Story Sent in by Jennifer:

Erik and I had been seeing each other for about two months when some of our mutual friends invited us to a backyard barbecue. We all had a few drinks, but nothing went out of hand. Being a little tipsy (or drunk), we all found new, stupid ways to amuse ourselves.

There was a point where we were all sitting around a pit fire and I was telling a story about something that happened to me in high school, a bad date story, as a matter of fact. Those gathered listened and laughed at all the key moments, and when I finally finished the story, there was some good laughter all around.

Then, all at once, Erik, who had been sitting next to me, stood up and took my hand. I stood up with him. He said, "We'll be right back," and led me into the house.

I wasn't sure what he had planned, but I was intrigued, thinking that he was either going to tell me a secret or put the moves on me, neither of which would have been unwelcome.

Instead, he led me into the house's downstairs hallway, where they had a coat closet. He opened it up, nudged me inside, and still thinking that this was all an elaborate joke, I went in. He shut the door behind me and walked off.

Expecting I-don't-know-what, I waited in there for a few minutes before peeping my head out and leaving it. I looked around for him, called his name, and went back outside to find him sitting at the fire with our friends.

I went up to him and said, "Okay, what was that about?"

He stood up and led me inside again, this time upstairs to a bedroom. He walked into the bedroom's closet and pulled me in with him. I asked him, "What are you–?"

"Shh," he said, then stepped out of the closet and closed the door between us again. He walked away. I opened it and followed him.

Before he reached the stairs, I caught up and asked, "What's this all about?"

He said, "You have to stay in the closet. I'm finished playing with you, now. You have to go back in the closet with the clothes and shoes."

Through the haze, I was able to ask, "What the hell are you talking about?"

He sighed and explained, "A coat is to be worn on the body. Gloves on the hands. Women on the penis. I am through wearing you so you have to go in the closet!" He busted up laughing and slid down to the floor.

"Okay," I said, "I'm leaving."

He jolted to his feet and grabbed my arm. "Don't go!" he said, "Don't!" He yanked me toward him and I slapped his face. He released me and fell back as if I had hit him with a baseball bat. I ran downstairs, said a hasty goodbye to our friends, and left.

He didn't even call to apologize. Instead, he wrote me an email that read, "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA." Good riddance.

Email Sent in by Daisy:

I am just over a breakup. I AM SO PISSED AT ME EX.. she STOLE AND LIED. EVERY WOMEN IS EVIL…..

I have to relax. No good can come from blaming you. Or her. Wait… lots of good can coem from blaming her because SHE IS TO BLAME. I just need a shoulder on which to rest my head. I shoulder is what I have in mind. You have two of them. Would you mind sharing one with me?

She wouldn't even share a shoulder with me if I asked her to. She would probably rather CUT OFF HER SHOULDERS AND GIVE THEM TO NEEDY SHOULDERLESS CHILDREN THAN TO HER OWN BOYFRIEND OH I'M SORRY EXBOYFRIEND BECAUSE WE HAVE TO PUT A USELESS CONSONANT BEFORE SUCH A BEAUTIFUL WORD AND MAKE IT INTO SOMETHING HORRIBLE AND I

Sorry. I have to control myself. It's early, I'm tired, and I just wanted someone to talk to. Not YELL AT SCREAM AT AND THROW REPEATEDLY INTO DUMPSTERS, KICK DUMPSTERS DOWN HILLS THAT LEAD TO NIAGARA FALLS AND WATCH THEM HIT EVERY ROCK ON THE WAY DOWN BAM SMASH BOOM SPLAT.

I've probably killed any chance of you writing back. Thanks for listening and if you do write back maybe we can go out sometime?

Tim

Profile Sent in by Clark:

Who I'm looking for:

This is going to sound really weird but I'm going to say it anyway. I was on a date site about five years ago and met a guy off of it who was great and fantastic and evertything I ever wanted. He was about 6'2" he said his name was Greg.

I am looking for Greg.

I later found out that his name wasn't "Greg" and he never responded to my texts, messages, or phone calls. I'm sure it was all just a misunderstanding (we had a small argument on our first and only date) but I am looking for a guy who calls himself Greg (or ever did) and is 6'2". He said he worked on a farm.

First thing I will do is scream his head off for deserting me for so long, leading me on such a wild goose chase! Then I will give him the silent treatment (see how he likes it!) but in the end I'm sure I will embrace him and tell him that I forgive him for everything! Email me if you know him please.

Story Sent in by Wendell:

Marcy and I had been on one date already, and I thought it would be a nice gesture for me to invite her over to my apartment for dinner. She said that she'd bring lasagna.

She rang the intercom when she arrived downstairs. I buzzed her in and told her to let herself into my place, as I was working over the stove.

I heard her enter and I called, "I'm in the kitchen!"

When she entered, her eyes widened at me, she screamed, and dropped her tray of lasagna on the floor.

I jumped away from the stove, thinking that there was a fire or spider or something similarly catastrophic. I asked, "What is it? What–?"

"You're–you're naked!" she yelled, and ran away from me and out of the apartment.

For the record, I was not naked. Not in the slightest. I was in jeans and a shirt. The very opposite of naked, in fact. Instinctively, I jogged after her, down the hall. I even yelled, "I'm not naked!" a few times until I realized how strange that would likely sound to anyone else on the floor who heard.

I stopped and let her go. I then ran back to my apartment and called her. I was actually expecting her to not pick up, but she did, out of breath. She said, "Hello?"

I replied, "Hi, Marcy. You coming back? I'm not naked."

She said, "I can't talk to you now. I'm busy running away from you," and then hung up.

I was able to salvage most of her lasagna and enjoyed it very much over the next few nights. She was either completely insane or she went through an awful lot of trouble to essentially tell me that she didn't want to see me anymore.

Story Sent in by Betty:

On my first date with Francisco, he asked me if I wanted to check out an nearby abandoned house with him. I was up for it, and we drove there separately and parked in its overgrown driveway.

It was still daytime, so not as creepy as it could have been. Still, if any house looked haunted, this one did. The whole thing wasn't even straight on its foundation, so it had a kind of menacing lean toward us. The peeling paint and shattered windows only helped to complete the look.

"Come on! Let's check it out," Francisco urged, and so I followed him inside.

It was about what you would expect. Rotting floors, walls with jagged holes in them, graffiti, and such. As I wandered from room to room, I felt a malevolent presence behind me. I spun and turned.

It was Francisco with a wry smile. He asked, "Want to have sex?"

I laughed and said, "No. Help me explore."

