A GOOOOOOOD TIME! LET'S GO BACK SOMETIME, K?"

I was glad that he had a good time. I haven't seen him or been back there since.

Fastest Deletion in the West

Email Sent in by Maddie:

So I looked at your profile... and you know how it shows profile suggestions about other people down the bottom...I have already fucked two of the girls it recommended. I think thats cute and funny... What sort of business course are you studying?

Rob

TV Dinner

Story Sent in by Henry:

Denise and I had been seeing each other for a few weeks when I invited her over to my apartment. I offered to make her dinner, and she really seemed to like the idea. She offered to bake bread, a salad, dessert, anything at all. I told her to surprise me, and that of course, the most important thing to bring was an appetite.

She showed up with a store-bought, pre-made pie crust with nothing in it. "It's an invisible pie," she offered, then said, "We can break it up and put it over ice cream." Neither of us had any ice cream handy, but I guessed that she had forgotten to make something and had grabbed it last minute. Oh well. I was grateful for the effort.

She then parked herself on my sofa and turned on the television. I was in the kitchen, making soup and chicken. The fact that she didn't come in to talk to me was a bit strange, but I guess it wasn't necessarily expected. Still, we were dating, and I had hoped to spend at least most of the time at my place together.

I walked into the living room and asked her, "Want to come in the kitchen?"

She didn't look away from the TV, but instead hugged a pillow to herself and said, "No thanks."

Maybe she was nervous. I had a bad feeling, but there would be time to think about that later. I had dinner to prepare. I returned to the kitchen and finished it up.

"Dinner's ready!" I told her, hoping that we could finally talk and enjoy each other's company.

"Great," she replied, "You can bring it in here."

"Let's eat in the dining room," I said.

"I'm watching this," she said, pointing to the TV, "You can bring it in here."

I suggested, "We can watch some TV or a movie after dinner. I kind of wanted to talk and spend some time together. Away from the TV."

She groaned as if I had told her that I needed her to cross a parkway full of rush hour traffic. She stood up, picked up the remote, and I was satisfied enough to turn back towards the table I had prepared.

Instead, she pumped up the TV's volume and then followed me inside. I was losing patience and so I turned around, walked past her, and turned the TV off, myself.

"How am I supposed to hear it, now?" she asked.

I replied, "We can have dinner without it."

"I can't," she said, "I want to watch that show."

"I made us dinner."

"I brought us pie!"

"And I'm very pleased with your efforts on that. Can we have dinner now, please?"

She gave me a funny look and repeated, "You're pleased with my efforts? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

I said, "It was nice of you to bring it. Please, let's sit down and–"

"Oh, it was nice of me to bring it? You ungrateful prick. I didn't have to bring anything!"

I tried a different tactic and asked her, "Do you want dinner or not?"

She said, "I'm not so sure if I do, anymore, now that I've seen your attitude."

I nodded, grabbed her pie crust, and opened my apartment door. I was tired of her, and I was going to have a pleasant dinner with or without her. I said, "Then leave. Get out."

Without a word, she grabbed the crust from me and stomped out. I closed the door behind her and had a delicious, homemade dinner all to myself. True, I was alone, but I'm pretty sure that I was better off for it.

So Much of Me Lies in Your Eyes

Email Sent in by Patrick:

Your pictures have burned onto my retinas. Can you not see how beautiful you are? I must meet you. I've hardly read your profile (though I will go back and do so forthwith!) and had to write you a message immediately.

I love your smile and your dimples! You are so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so beautiful that I will die if you do not write me back.

The last guy I wrote to was back in 2005 and he responded promptly and the two of us went out for a long time together. We lived together and he was my lover. I love being able to say that I have a lover and I hope that you are my next one.

If you don't write me back and I die then you will be blamed for my death. Passive murder is still murder and you will be brought up on extreme manslaughter charges. I know my next lover when I see him and I swear swear swear swear swear swear that you are him. Please be him oh god oh please.

Cherie


***********************
(Patrick says: "She wrote me five more times. I didn't respond to any of her messages. I hope that her end was quick and painless.")

System of a Clown

Story Sent in by Olivia:

Roger and I were both into the same types of music. He took me out to a couple of concerts and to dinner, and I liked the time I spent with him.

Not long after we started to date, he told me that he was having a new sound system installed in his car. I had never been in his car to have heard his old system, but he assured me that the new one was amazing: seven speakers, a huge subwoofer, and capable of being heard from blocks and blocks away. I told him that I looked forward to hearing it in action.

I didn't have long to wait. By the next time we went out, it had been installed. He picked me up and we went for a drive.

At first, he played the music very low. Then, he stopped the car and asked me, "Ready?"

I replied, "Yeah. Not too loud."

Apparently, he didn't hear my request, because he blasted it loud enough to shake the pavement beneath us. I reached for the volume, but he cupped my face in his hands and tried to kiss me.

I tore away and hit the system's power button. I asked him, "Okay, what was that about?"

He hit the power button again, and the music shook the car. Once more, he opened his mouth and went for my face. I shoved him away and stopped the music.

He said, "I'm sorry. That isn't me. The music, you know? It makes me want to just—"

He hit the power button again and dove for my face. I jumped out of and away from the car. He also jumped out of it and walked toward me, his hands out as if to grab me and his tongue wagging from side to side.

"Stay away from me!" I said, and when it was clear that he wasn't going to do that, I ran. For about five minutes solid, I tore off until I couldn't hear his music or his footsteps any longer.

He called me, and I picked up. He said, "I'm so sorry. It's the music. When I hear it like that it feels like I can do anything. I have to learn to use its power wisely. Come on back."

He must have heard the shake in my voice. "I think I'm good. Maybe we can hang out again at another concert or something."

He didn't respond right away, but when he did, he said, "But the music is off, now. I'm all better. Come back."

"No."

Another long stretch of silence. Then, he said, "But I'm all better now. The music has stopped. Come back."

I said, "Why don't you call me next week? We can figure it all out, then."

"Figure what out?" he asked, "It's the music! Not me! I just have to use it responsibly." All of a sudden, music came up in the background on his end of the phone. It grew louder and louder until he said, "Oh God! Where are you? I'm gonna drive around until I find you and take you!"

I hung up, hurried away from where I was, and called a friend to pick me up. I was concerned, as Roger knew where I lived. However, he never came by, and I ignored his further messages.

He Missed the Occam's Razor Lecture

Email Sent in by Connie:

Dear she:

I can see no legs in any of the photos of you. Since they are all taken from the waist up, I will guess that something is odd about your leg situation.

How many legs do you have? I can't tell in your pictures. My guess is three to nine. You are like a spider-she. Some tribes still worship spiders and I think that you are doing yourself a disservice by not trotting your many legs over to them and permitting them to worship you.

If you send me a picture of your many legs then I will not tell anyone your secret. If you don't send me anything not even a response then I will tell everyone that you are the spider-she with many legs. Your choice. Or I'll come to your house with a can of raid!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIDDD!!!! *you explode!*

Luke

The Holiday Spirit

***If you're in Hurricane Irene's path, please be safe and postpone any bad dates you have scheduled for this weekend.


Story Sent in by Marty:

One December evening, Ashley and I walked down a city block, browsing various boutiques. As we strolled, we passed a Salvation Army bell-ringer complete with a donation bucket.

Ashley stuck a folded bill into his collection bucket and I walked on. She remained behind, and I turned to look back at her. Her eyes went from me to the bucket, then she cleared her throat.

"What?" I asked.

She replied, "Um…" and pointed to the guy's bucket.

"What about it?"

"Aren't you going to…?"

"To what?"

She groaned and said, "You're not going to donate?"

"I hadn't planned on it. I give $50 a year to a charity on my birthday."

"Yeah, but this is just pocket change. You can't afford pocket change?"

I said, "I wasn't planning to donate," then, because we were in public and her voice was loud, I added, "Let's go."

She replied, "Don't you tell me, 'Let's go!' You can't afford pocket change? Seriously?"

"I–"

"Then how were you going to pay for anything else tonight? Dinner and whatever else?"

"With the money I wouldn't be spending on donations."

She looked at me as if I was a monster and said, "Then you're going to dinner alone. It's the holidays. Children are starving! Give the man your pocket change."