He suddenly jumped and looked up. "What was that?" he asked, "I heard something upstairs."

"I didn't hear any–"

He pointed up. "There it is again. Oh my God. What the hell?"

He left me in the room and I followed him to the bottom of the rickety steps. We both looked up them. I said, "If you seriously heard something then we should go. Someone might be living here."

He walked up the steps. I followed behind him. He stopped short at the top and stared down the hallway, but from where I stood, I couldn't see what he was seeing. He froze. I froze, ready to bolt out of the house at a second's notice.

His voice quivered as he spoke, keeping his eyes firmly on a single spot down the hall, "Okay… so I just saw someone or something walk into a room down the hall."

I didn't have to hear anything more. I said, "Let's go," and returned downstairs.

He didn't. He creeped further down the upstairs hallway. I said to him, "Francisco, seriously. It could be some homeless guy or something. Let's get out of here."

He replied, "It wasn't a homeless guy. They're not see-through."

What was that strange ringing sound in my head? Oh! Yes, my bullshit detector. It was going off. I watched him walk down the hall and out of sight. As I finished up my explorations downstairs, I heard his footsteps above me, then I heard a loud thump, and then the sound of something dragging.

Finally, there was silence. I was ready to go, and so I walked upstairs. "Francisco?" I called for him a couple of times with no answer. I exited one room, entered another, and found no trace of him. "Francisco, I'm going to go," I called a final time, then made for the stairs and had the fright of my life.

At the top of the steps stood Francisco, his head tilted down and wearing a queer smile. He must have hidden somewhere in the room closest to the top of the stairs, as I only did a quick glance into each room as I looked for him.

Moving past my initial surprise, I said, "Come on. Let's go."

He replied in a slow, slurred voice, "We're going to be here forever…"

I sighed. "Seriously. Enough with the games. You want to get something to eat?"

He dropped the act and said, "Aw, you're no fun."

"Telling someone you've just met that 'we're going to be here forever' is not the most fun thing I can think of."

He nodded. "Fine. Want to have sex, anyway?"

I snorted and sidled past him. On my way down the stairs, he said, "I'm just going to stay here until you say yes."

I replied, "Then stay there." I wasn't interested in or attracted to him anymore by that point. I was far more fascinated by the prospect of a meal.

As I left the house and made for my car, he called out, "You'll come back! Everyone always does!"

"I'm sure!" I yelled back, then climbed into my car and drove off.

I looked him up a year or two later, not having heard from him. There existed no records, no photos, and no indication that he had ever even existed at all.

I'm totally kidding. Last I saw, he was engaged to someone. I'm glad it worked out for him.

Email Sent in by Charlton:

Hi!

I am totlaly flexable about times to meet! When is good for you! I am availabel anytime except for all of this/next week and all of the week after that (inc. weekends) because I have two big projects at work (norammylal they just give me one but I think it mightr be good news that they gave me two). Then for the rest of the month I will be away to visit my sis at college. She has some time off and I really want to see her in such a beautiful place!!

After that I don't know how things will go at work so I might not be able to see you for a while but then I will just have to see then won't I!! So when is good??

Amara

Profile Sent in by Angelica:

About me:

I'm 25 years old but I know I still have a lot to learn. The best relationships I think are ones in which you never stop learning from your partner, and even more importantly what you learn from them is specific to you and the best thing for you to learn and grow from right at that moment. I very much look forward to gaining wisdom from my future significant other.

She in turn must be willing to accept my wisdom such as the wisdom to allow me to stick it anyplace I want to stick it. It would be best if she was wise in this way. She will learn a lot. She will learn that I will not wait around if she does not satisfy me. My wisdom bounty flows and she must learn.

Story Sent in by Ben:

I wrote to Juliette on a dating website. She said that she was a teacher. I had done some substitute teaching once or twice and didn't like it, but I used it as a conversation point.

She sounded overjoyed to hear from me, and we were out on a date together a week later. I had asked her what grade(s) she taught over an email, but she never responded. I thought at the time that it was an accidental oversight on her part. I think I was wrong.

At dinner, she was manic beyond belief. Everything I did was amazing, especially my job, which was...

"You're a part-time programmer and a part-time baker?" she asked, her mouth canyon-wide, "Wow! That's so stupendous!"

"Yes. I like to feed my brain and my mouth."

"Oh my God! You're so funny! I just can't get over how stupendous it is that you program and bake! And that you're funny!"

They're merely jobs I don't mind. On the other hand, it was nice to have the attention. She seemed very into everything I said, and I tried to reflect her interest as best as I could. I couldn't really, though. She acted as though she had drank 50 Dr. Peppers.

She finally asked, "Will you come to my classroom as a special guest, this week? You'd be awesome! So awesome!"

"What age level?"

"Second grade!"

I should have guessed. She wouldn't have lasted a minute in a high school classroom. I agreed to go, and she said that she'd make all the arrangements.

The night before the classroom visit, she sent me an email with about 50 questions that she was planning to ask me in class. She wrote, "So that you can start prepping answers!" There were questions like: "Where are you from?" "What's your favorite thing to bake?" "What's your favorite color?"  I was pretty sure that my preparations could be minimal.

When I arrived in the class, she had the students, 20 of them, sing me a welcome song. Once they were done, I introduced myself.

Or at least, that's what I would have done, if Juliette didn't rally them to another two entire repetitions of the welcome song.

I finally introduced myself and talked for 10 seconds about what I did when she interrupted me and said, "Come on bunnies! Let's sing the bunny song!"

Juliette and the kids launched into a song about bunnies and hippety-hopping and whiskers and white, fluffy tails. The song lasted about five minutes, and when they finished, Juliette said, "Let's thank Larry for coming in today! Thanks, Larry! Bye!"

"My name's Ben," I reminded her, but it was lost amidst her clamorous applause and the clapping of her students. I showed myself out, wrote her a half-hearted email ("It was good to see you and your class," etc.) and probably lucky for me, I never received a response.

Profile Sent in by Cameron:

About me:

EVER SEE A WOMAN WITH 2 LEGS. I HAVE MORE. I HAVE A BABYGIRL AND SHE IS MY LIFE. I STILL LIKE TO GO OUT FOR NIGHTS ON THE TOWN DRINKIN SMOKIN PARTYIN LOL. MY MOM LOOKS AFTER BABY. SHE IS HAPPY AND I AM HAPPY SO DO NOT JUDGE PLAYAZ AND HATERZ…… U KNO WAT 2 DO. I AM CITY GURL BORN N RAISED LOL. SOMETIMES I MAKE BREAD.

Story Sent in by Lynda:

Dustin and I met online, had a good first date together, and afterward, we made out a little in his car. He dropped me off at my house, and I considered it one of the best first dates that I'd ever had.

The following morning, a Saturday, I woke up to find a very used, very rusty exercise bike right on my front porch. It was parked so close to the outer glass door that I couldn't open it all the way. A thin pink ribbon, in a bow, was tied around its frame.

Unsure of who put it there, I was able to move it aside and go on with my day. Then, an email from Dustin arrived: "What did you think of it?"

I wrote back, "You left that bike here? Why? It doesn't even look like it'll run."

"It runs okay. You should ride it. I don't want you getting fat."

After taking a few seconds to realize what an asshole he was, I replied, "Either you pick it up or it's going in the trash."

He wrote back, "DON'T THROW IT OUT IT IS MY PROPERTY."

"Come pick it up, then. You left it here."

"No. You use it. I don't want you getting fat, and I don't like to repeat myself."

I brought it out to the curb, and it was gone less than a day later. Dustin wrote me (and called occasionally. I let it go to voicemail) for the better part of three years, asking about his bike. The emails finally tapered off, and I haven't heard from him in about a year.

Email Sent in by Maxine:

I woke up this morning and promised to write to the first random profile I saw and I saw yours first. Congratulations!

Gerbils are awesome. Now that that's out of the way, how the hell are you?

What are your favorite snacks? I like red jellybeans and lollipops. Is it wrong that I like the taste of sweat? I see that there are photos of you jogging so I thought that I would mention. Don't care if you shower or not I'm sure you'll always be beautiful. And yummy ;)

My boss sucks (but whose doesn't??) I would not like to suck the sweat out of his shirt. Makes me want to retch.

And yourself>?

Richard

Story Sent in by Jason:

The strangeness actually occurred after my date with Elena was technically over. I lived close enough to the cafe to walk from home, but she lived a few miles away and had driven in. We had parted after a good first meeting, and I was planning to contact her again.

It was dark out on my way home, and I was on the sidewalk when a car pulled up alongside me, flashed its brights and beeped. I thought that it might have been someone who needed directions, so I approached it and its passenger window rolled down.

It was Elena. I hadn't seen her car before and so didn't know it to recognize it. I was happy to see her again, and figured that she may have been lost. I asked, "Everything okay?"

She said, "Yeah. What are you doing out here?"

I replied, "I'm walking home. I said I was going to do that, remember?"

She said, "I guess. Why aren't you wearing reflectors?"

I smiled. "I'm just walking on the sidewalk."

"You should be in reflective clothing."

I looked down at what I was wearing and said, "I didn't have time to change after our date. I'll be fine, but thanks for your concern."

She banged on her steering wheel and said, "You won't be fine! Not if I have anything to say about it!" She then zoomed off, down the road, almost running over my feet in the process.

As I watched, she turned around in a far-off driveway, then floored it past me in the other direction. She honked as she flew by.

I wrote her an email that night to let her know that I had a good time on our date, but that I didn't understand what the deal was with her post-date antics.

She wrote back: "wear reflectors. xo."

I didn't write back to her, and she never contacted me again.

Profile Sent in by Jane:

What I'm doing with my life:

I'm a long distance runner. I ran away from home and never went back. You would too if you'd had a wife and three screaming kids! Divorce is final now--DON'T WORRY. Wife always said "why are you always running? where are you running to?" not into your bedroom anymore!!! ha!!!!

Story Sent in by Jennifer:

Marcus and I met on a dating site. He was scatterbrained but was very nice to me, and so we ultimately met up for a date.

At dinner, not long after we sat down, he said, "I brought a surprise for you," and pulled out a zippered freezer bag filled with what looked like milk.

I gave him a quizzical look. "Um… thanks? What is it?"

"Milk!" he said, sounding very pleased with himself.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because you like it so much," he replied.

"I… I like it as much as most people, I think…"

He raised an eyebrow. "You told me you liked milk, remember?"

I shook my head. "I never said that."

"Damn," he said, "Must've been someone else."

"Oops," I playfully chided him.

He then asked, "Will you take it, anyway? I went through a couple of bags to get it all neat like that."

I laughed. "I don't want it, but thanks."

He frowned and raised his voice a bit. "What am I supposed to do with a bag of milk? It was meant as a gift–"

"–for someone else–"

"–so take it. Please."

"No, thank you."

He stared at the milk bag, then grumbled and took it off of the table. He asked me twice more over dinner if I would take it, and I politely refused him each time.

After dinner, on our way out, I caught him trying to sneak it into my coat pocket. I dodged away and told him to have a good night. He never contacted me again, and I'm glad of it.

Email Sent in by Nicole:

(Nicole says: "His profile was well-written, I swear. I don't know what happened.")


Hi Nicole,

You wrote me a splendid message and I want to sing its praises. Did you know how important you are to this planet? PLANET PLAN ET. PLAN IT. GET IT? If there is a plan for you and me then I'd say we are already getting on splendidly.

My spleen engorges in joy at your message! How happy I am in my proud little tummie! If you were to write me back again then I would take a while to write back so proud would I be! I be proud cause I be me! I will be what I will be!

What will you be! Do tell me! I am a curse on myself and can only end sentences that end in ee! Proud to be! Us and we! Us and we! WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeee *dies*

Brent

Story Sent in by Gene:

Last year, I was thinking about buying a car, and so I visited a dealership near my work. Stella was a sales associate there, and we soon enough transitioned our car talk into a discussion about each other. By the end of it, I had offered to take her out to dinner that very evening.

Dinner was fun, and I kept her laughing throughout. We took a walk afterward, sat down on a bench, and then she asked, "Do you want to kiss me?"

I hadn't been expecting to, as after all, we had just met earlier that day. Still, she was attractive and I liked what I had found out about her thus far, and so I kissed her, there and then.

We were at it for a minute or so when she pulled away, folded her arms onto her lap, and said, "So, do you think you're going to buy a car from me?"

I laughed and said, "Maybe," then joked, "Kissing more would probably help that along."

She giggled and leaned close to me. "It always does," she said, then pressed her lips to mine.

Then it was my turn to pull away. "What?"

She said, "You think this is the first time I've done this?" She snorted and went on, "I won't do sex, though. Not until we finalize a sale."

I laughed, thinking that she was joking. She had to be. She had to be. Right?

"I'm not joking," she said, with a serious face, "My sales are through the roof. Might as well work it from all angles."