"No."

She put up her hands and said, "Fine. Have a nice life, Uncle Scrooge."

She turned and walked away. I called after her, "I will, without you."

I then turned to the bucket man and gave him some cash. It was money I had planned to spend on the dinner out that it didn't look like I was going to have, after all.

You Look Like Your Dad

Email Sent in by Marlena:

Second message to you!!!! Just making sure you got the 1st one!!!!

You have a good looking family in your profile pics. I attached a pic of my dad. He's the only family I have left! The others were washed away down that long, slow drain we call time. Goes round and finally hits you all at once.

You should send me another pic even if you don't write nothing. Just trade pics until you're brave enough to contact me.

Craig


**********************************
(Marlena says: "He attached a picture of a penis.")

Iron it Out

Story Sent in by Pedro:

Online, Brenda came off as friendly. In person, she was a bit different. We agreed to meet at a bookstore and have lunch afterward.

We had been browsing through the bookstore and I was thumbing through an art book when she came up to me and said, "You're a pathetic asshole."

I looked around to make sure that she was talking to me. I replied, "Excuse me?" She didn't respond anything other than give me a slight smile. I continued, "I… what's going on?"

She said, "You heard me, moron. Are you an idiot?"

"I–"

"You pathetic moron."

I asked her, "Did I miss something?"

She squinted at me, breathed heavily, and trembled a fair amount. It went on for almost a full minute before I replaced the book on the shelf and said, "Look, I'm sorry, but I'm probably going to go."

"You're leaving me?"

That was the opposite of the expected response, and I hesitated. Then, I replied, "I… yeah. This doesn't seem to be a good… thing."

"Fine. Give up. Doesn't mean that I have to, though."

I stepped away from her, just a little bit. "Huh?"

"It takes two people to end a date for a date to be over. That's the rule. And I don't want it to be over. I'm not ending the date with you, so you can't end the date with me."

I said, "I'm leaving, so you can stay here and continue on the date by yourself. That sound good?"

I waited a moment to give her the courtesy of a response. She didn't say anything, but she did stare, and that was enough for me. I turned and left.

She followed me out. I made it to my car, and was able to enter it and lock the doors. Then, I drove towards my house. It didn't take me long to see in my mirrors that she was following me, in her own car, very closely.

Instead of driving home, I drove through various side streets and circled blocks. She followed. I had three-quarters of a tank of gas, and I hoped it was more than she had. Still, I didn't like the idea of driving around for the better part of an afternoon. What to do, what to do…

I drove to the outskirts of town. She was right behind me. I sped up. She sped up with me. I slowed down, and she was right on her brake. As if reading my mind, she texted me, "I planned for this and have a full tank. How about u? :)"

I thought about pulling into a police station and honking my horn, but decided that I'd try something else, first.

With her right behind me, I drove us well out of town. Once we were on a rural mountain road, I pulled over suddenly and popped the trunk. She pulled over, too. In an instant, I jumped out. She jumped out also. I made it to my trunk, pulled out a tire iron, yelled, "Check it out!" and advanced on her. I had absolutely no intent on using it, but I wanted to frighten her.

She yelped and jumped back into her car. I ran for her door and she tore away, clipping my rear bumper in the process. Still, she was gone, and I had precious little time to go before she came back. I turned around in the car and drove away, back toward town, although to be safe, I pulled off onto a side road for about ten minutes before continuing on.

I feel bad for resorting to a threat of violence (which I have to emphasize, I would never have followed through. If she called my bluff, I would've been out of luck), and I know that it wasn't the ideal way to resolve things. By the same token, I never heard from her again.

Do Cats Dream of Electric Mice?

Profile Sent in by Ellen:

About me:

Let me just get this out of the way: I'm a crazy cat lady. I have five cats. Two by choice, three wandered into my life and I couldn't just give them up. There must be a reason why they are here. Just like there's a reason why you're here and I'm here. The world hasn't given you up so I'm sure as shit not going to give up my cats.

I've had a breakup because of my cats. If you cross them, you cross me. I'm not crazy but they are animals and cannot defend themselves or think the way you and I can. They express themselves in different ways like through dreams. If you think that's crazy then you should instead focus your disbelief on people who talk to their plants.

If you like cats then that's already 999% certainty that we will get along. You will love them as I do. And there is a lot of love here.

Boys Will Be Girls

Story Sent in by Melinda:

Larry messaged me online, and we had planned to go out for dinner and walk through town, but on the day of our date, it rained all day. He asked me, "Want to bring our walk inside? We can go to the mall." I felt like a teenager, but quality time was quality time, and so I told him that I'd be up for it.

Before dinner, we walked all around the mall. When we neared a toy store, he made a bee line into it. I followed him in, all the way to the girls' aisle. He froze as if he was beholding El Dorado.

He said, "When I was younger, I always wanted to go into this aisle. Now, I can!"

He strode boldly into the land of Barbies, doll houses, and plastic fashion accessories. "Holy crap," he said, swiveling his head in every direction, "This is awesome."

I accompanied him up and down the aisle until he stopped at a small jewelry box set. He grabbed it off the shelf and looked around, as if a mob of people hoped to fight him for the prize.

"Jewels!" he said, "Do you know how hard it is to find jewels in a boys' section?"

"I'd imagine it as pretty hard," I agreed, "You going to get that?"

He nodded as if to say, "Well, duh." He looked at the shelf above and grabbed another manufacturer's jewelry box set, and carried that one with him, too. After walking up and down the aisle a few more times, he led me to the cashier, where he paid for his gems and jewelry. He was so very happy.

When we left the store, I asked him, "Ready for dinner?"

He said, "Oh yeah. Dinner. I think I don't have much money left."

"We can stop at an ATM."

"I don't pay ATM fees."

"That's a problem."

"Yeah."

There was no way I was going to offer to spot him. I suggested, "You can take a ride out to your bank, grab some cash, and meet me back here. I'll wait," and I would have.

He said, "I need to bring these back to my car. Come with?"

I followed him to his car. He packed his jewels within, and told me, "Let's raincheck dinner. That okay?"

"Uh… sure."

"Okay!" he said a bit too excitedly, then kissed my cheek, hopped into his car, made a hand motion as if to say, "call me," and drove off.

I was in no hurry to leave, so I returned to the stores to walk around a bit more. A good friend of mine had a daughter whose birthday was in the following month, so I figured that it was as good a time as any to pick up her present. I returned to the toy store to browse.

Not too long after I arrived there, Larry himself returned with his boxes of jewels. He didn't see me, but I saw him return both sets and leave the store.

I didn't call him, although he texted me a couple of times during the following week.

When You Have Crack on Christmas Eve...

Profile Sent in by Cori:

About me:

I'm looking for a girl who's tired of games. It means a lot to me to sit next to you on a couch on xmas open presents and tear off your brand new dolce/gabbana outfit like a rabid mongoose. We'll do it if the kids are there or not. If they're too young then they won't remember. If they're old enough we will send them into another room or if the mood is upon us strongly we just won't care! Maybe our clothes will cover their faces!

Don't worry. Kids aren't like stained glass windows. You can always make more.

Why Pre-Date Contracts Are a Good Idea

Story Sent in by Sam:

Alana and I were out to dinner on our first date. She insisted on paying about 20 times, and although I was ready, willing, and able, I let her foot the bill without much fuss. She said, "You can treat me to something else." Fair enough.

Once dinner was over, I had planned to take her to mini-golf or to a cafe that had live music. Alana, however, had other ideas.

She said, "My car is packed with stuff. Can you help me move it into my new place?"

I hadn't planned on helping someone move as part of a date, but she reminded me, "I paid for dinner, so you can help me out this way."

I liked her well enough, and thought that it might have even been a fun sort of bonding activity. We went to her new apartment, which was in a house, and she pulled her car up to her entrance. She then unlocked the house door and led me inside to an empty room where she wanted her things to be placed.

"Go ahead and get started," she said, "I'll be right out." Guessing that she had to use a bathroom, and a little surprised at the amount of trust she was giving me, I went to work.

When I returned to the car for a second load, I noticed her setting up a lawn chair nearby in the yard. She had an iced drink with her, and she sat down to watch me. I stopped working.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

I replied, "You're just going to watch me work?"