"I… I guess."

She gave me a smirk. "What's the matter? You some kind of prude?"

"No. I should go, though. I have to be at work early tomorrow."

She gave me a look as if she didn't believe me at all, then stood up and said, "All right," then extended her hand and I shook it. "It was nice meeting you. I'll see you soon?"

"You bet."

I bought a car elsewhere.

Email Sent in by Chris:

I read your profile and was inspired to write the following list of things you'll never see:

1. The Andromeda Galaxy up close, in person.
2. People made of pure gold, just up and walking around.
3. Me naked.

That is all.

Carmen

Story Sent in by Jacob:

Trisha and I were friends in college, and we even founded a student group together: a coed kickball league. It wasn't terribly big, but generated enough interest to keep it a healthy club for four semesters straight.

We also dated on and off for those four semesters. It was never anything exclusive, but she was always there for me, and I was always there for her. She had a great sense of humor and was a lot of fun.

One morning, before a game (we were on opposing teams) we met up for breakfast and she was in a bad mood. To this day, I don't know why, but whatever was bugging her, she took out on me.

Referring to the menu, I'd ask her, "What looks good to you?"

She'd reply, "Whatever the hell you want. I don't care."

"What's wrong?"

"None of your business. Just order your freaking breakfast."

I surmised that it was about another guy, and we had an implied "don't ask, don't tell" policy, so when she told me to drop it, I dropped it.

She seemed to cheer up a bit when we made it to the playing field. Her team was happy to see her, at the very least. We set ourselves up on the playing field and played ball.

After a few innings, I was up and she was pitching. Maybe it was the wind or perhaps it was Providence. Whatever it was, she pitched a fateful pitch, and I kicked it like a bullet right into her face.

It bounced off, she fell back, and a timeout was called. I ran up to her, with most of her team, and asked her if she was okay.

She came at me with teeth, fists, and feet flying. "I hate you! I hate you! I can't believe I slept with you! I hate you!"

Everyone's eyes were on me. Our relationship was never a secret, but still…

"I hate you, you asshole!" she screamed, then scrambled up and ran off the field, toward the closest campus building. All eyes were on me, and I told the players to keep going while I ran after her to check on her.

I called into each of the women's rooms that I could find, but she wasn't there. She didn't come back to the game, and I didn't see her again for several weeks. She did her best to ignore me, and I didn't press the issue. She never played kickball with us after that, and the league disbanded a semester or so after she and I graduated.

Profile Sent in by Heather:

My self-summary

To be perfectly honest I don't trust a single one of your wacko nutjob women. Don't bother me. I been hurt too many times now I don't want to date anymore ever again thanks to your "kind" piss off.


What I’m doing with my life

Staying as far away from "women" as I can.


I’m really good at

Avoiding women. You heard me.


I spend a lot of time thinking about

Why women are assholes.


On a typical Friday night I am

staying the HELL away from women.

Story Sent in by Alicia:

Doug and I were classmates in high school. We rarely ever spoke and I had no idea that he admired me from afar until he asked me out for a Friday night. He was tall, had nice eyes, and was a quiet guy, the latter of which I took, at the time, to be a sign of maturity. He said he'd pick me up at my house.

An hour before he was due to pick me up, I had just finished some homework and was readying to hop in the shower when I heard pounding from the front door.

My parents were home, and my mother answered the door. From the top of the steps, I heard Doug ask, "Is Alicia home?"

My mother replied, "I thought that you were picking her up in an hour?"

He said, "Yes, but I have to tell her that the postman's here. The postman delivers."

My mother, not missing a beat, said, "Okay. Great. She'll be ready in an hour. We'll see you then."

She closed the door and called me downstairs. She said to me, "I think he might be high. His eyes were bloodshot and he was talking nonsense. Maybe you should–"

Bam! Bam! Bam! The door shook with each smash, and my mother and I both jumped a dozen feet into the air. My mother yelled at the door, "Come back in an hour, Doug! She's not ready yet."

"Postman!" Doug yelled, "Postman! The postman delivers!" He repeated that phrase over and over, turning it into an impromptu song.

My father, a quiet guy himself, strode in without a word, walked past my mother and I, told us to stand back, then opened the door. He yelled, "Get the hell off my property, you crazy punk! You come back here and I'll break a two-by-four over your head!"

Doug scampered off, down the street and out of sight. My father watched after him for a bit, then turned to me, asked me a few questions about Doug himself, then told me to let him know if he came back or bothered me again.

Doug never did either.

Email Sent in by Rosie:

The truth from me is that the first thing I look at when I see a woman is how she looks. Before she says a word I have already seen her. It saddens me that I may have passed up a beautiful life with some woman somewhere just because I said to myself when I saw her "she is the ugliest bulldog looking mass of meat that I have ever seen."

Seriously I have seen bugs hotter than the mob of these site women. Not you though. I wrote to you because I like how you look but you also seem to have a personality that would really understand me and fit mine. Write me back if you are hot both in and out. Not like sweaty hot. You know what I mean.

Cal

Story Sent in by Marc:

Brianna and I had been out on two dates prior, and everything seemed nice and normal. She was in marketing for a media company, although her particular focus was magazine work. For our third date, I invited her over to my house, where I planned to cook her dinner.

Dinner went well, and I suggested that we watch a film together. She excused herself to my upstairs bathroom, and I cleaned up a bit while she was doing her business.

When she didn't return after 15 minutes, I went to check on her. The bathroom door was closed but I could see that the light was on within. I knocked and asked if she was okay. No answer. I knocked again and called her name.

"Here I am!" she said, from the direction of my bedroom.

I entered my bedroom and found her standing there, doing nothing at all. I asked her, "What's going on?"

She said, "I just… I wanted to just give myself a quick… tour. Is that okay? I'm sorry."

I replied, "Of course, that's fine. I set up a movie downstairs. Are you done in the bathroom?"

She shook her head. "No. I haven't even gone yet. I left the light on to remind me. I'll be right down. Promise."

It sounded weird to me, in retrospect, but at the time, I simply accepted it, returned downstairs, put out a bowl of M&Ms, and waited for her.

She didn't come down for another 15 minutes, and I returned upstairs, quietly. The bathroom door was closed and the light was on, but this time I slipped past it and looked into my room again.

She was on my computer. "Hey," I said, walking in, "What are you doing?"

She said, "I was just on the… Internet, I wanted to check my… mails… I'm sorry, I just got caught up with…"

I looked at my computer screen. What she had up wasn't an email client. It was a series of documents: letters I had written to various friends and former girlfriends. Some of them I hadn't opened in years, but there they were, about a dozen of them, all open.

I turned to her and asked, "Why are you going through my–"

She bolted out of the room, flew downstairs, and threw herself out of the house. I heard her car peel away.

I watched a film by myself and from then on, I've kept a closer eye on my visitors.

Profile Sent in by Sandra:

About me:

Imagine the hottest guy you've ever seen. Good. Now imagine that he's a prince and that he has an even hotter younger brother. With me so far? Now imagine that he has a cousin who's even hotter still. Now this cousin has an identical twin who's even hotter than that! So hot that you can't look right at him or you'll go blind..

That's me (the brother of the cousin). I don't put up profile pics because I think it cheapens the experience. You can look at my photos and decide that you don't want to date me before even learning about who I am! Cast superficiality aside and imagine me as your handsome!

Story Sent in by Helga:

James met me over the Internet. He was a gym teacher and coach at a local high school, and for our first date, he took me out to dinner, drinks, and dancing. I had a spectacular time, and by the end of the evening, I couldn't wait for a second date.

He wrote me an email the next day to express the fun he'd had, and I wrote back in agreement. Then, he sent me a photo of a penis. I wrote back, "Thanks, but I don't think that's called for just yet."

He wrote back at once: "That isn't mine. You thought it was mine? Ha! Mine's waaaaaay longer than that."

I replied, "Great. Thanks for the random guy's penis, then."

He called me up. "Hey, look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."

I laughed. "By sending me a random guy's penis? I guess it's more funny than anything else… do I even want to know whose it is?"

Silence from his end of the phone. "Hello?" I said, "Whose penis was it?"

More silence, and then some muttering. I said, "I can't hear you."

He screamed into the phone, "I said, 'You're a slut!'" then he shrieked and hung up. Last I ever heard from him. Thank goodness.

Profile Sent in by Jamal:

About me:

I was on a nude beach once and I was the only clothed one there. That's like a metaphor for my life. Another time I went through town to a sex party and people I knew were there and by the time I arrived there it was over and clothes were back on. Again, a metaphor for my life.

I have a lot of metaphors for my life. One time I was on a train that stopped because two passengers were doing it between cars and one of them fell and was injured. Metaphor for my life. Another time I asked a friend if she'd sleep with me and she said no. I told her "this is like a metaphor for my life" and she said "get out of the women's bathroom" lol.

Story Sent in by Ronald:

I discovered Liz studying in my university library. There were a series of long tables, and I sat down a few seats away from her. I noticed that she was poring over a textbook that I had read for a class two semesters prior, and I asked her if she was taking the same class. She was, we struck up a conversation, I offered to help her study if ever she needed assistance, and it ended with me scoring her email address.

We sent messages to each other, and then graduated to instant messaging. We'd be up, talking to each other long into the night. The messages, after a while, became flirtatious, then raunchy and very hot. We were both into each other in a big way, and hadn't been out on a single date yet.

I rectified that by asking her out to a Saturday night dinner. She asked me if I could spend some time helping her study after dinner, and I told her that I would. Dinner and a study break may not sound too romantic, but I was into spending time with her however I could.

The study break, back at her place, turned into a lot of kissing and rubbing and touching. We parted that night, I like to think, both pretty happy with how things had turned out.

I wrote her the next day to tell her that I had a nice time. She said that she had to study for an exam in the class in which I had "helped her study," and so she didn't have much time to talk. I told her that I'd wait to hear from her, and wait I did.

That Wednesday, I received an email from someone I didn't know: a graduate student who was also a teaching assistant for that class. He wrote, "We've never met, but you'd probably want to know that Liz wrote me, the other teaching assistant, and the professor with copies of your IM conversations. She said that you distracted her from studying for the test and that's why she  thinks she didn't do as well as she could have.

"Of course, we're not blaming you, but if anything, I thought you'd like to know."

I wrote a hasty thank you to the teaching assistant and then called Liz up. Voicemail. I wrote her to ask her what she was thinking, copying our conversations over to two teaching assistants and a professor, for crying out loud.

I never heard back from her, and only saw her once, from a distance, for the rest of my time at the university. To this day, I have no idea why she had thought that to be a good idea.

Email Sent in by Shelly:

I own weapons to protect my family and nothing else. If you have a problem with 2nd amendment TO KEEP AND BEAR ARMS then perhaps the problem is with you and not this great country of ours.

Sorry but I just had to get that out of the way. So many women freak out. They ask "are you ever going to shoot me?" "did you know that most shootings are by people they know?"  Lies. I will never shoot you. Only someone who threatens you. And then you will thank me for it in the way a woman thanks a man. I love that way.

I'm sure that you must have some little cute hobbies that people frown on that are still constitutionally protected. What are they? Fill me in/no drug users please.

Norm

Story Sent in by Jeffrey:

Claudia and I met online. Everything about our first series of interactions was storybook: she sounded very happy that I had contacted her, we shared lots of favorite films, and we grew up near each other. I asked her out to dinner.

At dinner, she passed me a piece of paper with a series of seven names and numbers on them. All guys' names.

"What's this?" I asked her.

"Guys I've dated," she said, "Just to be completely transparent with you."

"What?"

She gave me a look and asked, "You've never done this before?"

"Dating? Yes. A list of references? No."

She said, "They're not references. They're guys I've dated, in case you need to check on… anything."

"Like what? Why would I care who you've dated?"

She said, "I don't know. I figure that you might want to take a look and I don't know, get in touch…"

"Why would I do that?" I asked, pushing the paper back toward her. "I appreciate the thought but I'm not going to contact your exes."

"Suit yourself," she said, in a tone that sounded like she was genuinely surprised that I wasn't taking her up on it. "How about you?"

"How about me what?"

"Do you have anyone I… I don't know… should be contacting?"

"Nope."

"Oh."

There was an awkward minute of silence, and then I changed the subject. She didn't make much eye contact with me and stopped being a good conversationalist from then on. I think that I really disappointed her, or else made her think that I wasn't interested.

I tried one last time with, "I want to get to know you without having to call anyone else to find out about you. I figure you'd prefer that."

She said, "Fine. Whatever."

After the night was over, I sent her a quick email to let her know that I had a good time. She wrote back to say that she didn't feel any chemistry. I wonder if I'm to expect a call from one of her future dates.