She said, "Uh, I paid for dinner. Is that a problem? I mean, I paid for dinner, after all."

"I wasn't aware that manual labor would be the return favor."

"Let me get this straight: you can enjoy the fruits of my hard-earned money, but you feel to entitled to earn it, yourself?"

I didn't like her tone, but I didn't want to cause a scene. I promised myself that I'd bring in one more armful before asking her to pitch in.

Before I could, though, upon emerging to grab a fourth load, she said, "You can go a bit faster. It's getting late."

I carried in that last bunch, then I looked around for another exit from the house. I found a side exit and wasted no time. I left the house, snuck behind her about a yard's length away, made it to my own car, and drove off.

Less than a minute later, a phone call arrived from her. I ignored it, but I was sure to listen to it later.

"What a shitty human being you are. I slave over a week… a work week for the… for you and so we can have a pleasant dinner and how do you repay me? You're going to pay me back, you son of a bitch. I've got your number and I've got your ass, you slimy sack of sh–"

Deleted.


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A neato statistical analysis about marriage by the Census Bureau. (Thanks for sending it, Nikki!)

No, Very No, and Rhino

Email Sent in by Hal:

Hi Hal.

I'm so grateful that you think what I'm doing is great. Maybe there's hope for me after all!

It took me a while to acclimate to life in the southeast. People are friendlier here, but I also think that they're less reserved with being judgmental. No filters. It's okay, just a little unexpected!

I want to open up an alternative medicine practice but it's a bit difficult given that most of my materials are tightly regulated! Of course this is because of drug companies. I was in Sumatra ten years ago and had powdered rhino horn mixed in with a drink and since then I haven't been sick once. It's amazing but big pharma is just too powerful. It's a shame because it could save so many lives.

I'm taking a trip back to southeast asia to get more rhino horn. The public must know!

What are you up to this weekend?

Mary


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Stop her.

Man Versus Machine

Story Sent in by Kelly:

Franklin and I were out together on our first date, taking a stroll in a small town. The plan was to go for a walk and play it by ear, perhaps including lunch.

The conversation was good for the most part, although his inclusion of phrases such as, "I was one of the smartest kids at my high school, no doubt," and "I was probably more in-shape than all the guys on my college's football team," made me feel like he was trying too hard to impress.

We walked past an Acura, and he stopped to look in its windows. "Oh wow," he said, then beckoned me over, "Check it out!"

In the back seat, there was what looked like a fur coat on top of a suitcase. Franklin smirked at me and said, "Their loss, our gain, right?"

I asked, "What?"

He said, "You want it?"

"To steal it? No! Are you crazy?"

He nodded at me, then gently guided me a couple of feet away. "Stand back," he said, then he returned to the Acura and punched its rear passenger-side window. Of course, it didn't break.

We both cringed. His mouth opened as if to scream, but nothing came out. I told him, "What are you doing? Let's go!"

He yelled, "This thing broke my hand!" He slapped at it, then punched at it again, with the same hand. He then jerked that hand back and punched it with his other hand.

"Ow!" he shouted, "My hands!"

"Stop it!" I said, "Please!"

He gave the Acura one final look, kicked it, then dragged his feet along as we continued down the sidewalk.

"Are your hands okay?" I asked him.

"No, I think they're broken," he said.

"Do you need to go to a doctor?"

He mumbled, "No."

We didn't say anything else, and I directed our walk back to the vicinity of my own car. I told him that I was probably going to go, and he didn't put up a fight about it. I left, and thankfully, he didn't try to contact me again.

Practice Safe Snacking

Profile Sent in by Bobby:

The most private thing I'm willing to admit:

I made cookies once for a boyfriend and it caused the breakup. Not my fault. I baked condoms into the cookies and didn't tell him. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Education is Costly

Story Sent in by Kristopher:

On our first date, Helen and I were walking through a college campus on what had to be one of the hottest days of the year. I asked her, "Want to go inside?" meaning one of the classroom buildings that surrounded us. She did, and we opened the doors to air-conditioned splendor.

The hallways bore posters of scientific research and flyers about various college activities. She tried the door to one of the classrooms, and it was open. "Want to go in?" she asked me. I did.

She sat down at one of the desks in the front row and sighed. I asked her if she was okay, and she replied that she was just tired.

Then, she sat up straight said, "You're a teacher. Teach me something."

It's true, I've been a substitute middle school and high school teacher, mostly of earth science, biology, and chemistry. A reader might take it to mean that Helen's "teach me something" was meant in a titillating manner, but it wasn't. And besides, it was only a first date.

I spouted off a few random biology facts, and she asked me questions, rather like a student. Not too long into the "lecture," someone else knocked on the door and walked into the room, a young woman who looked like a student.

She said, "I'm sorry to interrupt. Do you know where Thompson Library is?"

I did, and I was about to answer when Helen spouted, "Yeah! Up your ass!"

There was a moment of shocked silence. I then told the student, as a joke, "Sorry. She's one of our special needs students," and then I gave her the best directions that I could. She thanked me and left.

Helen was up on her feet and in my face in seconds. "How dare you," she hissed, "I have cousins who are special needs! You insensitive asshole!"

"I was just kidding," I said, "Relax."

"Tell that to my special needs cousins!" she yelled, and stormed out of the room.

By the time I decided to follow her, she was long gone. I thought about sending her an apology email, but I didn't.

Why Brass Knuckles Should Live in Your Purse

Email Sent in by Georgiana:

Hey luv.

Did you catch that hailstorm last night? Hailstones the size of my balls fell right in our area! Hope you were safe.

Speaking of balls…… oh I'm kidding! They're great when they're large, bad when they're small. Am I right? Or would you even know(???).

Women can sometimes feel awkward when first meeting a man and I understand. I will take things slow until you understand that I'm a good sweet guy who just wants to take your hand and guide you to the best places.

Like places where hailstones fall low ;)

Talk to you soon.

Spencer

All's Fair. Except When it Isn't.

Story Sent in by Shannon:

I was out to dinner with Keith, a guy who had written to me online. He worked for an events company that put on different trade shows and country fairs. I had attended a few of his company's events, and so that formed the basis for most of our conversation.

In the midst of an otherwise pleasant conversation, he asked me, "Have you ever brought a guy you were dating to one of those events?"

I thought it was a strange question, but it seemed harmless, for the moment. I replied, "I think so. Probably. I've been to a few of your fairs in the past."

"Did you find a secluded spot and have sex with them there?"

I laughed. "What? Why would you ask me that?"

He folded his hands together and replied, straight-faced, "Because my company's instituting a new policy at our events: no sex allowed. I'm just curious regarding its prevalence."

I said, "No. I never had sex at any fair, ever."

"Would you like to?"

I laughed again. He repeated, "Would you like to? I'm serious."

I said, "I don't think so, but thanks for the offer."

"I wasn't offering!" he said, raising his voice considerably. I stopped laughing. He went on, "I'm just asking. Sex has to stop at my events. I'm asking you just to see if you think there's anything at my events that encourages sex. That's all."

I asked, "Can we stop talking about sex?"

He replied. "What do you want to talk about?"

The first thing that popped into my head was, "Tell me about some of your future events."

He said, "Well, there's going to be no sex at them, I can tell you that." He then leaned in and whispered, "Unless you'd like there to be." He then slipped his index finger into the closed fist of of opposite hand and gave me a creepy smile.

I stood up and said, "I'm going."

"What?" he asked, "What did I say?"

I was flustered, but I wouldn't let him distract me from what I had to do. I said, "I have to go. Bye."

I flew out of that place so fast that I must have set a new land speed record. My hurry didn't stop until I made it home and locked the door behind me.

Part of Brain Gone, Too

Profile Sent in by Tasha:

About me:

Without an appendix, tonsils, or a kidney, I have less meat than most but my heart is larger than anyone's. Just ask anyone. Go on and ask them. I'll wait.

Done asking?

Good. I believe nothing man says but only the words of the prophets. They told me to sign up for this site (RIP- THOSE WHO WENT BEFORE ME) and i'm doing it for them. If I find love I will dedicate it to them in a pride of a lionesses. Enemies stand no chance against me! They will slay at me feets.