Email Sent in by Audrina:

hOw WoUlD yOu lIkE tO dAtE a DeMeNtEd gUY? i hAvE eVeRy sEaSoN oF bAtTtLesTaR gAlAcTiCuS oN tApE. tHe oRIGIgNAl sErIes oF cOuRsE. wE cAn wAtCh tHeM aLl aNd tHrOw pApEr aIrPlAnEs aT eAch oThEr wHen the cylons…. okay I'm going to level with you it's so tiring to write messages like that! Some caps, some lowercase, just the alternations are taking me forever when all I want to do is TALK like a PERSON bUt tHeY wOnT lEt mE tAlK!!!uUNNUnNNnnNNNNNGGGGhGGGGHgggGHHHHHHhhhhhhHhh--0s0sdsipdipdipDMDMQ00101 736c6565702077697468206d65

rIcHaRd

(Ted, given the name "George" in Hands Across Hysteria, has submitted his own version of events on that date. Ted says, "This is definitely about me. Callie got a few details wrong and I want to correct it.")


Rebuttal Story Sent in by Ted:

Callie and I sat down in the union together and things went fine. My ex, Tracey, did walk in, and it was my first time seeing her since our breakup. I was a bit shaken, although I didn't "sink down nearly beneath the table."

Callie definitely noticed that something was wrong and asked me about it. I told her, being honest, "That girl over there, Tracey Pelton, is my ex."

Callie glanced over at her and asked, "Do you think there's going to be a problem if she sees you with me?"

"No. She probably won't come over, even if she does see me."

She asked, "That kind of breakup?"

I said, "It was bad. She accused me of trying to run over her pet rabbit."

Then it was Callie's turn to turn rigid and give a stare. I was quick to reassure her, "I didn't. I helped Tracey move out of her sublet and I didn't realize that she had piled a few boxes and her rabbit's cage behind my car. Maybe it was stupid of me to not check before backing up, but she screamed and stopped me in time. I apologized to her about fifty times. It was an accident, but she screamed that I would have done it on purpose. Of course, I wouldn't have."

I doubt that Tracey cheated on me, although I really have no idea. Either way, that line was fiction on Callie's part. I never said it.

Callie seemed incensed. She asked, "You didn't even check behind the car to see if the rabbit was there?"

I replied, "I didn't know that Tracey had put anything back there. The car was packed to capacity and I was just trying to help–"

"You should've checked behind the car for the rabbit!"

I said, "I'm not going to check behind my car for rabbits every time I need to go someplace, and to be fair, it was irresponsible for Tracey to put anything right behind the car, out of view, to begin with."

Callie stood up and said, "Okay, I have to go."

I did reach across the table, but not to grab her, and I didn't lay a finger on her at all. She stomped away. No tipping table, no toppling drink, no spilled food, nothing. She just left.

I wrote her an email afterward in which I again explained the situation and asked for her understanding. I didn't insult her or blame her for anything, as that would have been nuts.

Not as nuts as making up a fictitious version of actual events, but still…


(See Callie's original post here.)

Profile Sent in by Catherine:

About me:

I like riding horses. I've also ridden donkeys camels tortoises burros across the equator. This means that I am always up for adventure and I would like it if you were too.

I have reinvented myself I call my new life "life too!" because this is a second reinvantion of myself. From now on I do what I want when I want. We're all humans bumping grinding together all with hearts desires but only some of them can be fulfilled. I will do everything to make it happen for me and the rest of yall can suck it!

Serioulsy I've had it harder than most so I'm sure you won't mind if I help myself to a few more things from life too's plate? Thanks! Only so much a beauty queen (yes I was) can put up with! If you get on my nerves you will know it and the scars will last you forever. Some emotional and some physical. My choice.

I'm looking for a sweet sensitive male with a tanned hide and helps if he smells nice.

Story Sent in by Jackie:

Several years ago, I lived in Pecos, Texas. The dating scene out there wasn't (and probably still isn't) that great, but one guy who messaged me online seemed on the level. He was Frank. Frank liked to hike, and so did I. Perhaps it was the fact that I hadn't met anyone else out there in a while. Whatever it was, when he suggested going on a hike to the highest point in Texas for a first date, I told him that I'd do it.

The highest point in Texas, incidentally, is Guadalupe Peak, located in Guadalupe Mountains National Park, just south of New Mexico. From Pecos, it was 100 miles easy. A bit far for a normal person's first date, but I told my friends where I'd be, who I'd be with, and I tried to carry as much common sense as I could.

We drove out there together in his car, and we actually had a good time and a nice hike. He was a bit more in shape than I was, but we spent the day exploring the park and even had a nice picnic lunch. On the way back, he took my hand, and I felt that it was all fine.

Our second date was a local dinner. While out, we talked about our hiking adventure and he said, "The next big idea has to be yours."

"For a date? Well, we've already been to the highest point in Texas. Where's the lowest point?"

He snapped his fingers and said, "That's great! Find out and we'll go."

I took out my phone then and there and looked it up. The answer wasn't good news, although I'm not sure what else I was expecting. I told him, "The lowest point in Texas is sea level."

"Great. Want to go tonight, after dinner?"

"Sea level is at the Gulf of Mexico. That's about 500 miles away."

He said, "Great! That probably means an overnight stay or two somewhere. One room would be cheaper. With one bed. For both of us. To sleep in. Together."

"We're not going."

"What? Why not?"

"Five hundred miles? That's a vacation, not a day trip. And what's this talk about sharing a bed? This is only our second date. Hit the brakes."

He said, "We've already had sex."

"No we haven't!"

He rolled his eyes. "We've held hands, but it's the next step in our relationship. If you want, we can do it right here, tonight, to just get it over with before the trip."

"Right here? What?"

He said, "Not at the restaurant. In my car or one of our places. We need to go back there anyway, to pack."

"We're not going, and we're definitely not having sex in a car or either of our places."

He said, "Well, I'm going to the lowest point in Texas tonight, and I'll go alone if I have to. Right after dinner."

"Have fun."

"I will!" he said. He didn't say anything else to me for the rest of dinner, but when the check came, he paid it. I thanked him, he downed his beer, said, "You're dumb!" and left in a huff.

The next day, Frank was good enough to send me an email: "Hi Jackie! I'm at the lowest point in Texas! It's so great here, and it's beautiful! I just love the sea! Wish you were here! But you're not!"

Given who he had shown himself to be, I was actually pretty glad to not be there. If indeed, he actually went at all.

Profile Sent in by David:

The most private thing I'm willing to admit:

I had a friend fill this out for me (I dictated) because I never use computers when I can help it because a friend of mine died electrocuted by a computer. Thank god I wasn't the one who discovered him it was his mom haha.

Story Sent in by Tom:

Debbie was a friend of a friend. She was a musician and played original folk music and covers all around the region. I was a bit of a musician myself, and at a small party, we talked about music for a while. Emboldened by her gregariousness, I suggested that we play together at some point. She went the extra step and suggested a time and place. I then took the final initiative and paired it up with dinner.

At dinner, we discussed music, places we had traveled, and aspirations. She was a very good listener, and I felt as though she could become an excellent friend, if not more.

She had access to a rehearsal space next to a club at which she had played numerous times. It was stocked with instruments, and so we went there. We both grabbed acoustic guitars, tuned them, and I followed along as she played a series of tunes.

Not long into our set, a big guy, around 40, came in and stopped short when he saw us. Debbie smiled at him and said, "Hey."

He replied, "What the hell are you doing in here? I have this place booked out. Right now."

"Sorry," Debbie said, putting her guitar down, "I thought it was open, now."

"It isn't!" he yelled, "Leave!"

Debbie stood and I followed suit. On our way out, past the guy, he muttered, "Amateur bitch."

I spun to the guy and said, "What was that?"

He swung at me and clipped my chin. Before I could concentrate on any pain, I slammed him in his right cheek. He roared and pinned me against the wall. I kicked him between his legs and he grunted, then kicked him again.

He was bigger, as I said, and he threw me to the ground and bellowed, "Enough! Get out!" He pointed at Debbie and said, "And I never want to see you here again!"

Debbie stormed out and I followed her. She seemed in a hurry to leave me behind, but I caught up. What I wasn't expecting was for her to turn to me with tears in her eyes and say, "What did you do that for? He owns the club next door! Now I can't play there again, and it's all because of you!"

"Me?" I raised my voice, incredulous, "He swung at me, first! And you let guys treat you like that?"

She said, "He's the club owner! He can do what he wants! And you just ruined it! I never want to see you again!"

I let her go. To my credit.

Email Sent in by Mary:

Don't know if you remember me. We went to college together, you dated Steve, a guy I knew, long story short, there was some drama, fingers pointed, I was even drawn into the mess because a friend of mine was best friends with the guy you were seeing. He said you were cheating on him but even if you were we knew that he cheated on your first, on two separate occasions:

1. At Tammy's party: there was a blonde there from Gonzaga. She was actually dating one of Tammy's friends but she got really drunk that night and ended up knobbin it with Hector (remember him?) and Dave. I really wanted her to do it with me but I am a moral man and will not take an attached woman even if I am single (which surprisingly I was at the time).

2. At the end of semester junior year he took a girl up to his off campus apartment. I don't know if they did it or not but Ralph saw them holding hands and him leading her in. You figure the rest out Sherlock.

I guess what I want to know is this:

1. Did you ever cheat on Steve? That will help me make a decision on this.

2. Did you ever find me attractive? We spoke once for over and hour about starting our own gardens and growing our own food. Did you ever end up doing that? I'd love to try some of your vegetables. It's not a conversation I think you'd forget since I haven't.

3. Would you want to visit the botanic gardens with me sometime? We can leave the horrible dramas of the past behind and start afresh. I'm sorry if this brought up painful memories for you but I had to extend myself out and see if I could help to heal you.

Charles


*******************************
(Mary says: "I graduated college over ten years ago. He likely knew me, but I have no recollection of him.")

Story Sent in by Lara:

I used to volunteer at an environmental charity and while I was there, I met Chad. He was a few years older than I was and had been volunteering there for longer. Still, he was closest in age to me, and we struck up a decent friendship. It progressed to him asking me out to ice cream and dinner. "Dessert first," he said, and I went for it.

We met up at an ice cream place, he paid, I thanked him, and we walked for a bit. Not too long into it, some melted ice cream ended up on my hand. I went to quickly and genteelly lick it off when he instantly produced a sealed pack of moist napkins from his pocket.

I said, "Thanks, but I'm good," and I took care of the ice cream issue on my own.

He held the napkins out to me and said, "Take them. I have plenty more. And they're better for the environment than dry napkins."

I didn't know that. "They are?"

He replied, "Because you can reuse them." He pulled one out of his pocket that was scrunched into a little ball and heavily discolored. "I use one per week on average. They're great. Take them. I have pretty much a lifetime supply."

I said, "Really, I'm all set. But thanks."

He looked at me as if to ask if I was really sure, then stuffed them back into his pocket hastily. We walked in an ever-more-uncomfortable silence for about a minute before he stopped and said, "It's not like I use them multiple times to wipe my ass."

I stopped, too. "What?"

He pulled out the napkin pack again and held them up to my face. "I go through about one pack when I take a dump, but just one pack, all right?"

"I… uh… okay."

"They do a better job and are better for the environment than toilet paper. Just one little pack of these is enough. Less wasteful."

"Good."

He put them back into his pocket and chuckled to himself, "I mean, it feels like a cold, clammy hand against my ass, but what are you going to do, right?"

I nodded. "Right."

He took them out of his pocket again and said, "Look, would you just take them? I'd feel better, knowing that you had them on you."

Without a word, I took them and put them in my bag. We continued walking. Then, to break the silence again, he said, "I mean, you don't have to use them to wipe your ass. You can do what you want with them. I use them for a lot, but you can work your way into integrating them into your life."

"Thanks. I sure will."

I sure didn't, nor did I have anything more than a purely professional relationship with him from there on in.

***Hope for Troy Davis? You can help.***


Profile Sent in by Georgia:

I spend a lot of time thinking about:

I want to grow myself to a larger size. I am serious the idea came to me in a dream. Goldfish can grow larger depending on where they are kept and we are better than goldfish so why can we not grow larger? Some nordic peoples grow up to seven or eight feet tall! Then there are the tiny pigmies of the forests.

My goal is to become 2x bigger to start. I have friends who are biologists and they say that they can do this. When I am taller I will have more fun! Join me and see where this road leads us.

Story Sent in by Ian:
One summer in my mid-twenties, I found Sara's profile online. She was a redhead, 22 years old, and seemed very bright and mature for her age. A message here and there, and I asked her out on a date.

We met in front of a restaurant. She arrived in a parka, complete with a thick hood, and what looked like snow pants. As mentioned, this was summer. If memory serves, it was well over 80ºF.

"Hi Sara," I said, "Did you just arrive from Alaska?"

She shook her head and replied, "No, I just felt like bundling up today."

"Aren't you hot?"

She shook her head. "No. I'm all right."