The Deep End of the Ocean

Story Sent in by Nathaniel:

Kristina and I had been dating for about three weeks when we went to the beach together.

On our way to a good beach spot, we passed three shirtless guys. "Hello," she said so that only she and I could hear, but sounding very interested. They walked by without giving her a second glance, but she kept her eyes on them even after we had set our towels and bags down.

Joking around, I said, "If you hurry you might be able to catch up to them."

Without a word, she trotted away from me and hurried in their direction. I watched her go for a little bit, convinced myself that she had to have been walking to the bathrooms or snack bar, applied sunscreen, and did some reading.

She hadn't come back after 40 minutes, and I went into the water. When a solid hour had passed since she had left, I walked in the direction I had last seen her heading. There was no sign of her, and the only thing left to do was to try her phone, which of course, she had left in her bag, back with me.

I asked the snack bar vendor if he had seen anyone matching her description. He hadn't. I wasn't sure what else to do, but I knew that she had to return to our spot eventually, so I returned to it, read some more, swam some more, and made the acquaintance of a couple of young women who also sat nearby.

Kristina appeared a few hours later. She gave me a smile and a "Hi!" as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

When she didn't surrender any information about where she had been, I asked her, "Where did you go?"

She replied, "Oh, just making some new friends. It was really awesome."

I didn't press her any further about it, and she didn't say anything else. We remained at the beach for about two more hours. During that time, I spoke a bit more with my two new friends. Kristina didn't seem to like that, and even asked me at one point, "Uh, are you at the beach with them or me?" I didn't reply. It wasn't worth it.

On our way back to our neighborhood, in the car, she told me that she just wanted to be friends. "I'm dating someone else, someone I just met today," she added, "and I want to see where it goes."

I agreed with her decision, and to this day, we remain friends. Friends who never really speak to each other, that is.

Claire Danes's New Groove

Email Sent in by Joseph:

hi there!

i liked your profile. my name is marlee. i like monty python, claire danes, and decorating. i like playing soccer too. how long have you played? i used to play a lot more than i do now. where do you play?

i go to wine tastings. no one ever told me that they give you free wines! last weekend my friends and i got sooooo drunk! we found a couple of places where you had to pay to taste but we didn't taste wines there. the free places are awesome! have you ever been?

i want to go wine tasting with claire danes if you want to know a secret. she is my favorite actress and i think she's smart and beautiful. she needs to be in more stuff and if she's not busy like she hasn't been lately then she should come wine tasting with me. and you if you're interested. i want to write to her.

what's your favorite claire danes movie?

Marlee

Love Me or Leaf Me

Story Sent in by Jennifer:

Alex and I were on a walk after a light lunch on our first date. We headed nowhere in particular, and it was a sunny and aromatic spring day.

As we turned one corner, further into a neighborhood, the smell of flowers and trees became even stronger. We passed by a yard with a wooden fence and a hickory leaf stuck between two of the slats, out towards the sidewalk. Alex tapped his fingers along the fence as we walked, and pulled at the leaf, snapped it off, and carried it as we continued.

"Do you know what kind of leaves these are?" he asked me.

I had worked in a greenhouse for a little less than a year, and so had learned some botany. I said, "That's a hickory leaf."

He shook the branch lightly and said, "Leaves. There's more than one."

I replied, "Those are actually leaflets. They're all growing from the same stem, so what you have there is considered a single, compound leaf."

He smiled. "Bullshit. There's more than one leaf. They're leaves. End of story."

I said, "It's just one compound leaf."

He picked one of the leaflets off the branch and stuck it into my face. "More than one!" he said, "Leaves!"

I backed away slightly and said, "It's really not worth an argument. Calm down."

He picked off another leaflet from the branch. "Leaves!" he said, then held them up in front of me, "Leaves! More than one leaf! Plain as day."

"I—"

"They didn't teach you how to count at the greenhouse?"

I replied, "You can look it up! Hickory trees have compound leaves! It's really not worth all of this—"

He took out his smartphone and looked it up, right there. His smirk turned into a frown as he discovered that I was, astoundingly, correct.

"Well?" I asked him after a good long while. I wanted to keep moving and was tired of the discussion.

He said, "I'm still looking. Everything I find is stupid and wrong."

"Do they say that hickories have compound leaves?"

No answer from him. I waited another minute before asking, "Can we go?"

He shoved his phone in his pocket and muttered, "You're wrong. The Internet is wrong. I know what I see, and there's more than one leaf. The facts are simple."

I corrected him, "There's more than one leaflet. There's—"

"There's no such thing as a leaflet!" he yelled, "No leaflets! None! Not now, not ever! Get that fiction out of your head! There's clearly more than one leaf! They thought the world was flat once and they were wrong! There's more than one leaf and I'm right!"

I mentally shifted to end-the-date-as-quickly-as-possible mode and said, "Okay. Maybe you are."

"I am!"

"You are."

We walked on in silence for a few minutes. I then said, "I'm going to go. It was nice meeting you."

"Yeah, you too," he said, "Seriously, you should look up leaves a bit better next time. When there's more than one, there's more than one, you know? All you have to do is count them."

"I sure will."

I sure didn't see him again.

When Misery Is a Valid Option

Profile Sent in by Cora:

Who I'm looking for:

God bless you. It is my goal to bless every woman in the worlds! I bless them with love with joy with happiness. First with love I greet them and bring them com passion. With joy is next and joy is wonderfull. I give you hiugs and we sit down next to each other.

With happiness I have saved for last. Happiness is the best part and with happiness I take you to the bedroom and bless yoou with my special staff of wiener. Don't fill with worry! I will only do this if you say yes to happiness!

The Sun Also Rose

Story Sent in by Jonathan:

I met Vicki in my college dining hall. She was eating alone, and I wasn't there with anyone, either. I asked if I could join her, and she welcomed me to her table.

She was studying economics and hoped to start her own business. I was majoring in archaeology with hopes to go all the way to Ph.D. She asked me loads of questions, I fired a bunch back, and before you knew it, I had planned a first date with her.

On the night of the date, I took her out to a great Italian place near campus, the sort of place at which you have to make a reservation about a week in advance. I'm not a ritzy kind of guy, but especially back then, I thought that a pricey dinner would only help the date.

We had both dressed up, and she looked great. We were seated and the first thing she did was take the small centerpiece, which was a small vase of carnations, and sniffed them.

She wrinkled her nose and said, "Not roses. Damn."

I frowned at her. "Huh?"

A waiter came by with a pitcher of water wrapped in a napkin. He poured a glass for Vicki and another one for me. She looked inside of her water glass, studying it as if something was floating inside.

"What's wrong?" I asked her.

She looked around again and said, "I thought this would be the kind of place that put rose petals in their water."

"I don't know of any place that puts rose petals in their water."

She assured me, "Some places do, and I thought that this place would." She raised her hand and a server rushed over. She said, "Hi, I'm sorry to trouble you. Do you have any rose petals?"

"Rose petals?" the waiter asked, "I'm sorry, I don't think so, but we might have some in back. Let me check."

He hurried off. I asked her, "Will you be okay if they don't have rose petals?"

She said, "We'll see. Most good places have them, but sometimes you have to ask."

"Why rose petals?"

"They're good for you as an infusion in water."

We didn't say anything else until the waiter came back. He said, "I'm sorry. I thought we had some from a centerpiece in back, but we don't have any."

Vicki's mood noticeably soured. She groaned, "Okay," and looked at me expectantly. "Would you mind taking a quick run around the block?" She opened her purse and handed me a $10 bill.

I said, "You're serious? You want me to go and buy you a rose for your water?"

She asked, "Is this a date or isn't it?"

I took the $10 without a word and left the restaurant. As I suspected would be the case, my walk around the block yielded one closed florist. I returned to Vicki with her ten dollars. "Sorry," I said, "The florist was closed. Can we order dinner, now?"

"After all that?" she asked, "You couldn't get me a rose anywhere?"

I said, "What's the big deal with the roses? I'm sure you don't drink water with rose petals every time you drink water, do you?"

"No, but this is a nice restaurant and a date. I should get at least something that I want."

"Is it going to ruin the date?"

She said, "Probably."

We ordered our dinners and I was sure to ask for separate checks. She moped the entire time and hardly said a word to me, except to say, "Once you've tried water with rose petals, you'd understand."

Once we were done, I thought that I'd walk her back to campus, but she took off in the other direction and said, "You go ahead back. I'm looking for roses for my water."

That night, she sent me an email, declaring that she had not only found roses, but that she had a date scheduled with a guy who also liked rose petals in his water. I'm sure that they had lots to talk about together.

Winners and Losers

Emails Sent in by Ian:

I appreciate the message but I have to inform you of the fact that I am in a committed relationship and have no need for another man at present. I maintain a dating profile solely to disappoint guys like you. K THX BYEEE!!!!

Eve


******************************
Ian responds:

Thanks for the reply Eve. I'm not disappointed. You sound like a bitch.

Ian


******************************
Eve responds:

Say it to me and my boyfriend's face you coward punk.


******************************
Ian responds:

Name the time and place.


******************************
Eve responds:

Fuck you. You're not probably worth it!


******************************
Ian responds:

I'll take that as your concession.


******************************
Eve responds:

Whatever concession means. LOL.


******************************
Ian responds:

Yep.

It Is Written

Original Art By Craig Boldman - http://www.craigboldman.com

Story Sent in by May:

Tim wrote me a message over a dating site. He seemed gregarious and fun, and so we decided to meet at a restaurant for our first date.

When we sat down, I noticed a strange, oddly-colored patch on his forehead. It looked as if he had applied too much foundation, but such a thought was ludicrous and I disregarded it.

That was, until he said, "You've been looking at my forehead. I'm glad." He tilted his head toward me with a big smile and went on, "You might be wondering, 'How can this guy's forehead get any more bad ass?' Well, let me show you."

He took his napkin and rubbed away at his forehead. A thick layer of makeup came off to reveal, in red capital letters… his name. Tattooed to his forehead.

"Holy shit, was it ever painful," he said proudly, "Great, right?"

"Um, why?" I asked. The word "psycho" shouted itself louder and louder in my brain.

He said, smugly, "For the same reason that you don't have your name on your own forehead. You think you look better without it, but there's no question that I look better with it. It's bright red. Easier to cover up for business meetings than black."

"But why get it in the first place?"

He grinned and said, "It's the easiest conversation-starter in the world. I'm amazed that more people don't do it. If you're going to get a tattoo and spend the money on it, it has to pay for itself, you know?"

The waiter came by to take our orders. He glanced at Tim's forehead and Tim said, "What do you think of my tattoo?"

"It's cool," the waiter said, "What can I get you for dinner?"

Tim repeated, "It's cool," then said to me, "The waiter thinks it's cool," then said to the waiter, "She doesn't think it's cool."

The waiter said, "I think it's fine, sir. What can I get you?"

Tim stood up and said to me, "Tell you what: I'm going to go up and down the bar, and I'll ask everyone there if they like it. I can tell that you don't, but only because you're probably really shy."

He left the table, to the bewilderment of the waiter. I told the waiter, "Go ahead and put in my order. He'll probably order later."

The waiter did that, and as I watched from across the restaurant, Tim walked down the bar, introducing himself to people sitting there, pointing to his forehead, and occasionally glancing in my direction.

When he returned, he wore a big smile and said, "They loved it. I don't know what your problem is."

I said, "If a random guy came up to me with a forehead tattoo and asked me if I liked it, I'd tell him yes just to get him to go away."

He said, "That's not what they said at the bar. They loved it."

I told him that I had already ordered my dinner, and he said that it was fine. He'd put his own order in. Not long after both of our dishes had arrived, a guy came up to Tim and asked him if he'd mind taking a photo with him.

Tim was all too glad, and he posed with the guy. I could just imagine the caption: "Look at this crazy guy we found at a bar in Tampa. He actually had his name tattooed across his forehead."

When he sat back down, Tim gave me a big smile, and I rolled my eyes. He was nice enough to pay for dinner, and after we parted ways, neither of us ever contacted the other.

Like a Dog Could Ever Talk

Email Sent in by Vanessa:

I read your profile and here's what I think.If you are Juliet.. I am Romeo .If your Monalisa I am the Michelangelo.

I am easy going as the free flowing salt from a salt container.And I am one who can add spice to your food and may be life and when you would read a restaurant menu you will see me as two chilies.By the way did I say you that I m very family oriented.

Meet me I am Brian griffin from "family guy".

My Name Is What? My Name Is What?

Story Sent in by Tricia:

Andrew introduced himself to me in public, for which I have to give him credit for confidence. I was sitting and reading in a park when he came up to me (as he was walking his dog) and said, "Hi, I'm Andrew. This is my second time passing you, and I wouldn't have forgiven myself if I didn't stop to say hi."

He and I had a very pleasant chat, and I even gave him my number. He called me later that night and asked me out to a proper date the following weekend. I told him yes, and we made definite plans.

About three or four days later, I was in the park again and sat in a different spot. Andrew, walking his dog, came up to me again and before I could say a word, he said, "Hi, I'm Andrew. This is my second time passing you, and I wouldn't have forgiven myself if I didn't stop to say hi."

Maybe it was because I had sunglasses on this time and I didn't before. When I took them off to show him my puzzled look, he gasped, hit his head with the palm of his hand, and said, "Oh, crap. I swear I don't do this all the time. I–you should be complimented that I came up to you a second time. Duh. I'm sorry."

"Uh-huh," I said with a smirk. He was a dope, but a sincere dope. We hadn't even gone on one date yet, so I had no real reason to be jealous. However, it did up his creep factor a bit, so one way or the other, he'd have his work cut out for himself on our first date.

The next day, I was in the park again (I was on summer vacation, after all) and once more, Andrew came up to me with his dog. Before my eyes, he looked at me as if he had never seen me before and said, "Hi, I'm Andrew. This is my second time passing you, and I wouldn't have forgiven myself if I didn't stop to say hi."

I removed my sunglasses again and said, "Andrew, do you seriously not remember me? Or is this some sort of joke?"

He said, "Right. You're Tricia. I remember. Did we have a date scheduled for this weekend?"

I replied, "No."

He said, "Oh. You sure?"

"Yes."

He nodded and said, "Okay."

Then, he stared at me until I said, "I'm going back to my book. Please go."

He didn't say anything, but he did walk away. I didn't encounter him or hear from him ever again.

The More I Pay, the Friendlier They Are. Weird.

Profile Sent in by Pina:

I'm really good at:

Making friends through escort services. I met some lifelong blood friends through strange as it may seem strippers. I respect them and their boundaries and they tell me I'm a good guy. Who am I to argue? I will respect you in the same exact ways. I won't stop making friends through them though. They are good people who also deserve a chance to make friends with special guys like me.

The Grass Is Stranger on the Other Side

Story Sent in by Theo:

Maria and I met online. We spoke for a couple of weeks. She seemed very happy and positive, and even promised to make me cookies for our first date.

When we did meet, in a park with a pond, about equidistant from both of our houses, something was the matter. She patted my shoulder and said, "Theo, I'm not in a good mood today."

"What can I do?" I asked. I had a nice day planned with a walk, an early dinner, and perhaps some dancing at an outdoor music venue.

She said, "Can we just sit down for a little bit? I had a huge fight with someone close to me this morning."

Family? Friends? An ex? It wasn't how I imagined our first moments together, but I liked her enough to sit down with her on the grass and be there how (or if) she needed me.

She sat in silence but tore up clumps of grass. I asked her, "Anything you want to talk about?"

She replied, "Not really."

I asked, "We can meet some other time if you want."

She then looked at me as if trying to decide something. She tore up a few more handfuls of grass, then stood up and said, "I'm glad you'll be a witness."

She then walked purposefully toward the pond, pulled her phone out of her pocket, and set it down on the shore. Then, she walked into the water, with all of her clothes on.

I ran for her and yelled, "Maria! What are you doing? Come back!"

She kept walking until her steps became a swim. She dunked herself under the water and I was ready to jump in after her, thinking that she was drowning herself. She then surfaced and paddled her way to the other side.

I grabbed her phone and jogged around the pond to meet her there. When she arrived, sopping wet, I handed her the phone and asked her, "Are you okay? What's going on with you?"

She looked at her phone in my hand and said, "Oh, my phone," then took it and smiled at me. "Thanks, Theo. Can we hang out again sometime? I just needed to clear my head after this morning."

I told her, "Sure… I guess. You sure you're okay?"

"Yes. See you later, okay?" I didn't reply, as I was still trying to make sense of everything. She repeated, "Okay?"

"Okay."

She left me standing there, bewildered and not altogether happy. I sent her a text an hour later to check in and see how she was doing. I never heard from her again.

Actually, It's at the Top

Profile Sent in by Daniel:

What I'm doing with my life:

I have twelve things I want to do before I die, and I've already accomplished eleven of them. At this rate I'll be dead next week! Not a bad reason to shoot me a message. If you don't now you'll possibly miss out forever and I doubt that missing out on me is on YOUR list ;)

When Royalty Dates

Story Sent in by Marcy:

Greg and I met online. We spoke for a couple of weeks before he asked me if he could take me out to a "unique" place for dinner on a Friday night. Intrigued, I pressed him for more details, but he said, "Trust me: it's like nowhere you've been for dinner before." I agreed to go with him, and he told me to meet him at a certain address.

When I arrived there near the appointed time, I was puzzled to discover that the "unique place" was a church. Its windows were lit up, and there was clearly some sort of big event happening within. Many well-dressed people streamed inside.

I called Greg up and asked him, "It's a church? Are you inside?"

"Yep! Come on in, but hang a quick right as soon as you do. I'm downstairs."

I followed his instructions. The church basement was also lit up, but there were fewer people than those who had congregated upstairs. In fact, the only people downstairs were in aprons, and were cooking in the kitchen. It was a big space.

"Hey!" Greg called to me from across the room.

I walked over to him and said, "Hey. What's this all about?"

He replied, "It's a dance and dinner kind of thing, but I didn't buy tickets. We can have our own dance and dinner down here. I grabbed us some food from the kitchen." He pointed to a darkened corner of the room, where a couple of hot dogs sat next to hot dog buns on a single plate.

"And we can dance!" he said, then took my hands and shook them wildly up, down, and around, in some strange sort of mating ritual that I still can't really figure out.

I tore my hands away and said, "Are you serious? This is where you wanted to meet up?"

He looked at me as if I had dealt him a mortal insult. "What's wrong with this? Dinner, dancing under the stars–"

"We're in a basement!" I reminded him, "With food on a paper plate on a floor."

He shook, spun around to the hot dogs, picked them up, and threw them into a nearby trash can. "Princess wants what princess wants!" he spat, then barged past me and into the kitchen. I couldn't see him anymore, but I heard him shout, "Attention, everyone! Princess wants some five-star cuisine! Can I have some of your finest fucking caviar and your best fucking dolphin meat? It's for princess! And princess gets what princess wants! Always!"

I wanted to leave, but I also wanted to see how things turned out. Someone said, "Get him out," and someone else said, "You have to leave."

"But princess!" he shouted again, "Princess wants a five-star fucking meal! Time for me to get princess a five-star… fuck this place!"

There came a tremendous crashing, like a dozen pots and pans smashing against the ground. I expected Greg to bolt out of the kitchen at any second, but he didn't. There was a lot of shouting, and I took that as my cue to leave.

He left me close to 20 voicemails that night and about half as many texts. "Where did princess go? Princess's food must be gotten for princess! I'll just empty my fucking bank account for fucking princess! It's okay! I don't mind! It's all for fucking princess!"

After that night, he didn't contact me again, except for the following Wednesday, when he left one more voicemail that was just as angry as the other score he left for me. I stayed off of online dating for a while after that.

I Think I'll Have Cereal, Instead

Email Sent in by April:

My toaster is broken. If you come over and fix it. I will make you coffee. If you let me make you coffee, you'll perhaps let me take you out for a nice dinner. If you let me take you out for one nice dinner, maybe you'll let me take you out for two.

After a few nice dinners, perhaps you'll move in. Then you'll start to tell me where to go and what to wear and who my new friends will be. Then you will "forget" birth control and then you'll tell me to marry you.

If we do all of that, I'll play along until the day I don't. On that day I'll disappear with or without committing certain acts first.

So lets just cut all the crap and have you come over, fix my toaster, and be on your god damn way.

Dorian

I Feel Bad for Whoever "He" Was

Story Sent in by Sean:

Samantha and I were both users of the same online message board group. It was a board for twenty-somethings to share information about group activities like concerts, art fairs, fundraisers, and so on. I had met some great local people, men and women, as friends through the group, but Samantha was different from anyone else I had met.

For starters, there were about 20 active users on the group, but she addressed each question she had about an event, regardless of whether I was the one who had posted it or not, to me and me alone.

Also, she sent me occasional private messages of an unusual variety: "Are you him?" was all that one of them read.

I replied, "I'm Sean! Nice to meet you."

Her response, "You may be him," was unsettling, but I didn't let it vex me. As time went on, however, she contacted me more and more, and most of it, in her defense, was coherent and very sweet, as if she really enjoyed talking to me.

I posted about an event I had heard that was to occur at a local historical house. Samantha messaged immediately that she'd accompany me to it, and I asked her if she wanted to make it into a lunch date. She replied that she liked the idea.

When we met, she gave me a big hug and took my hand. It was strange and I asked her, "You move pretty quick, don't you?"

She said, "If you were me, you'd know why."

"Care to share?"

She shook her head. "Not yet. I have to figure some things out, first."

I didn't have a problem with us holding hands, but she was gripping mine very tightly. Something was wrong, and I wasn't sure if I wanted to know what it was.

We walked through the historic house, where different vendors had set up shop to sell a number of products that were of the period: baked goods, antiques, and so on. I had never been to that house before, even though I lived so near it.

Every time I spoke to a female vendor, Samantha gave my hand a violent jerk. After it happened twice, I asked her, "What's your problem?"

She didn't respond, except by staring off into space. I tried to drop her hand, but her grip was tight. I then forcibly removed my hand from hers.

She gasped, stared at me with an open mouth, and walked away from me, outside the house. I wasn't about to follow her, as I was having a relaxing time, and so I went through the rest of the house at my own pace, until I finally emerged to see her in the yard, sitting under a tree.

I walked up to her and asked, "Ready to do lunch?"

She replied, "I don't know. Did you have fun flirting with those women, inside?"

"I asked one of them, 'Are your breads locally made?' and the other if she had a catalog."

She mumbled something and I didn't hear her. I asked her to repeat it and she replied, "You wanted them. I could tell. I'm surprised you didn't ask them to an upstairs bedroom, just like you did before."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

She stood up and said, "You are just like him. I was right."

I thought of a half-dozen argumentative responses on the spot, but instead chose, "I'll see you around," and walked away.

She hurried after me, and I thought about running, but instead I spun around and said to her, "Leave me alone, you freak!"

That stopped her. I kept walking until I made it home. Samantha hasn't been an active user of our message board since, although I do wonder if she pops in to "check on" me.

We're Out of Chocolate and Vanilla. All That's Left Is...

Profile Sent in by Aimee:

About me:

I like to party. I'm a chattenooga choo choo of SEX FLAVA!!!! My record is three. If ur a guy reading this first of all why???? second of all if ur a chick then you should know that I am a starship galacticus of SEX FLAVA!!!!!

I roll with the punches though I'm the one usually doing the punchin! I'm a punchin kickin steamroller of SEX FLAVA!!!! BAM BAM BAM WASSSSSSSSHHHOOOOOOO BOOYAH BOOYAH BILLY BONES!

Slip-Sliding Away

Story Sent in by Olivia:

Colin and I met while I was out with a group of friends. He knew somebody who knew somebody. He chatted me up, and somehow he kept up the ruse of being charming and polite long enough for me to give him my number.

He called the next day and asked me if I wanted to visit a water park with him that weekend. I did, and so we made it definite.

He picked me up at my house and drove me to another part of my town. On a suburban side street, he pulled over and parked his car.

"Here we are," he said.

I stepped out of his car to see… a house. Not a water park in sight.

"Here we are!" he repeated.

I asked, "Where is here?"

"The water park!" he said, "Come on!"

Warily, I followed him to the backyard, where two other guys and another woman were sitting in old folding chairs. One of the guys was in swim trunks, the other wore a t-shirt and shorts. Nearby, on the ground, was what looked like a long string of black garbage bags, all stapled together.

Colin slapped the two guys five, didn't introduce me, and then joined them in ignoring me. He pointed at the mass of bags and asked, "Is this it?"

"Sure is, man," the swim trunks guy said, "Check it."

The guy turned on a nearby hose, and it sprayed water down the bags. He took a running start and jumped onto the bags, as if it was a slip-and-slide.

"Ow!" he yelled, and rolled of of it, "Goddamn it!"

As it turned out, they had, in fact, stapled garbage bags together. I asked, "Why didn't you use packing tape?" but no one listened to me.

The guy in swim trunks ran inside, screaming, "They're gonna take my hand off! They're gonna amputate me! I know it!"

The t-shirt guy and the woman followed the screaming man. Colin approached the crumpled bags, where the incident occurred. He inspected them closely, then stood up and said, "Yeah. It was probably the staples."

"Some water park," I said.

"Shut up!" he yelled, "You ruin everything!" He turned and followed his friends inside.

I walked home.

The Ghost with the Least

Email Sent in by Bud:

Hello.

The currents of my life have coasted me along until I crashed upon the rocks of your profile. I think I might be dead. Or at least a ghost. Sometimes I pass my hands through glass and other clear objects. I didn't know that special types of ghosts like me existed.

I like getting backstage passes to concerts. I get them all the time and have no prob getting them. I'm what you might call a groupie I guess…. slept with some…

anyways…..

I like balloons when they're deflated and chocolate. Balloons for the sound and chocolate for the taste. Im a throwaway the m&ms and eat the wrapper kind of gurl.

So write me back. Or don't write me back. Don't care either way. If you do though tell me where to get some chocolate.

Cathy

ABCotD Commercial #3

You Couldn't Use a Hydrant Like the Rest of Us?

Story Sent in by Jeff:

I was with Andrea at her parents' house, and we were on our second date. We were planning to watch a movie when I had to use her bathroom.

She directed me, "It's just down the hall. Third door on your left."

I walked down her first floor hallway, came to a closed door, and tried to open it. It was locked. I thought that we were the only ones in her house, but thinking that I might have been wrong, I knocked. No response.

I returned to Andrea and told her, "The bathroom's locked. Is someone else home?"

She said, "Never mind. Try the upstairs bathroom. First door when you get up there."

I went upstairs and tried that door. It was also closed and locked. When I returned to Andrea, I asked her, "That door's locked, too."

She darted her eyes around and said, "Yeah. Maybe my parents locked them."

I replied, "Where's the key? They can't have locked you out of their bathrooms."

She looked everywhere but at me and said, "Yeah, I do have it… but is it cool if you don't use it? I mean, do you really have to go?"

I said, "Kind of. Yeah. You don't want me using your bathroom?"

She frowned as if she hated to say it, but she went ahead and said it anyway. "Yeah. That's… yeah. Would you hold it? Do you have to go bad? There's a gas station right down the road if you really have to go."

"You're serious? You won't let me use your bathrooms? Why not?"

She stood up and said, "Just calm down. I just… yeah, would you mind maybe either holding it or running down to the gas station?"

"Why don't you want me to use your bathrooms?"

"I just… just don't use them, okay? Just go to the gas station. I'll make us some hot chocolate while you're gone, okay?"

I stared at her, but her blank, expressionless face gave me no answers. I put on my coat, went outside without a word, closed the door behind me, walked around to the back of her house, and peed in a secluded spot by a gutter. I felt awful, but all that talk about bathrooms made me have to go even more. I was thankful that peeing was all I had to do.

I zipped myself up and went back inside. That was my big mistake. If I wanted to keep things civil, I should have had the foresight to take a bit more time, as if I had actually gone to the gas station. Well, it was too late for that.

She walked into the living room at the same time that I did. She said, "That didn't take long. Did you not go there?"

I said, "Don't worry about it."

"I'm worried about it. It's not a long walk, and if you really have to go–"

"I'm all set."

She narrowed her eyes at me, and at once, I knew I was caught. She guessed, "You didn't… oh my God, you didn't go outside, did you?"

I shrugged. "It was just a pee. I can't really understand why you didn't let me use your bathroom but–"


"Wait, wait, wait, wait," she said, raising her voice, "You pissed outside my house? Are you serious?"

"I–"

"Get out! Are you some bum? Leave right now!"

She stomped around me and opened up her front door, through which I had just entered. I said, "Andrea, come on. Are you really going to do this? We can still have a nice night. I'll wash my hands and–"

"Get out. I want you out. Get out."

I said, "You're nuts."

"Get out!"

I left without further fuss. When I made it home, I made some hot chocolate for myself, used my own bathroom, and then, when I woke up in the morning, I used it again.

It was awesome.

Fish Are Friends. Not Food.

Email Sent in by Steven:

Hi Steven.

Sorry that I have not been more in touch. My pet goldfish Hiram died. Out of respect for him (I had him for over 10yrs) I cooked and ate him. Big mistake on my part (now I know lol) because he made me really sick for like a week with food poisoning! In the future I'll feed my fish better lol.

How about you?

Ciara

Fight at the Museum

Story Sent in by Elinore:

Harvey took me to a museum for our first date. It had a children's section that I remembered visiting when I was younger. When Harvey asked me if I wanted to walk through it, I told him that I did, if only for memories' sake.

Harvey had a small black shoulder bag with him. Too small to fit a laptop, it resembled a purse, but I wasn't going to mention anything about it. I didn't want to judge, and maybe it was filled with something important.

I soon found out. As he and I walked through the children's section, he pulled me into a deserted room labeled "Screening room."

There was a big screen and a video projector inside with benches in rows. The museum used the room, likely, to show educational films that were somehow pertinent to their exhibits.

On one end of the room, there was a locked cabinet. He carried his bag over to it and knelt before it. I followed him over to see what he was doing. He opened the bag and three DVD cases were inside. They were all educational documentaries: The Great Prides of Africa, Secrets of the Swamp, and whatever the third one was. At first, I thought he was going to leave them there as a sort of donation.

"Ready for this?" he said, then opened one of the cases to reveal what was very obviously a pornography disc. "They're all porn!" he said, and put the cases all down on top of the cabinet.

"What are you doing?" I asked him.

He explained, "This is funny. Revenge."

I replied, "What? We're going to get in trouble."

He said, "This museum has always treated me like crap. Today I get them back. Part one of payback, anyway."

He giggled and pulled me out of the room. "Come on!" he said.

I collected the DVDs in carried them out with me. He said, "What are you doing? You'll ruin it! The point is to leave them there, so that when they put one in, it'll be porn!"

I replied, "I understand what you're doing. I just am not going to let you do it. It's the kids that are going to suffer."

"Then they shouldn't be at this museum! It serves them right!" He grabbed the discs from me, slammed them on top of the cabinet, and waved me towards the door. "Come on!"

I followed him out and didn't say anything more about it. Once we were about to leave the museum, I told him that I had to use the bathroom. Instead, I returned to the children's hall, went into the screening room, removed the DVDs, which were still on top of the cabinet, exited the room with them, and threw them in the first trash that I could find.

Granted, I was pretty sure that the person putting the DVDs into a player would see that they were porn, but I just didn't feel right leaving the museum with them there.

I returned to Harvey, and he said, "Let's get out of here, fast!"

I followed him out to the parking lot. He led me to his car and said to me, "We're just like secret agents. Kiss me."

He went in for a kiss, and I backed away. "Eww, no!"

He stared at me, mumbled something I couldn't hear, jumped into his car, and took off. I'm not sure why he took me with him on his trip of museum vengeance, but I'm glad that I was there to stop him.

Elmo's Later Years

Profile Sent in by Marsha:

About me:

Congratulations. You've already taken a big step to having me in your life. By reading my profile and the essays below, you will understand why…… ooh shiny!!!!

I like the inside and outside. Of earth. Or buildings. Of rectums. Oops did I say that out loud?

I like being tickeld in certain places. Grew up in a place without many ticklers. In the city there are a lot of you people but not many ticklers. I'll take any man or woman. Just cajn't tickle myself. Can't pay anymore out just has to be a personal favor.

In return I will wash your floor or clean something (not a big room please).

ABCotD Commercial #2

A Chat and a Rat

Story Sent in by Arnold:

I took Dawn out to dinner, and it went well enough. She seemed a bit jittery and quiet, although I did my best to keep her smiling and laughing. I paid for dinner, she thanked me, and we took a walk.

As we strolled down the sidewalk, Dawn took a strange sort of hop-step, and I at first thought that she had tripped.

"You okay?" I asked her, then followed her gaze to the ground.

A dead rat lay by her feet, right on the sidewalk.

Dawn screamed, broke away from me, and tore down the sidewalk as if 50 ferocious dogs were after her.

"Dawn!" I called, and ran to catch up.

She rounded corners and doubled back enough to make me wonder if she was deliberately trying to lose me. Finally, I caught up with her and I put my hand on her shoulder.

"You're the rat!" she screamed, "Get off me! You're the rat! You're the rat!"

"I'm not a rat!" I yelled, still chasing her, "Calm down!"

She kept running. I didn't understand it. We were several blocks away from the rat at this point. I repeated, "It's okay! It's okay! It's not following us! Calm down!"

She kept going. I became conscious of the fact that I was chasing a woman in public, a woman who didn't seem to want me to catch her. I slowed down and tried a different tactic. "Dawn," I called, "I'm going to head back!"

She didn't stop. I did. I walked back to my car, near the restaurant, hoping that she'd come back. She didn't.

I called her. She picked up, but she didn't say "Hello" or any other greeting.

"Hello?" I asked.

She asked, "Is… are you the rat?"

"No. I'm Arnold. Are you coming back?"

The longest pause, then she replied, "Tomorrow. Maybe." She hung up. I went home and never heard from her again.

Not Just Pathetic. Empathetic.

Profile Sent in by Jorge:

About me:

I'm not a betting woman but if I was I'd bet that you write me. Here's why, three simple reasons:

1. I can cook anything.
2. I'm really open minded.
3. I spent four years of my life as a man. Not a real man but living as a man so that I could really understand the male point of view on things. I cut my hair short and called myself a boys name. Peeing standing up is hard when you lack the equipment! That's the only thing I used an artificial penis for. No sex. I promise!

My friends say I'm empathetic, but I really brought it to a whole new level. I did it because I want a guy who will identify with me in the same way, mentally. I know how you feel and what you go through and I just want a guy who understands that. I'm all out in the open. Why can't you be the same? I've tried to understand you!!! That makes me no monster!

A Tents Situation

Story Sent in by Malia:

I had known Patrick since college. I had met him while he was dating Catherine, a friend of mine. They were together for a few years before Patrick broke it off to date someone else, on the other side of the country. Patrick had always been very nice to me, but it was hard to forget how he had ended things with Catherine.

Patrick emailed me out of the blue several years later. "I've moved to your area," he wrote, "Want to grab a drink?"

I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. We were all younger back then, and perhaps he felt remorseful for the way he had treated my friend. I also wondered if he was contacting me as a way of reaching out to her. With this tangle of thoughts in mind, we met up at a bar.

I wasn't going to bring up Catherine if he wasn't, and he didn't. Not once. Instead, he focused the conversation on me. It was actually a good talk, and we caught up over the course of a couple of hours. I ended up feeling glad that we had taken the time to meet. Afterward, we went our separate ways and promised to keep in touch. I figured it would be a once-in-a-while kind of thing, and I certainly didn't want to date him.

Not long after I returned to my house and was readying for bed, I heard a sound in my front yard that was like someone hammering the pavement.

I looked out my front window, and there was Patrick, pitching a tent. As I watched, he slid the supports into their external sleeves and up it rose.

I cracked open my front door and said, "Patrick? What are you doing?"

He put the tent down and walked toward the door. "What? This? Oh, I'm just pitching a tent." He grinned, as if that was the answer I was seeking.

"Yes, but why?"

He replied, "I felt like pitching a tent in your front yard. We had a good time tonight, didn't we?"

I said, "Yes, but I think you should go home. How did you even know where I lived?"

He said, "Internet. Anyhoo, I kind of want to stay right here, if that's okay. I'll be out whatever time you want in the morning, although I'd like to come back tomorrow night. Just in the tent, if you don't want me in your house."

He had one drink that night, and certainly didn't seem drunk when we parted ways at the bar. I couldn't figure out what he was thinking, but I said, "I'd like you to leave." He looked back at his tent for a long time, as if asking it for advice on what to do next. I finally said, "Patrick? Did you hear me?

He turned to me and said, "You know, I always thought of you as a hot version of Catherine. Has anyone ever told you that? I just want to camp here. It feels good. It feels right."

"It's illegal," I told him, "And I'm calling the cops if you don't pack up right now."

He said, "I guess you are different from Catherine. Hope no one puts a bomb in your house's foundation. Oh wait, I did that already."

He jogged back to his tent, rolled it up, and carried it down the street. I didn't sleep a wink that night, or very much the night after. Patrick never did contact me again, although just thinking about that night makes me shiver.

Keepin' it Rusty and Real

Email Sent in by Madison:

(Madison says: "I don't have any kids, and it says so on my profile.")


I like to keep things real if you know what I mean. Being real means being a straight shooter and not telling lies. If you have kids already, they need to learn to not tell lies. We're of the age where many women are saddled with em so best to teach em now what to know to be honest with their betters am I right?

How many kids do you have?

Keep kids real. It's the only way to go. Your profile lists you as a preschool teacher and an ass-piring landscape architect. Hahahahahahahahaha…. how do you aspire to be a landscape architect? ""I want to build a bush over there!""  Bwahahahahahahahaha… stupid bitch. Just let nature grow. Nature keeps it real. Why don't you? Better hope your kids do. Honesty is the way to be!

I want to take you out. None of this talking online b.s. We meet, keep it real, see what happens in the bedroom and off on my fire escape (got two of em). Old rusty but the job is done and real. Must be real.

Daniel

ABCotD Commercial #1

Camp of the Lost

Story Sent in by Nick:

One summer in my early 20s, Rachel contacted me off of a dating site, saying that I looked familiar. She listed several places from which we might have known each other, but aside from living in the same city, nothing else she mentioned was familiar. Based on her initial message, though, we struck up a conversation, one that finally led to a date.

I took her out to dinner, where we had a nice experience, although she seemed to have decided that I had attended her local summer camp, Camp Buchanan, which I never, ever had.

"I've got a great idea!" she said as dinner was coming to a close, "After dinner, let's go there! To Camp Buchanan! We can park our cars on a nearby street and sneak onto the property."

I liked the idea, and so we did it. It was a nice place, from what I could tell in the dark. There were abundant trees, little ranch buildings, and big fields.

She led me to a swing set not too far from a collection of swimming pools.

While we were on the swings, she turned to me and said with a smile, "By the way: I've figured out where I know you from."

"Where?" I was eager to find out.

She said, "Here! Camp Buchanan! We were campers and friends together, over 10 years ago."

I replied, "I said before: I've never been here. Sorry."

She said, "We were campers here. Try to remember."

"I swear to God, I've never set foot in this place."

"The annual dance was held here for the first time when we were campers. It was so awkward! Remember?"

"I've never been here. Really."

"That's the first time I remember seeing you."

I sighed. "Rachel, this is my first time here. I've never been here before, ever. I spent my summers at a camp in North Carolina."

She said, "I imagined what my kids with someone else would look like for the first time with you as the father. It was you."

"It wasn't."

She stared at me, her eyes wider than I had ever seen them. "It was. You... were... here."

"I wasn't. I'm sorry."

She jumped off the swing and said, "If you're not going to play him, then I want to be alone. Have a good night... and life, okay?"

I stopped swinging. "What?"

She said, "If you're not even going to help me, then we're calling it a night, and I... can't see you again. Okay?"

"Uh... sure. Okay."

"Are you sure? Last chance to... play the lost."

I stood up off the swing. "I'm sure, but we can still have a nice night, can't we? We can—"

"I'll be safer this way!" she said, then skipped off, toward the swimming pools, and into the night. I didn't follow her, and I returned to my car and drove back home.

As she had promised, I didn't hear from her again.