We attracted a few strange looks, and I have to admit that her outfit was a bit distracting. However, I put it aside and tried to focus on anything but. She seemed eager to talk and didn't at all reference her non-seasonal garments.

At dinner, she didn't remove any clothing, and even the waitress asked her, "Is there a cold snap outside?"

Sara politely replied, "No," and then ordered her drink.

We made small talk for a bit, and she asked me a lot about myself. It was a good conversation, and she seemed interested in everything I said, and was equally interested in answering my questions. If not for her winter wear, we would look like any other couple on an above-average date.

Then, after we had ordered our food and in the middle of a conversation about our favorite local bookshops, she said, "Close your eyes."

I was having a good time with her, and so I didn't expect anything adverse. I closed my eyes. The sounds of rustling clothing came from across the table. I was very curious, but I kept my eyes shut.

After a minute, the rustling stopped, and I heard nothing else besides the general restaurant ambience. I peeked out and saw her empty coat, facing me and standing up on its own (it was thick enough to do it). The hood was open, and I looked under the table to see her snow pants extending down from the waist of her coat to the floor below. For all intents and purposes, it looked as if she had vanished in an instant, leaving her outerwear behind.

Thinking it a joke, I smiled, nodded, and looked around, thinking that she'd come up to me in normal date-wear, say, "Ta-da!" and we could go back to having a good time.

She never came back. Our food arrived. I called her and left a single voicemail, and then sent a single text. There was no sign of her at all. I waited for a little bit, then ate my dinner alone, called the waitress over, asked her to box up Sara's for myself, and then asked for the check.

It came, I paid, and I handed the waitress the coat and pants, saying, "Do you have a lost and found?"

The waitress took them, I went home, and I never heard from Sara again.

Email Sent in by William:

(William says: "Jess's profile mentioned that she loved food and that she had 'probably tried everything at least once.' As a joke, I asked her, in my introductory message, if she had ever eaten person.")


Dear Will:

If you count sexual relations then I have eaten a great many people! I find that people actually taste different based on where they grew up! Isn't that strange? Boys (and girls!) from the southwest actually feel warmer to the touch and seem packed with flavor, while colder-area people have less of a taste.

The best tasting person I've ever tried was in college. I had a friend in my sophomore year dorm whose roommate was from Chile. She tasted like flan and real whipped cream. No joke. I'd love to try out another Chilean someday. Ummmmyumyummm yummy!

I've been told that I should write a book about my experiences, although some would say it's a bit risque. Who cares, though, know what I mean?

Jess

Story Sent in by Margaret:

Todd and I met online, found that we had a lot of things in common, and were supposed to meet at a restaurant for our first date.

On the way out of my house, I nearly tripped over a human-shaped mass piled right at my front door. It stank of alcohol. Upon closer inspection, I found that it was Todd.

"Oh my God. Todd?" I asked.

He was barely responsive, but managed to blink his eyes open and mutter, "Happy birthday!"

"My birthday was two months ago."

"Happy birthday!" Todd croaked again.

I wondered how he had found my house (although he probably did it through an Internet search) and then I wondered what to do with him. A date was out of the question. He could barely sit up, let alone stand. I wasn't about to let him sleep it off inside my house, and I didn't want him spending the night on my porch.

The only option I could think of was to call the police, explain that I didn't consider him a menace, just that I thought that he needed a ride home.

I waited with Todd as he snored. An officer came by and was very compassionate about the whole thing. He put Todd in the back of his cruiser and Todd woke up enough to say, "Another night with the cops." The policeman assured me that he'd bring Todd home.

Two days later, an email arrived from Todd. It asked, "Want to go out sometime?" as if our prior encounter had never happened. Well, it had, and I reminded him of it, and explained that I thought it best that we didn't meet up again. I took his silence as agreement.

Emails Sent in by Robbie:

Hi Robbie. You'll have to forgive me. I don't really get a lot of your profile. You say that you grew up in Oregon but now you're way out here? I don't get why you didn't stay in Oregon. Was it for school? A girl? Money?

You live in North Carolina now. You used to live in Oregon. That right? I need to know when you moved here and for what? One does not simply pick up and move across the country unless they have a really really good reason to move away from where they grew up on the loins of childhood.

Are you on the run from the law? Good luck hiding on a dating site! People will always recognize you. My advice is to lay low and stay off the internet for a while. Contact me again and I call the police!

Vienne


****************************
Robbie Responds:

Hi Vienne.

I moved to NC for my job. Are all NC women as crazy as you are?

Robbie


****************************
(Robbie says: "Never heard back from her after that. Or the police.")

Story Sent in by Caroline:

Joe was a guitar player who also wrote and sang his own songs. He wrote to me online, and after I had expressed an interest in hearing him perform, he sent me a link to his site.

He had a great voice and I liked the five songs he had posted up. When I told him that, he took it as a major compliment and promised me "something nice" on our first date.

The night of the date, he handed me a CD and said, "I wrote a new song. I think you'll like it."

I guessed that it was about me, and although I thought it was a bit forward to already be writing songs about me, I was truly touched. I thanked him profusely and he said, "Maybe we can listen to it after dinner, if you have a CD player in your car."

I did, and through dinner, he was the height of politeness. I really enjoyed myself with him, and he seemed to have felt the same way.

Afterward, we climbed into my nearby car, I turned it on, and I popped in his CD.

It opened on a sweet, mellow melody. "Caroline… oh Caroline…" I smiled at him. He smiled back.

The song went on, "Oh Caroline… I want to hold you close… I want to hold you…"

Awww! But wait. There's more:

"Hold you, Caroline… I want to take you out and hold your hand and lead you on the world's great stage… tear off your clothes and see you naked, there, oh Caroline…"

Wait a minute. I said, "Uh…" and he held up a finger and pointed to the CD player.

"Oh Caroline… naked before thousands of people, men, women, and child… they will love you all at the same time, oh Caroline… I can't save you this way, I hope you shaved that day, oh Caroline…"

I hit the eject button. "Okay," I said, and handed it back to him. "Very nice."

He said, "What's wrong? It wasn't done yet."

"I'll listen to it later. What was that part about wanting me naked in front of a thousand people?"

"It's symbolic," he said, "I write in symbols."

"Uh-huh," I said, "Thanks."

The date was over shortly thereafter, and when I went home, I listened to the rest of it. It included the lyric, "I want to press you against me and roll while we're connected at the waist so snug and waaaaaaarrrm…"

I wrote him to advise that he be a bit more subtle on the symbolism, next time.

Profile Sent in by Aimee:

I'm really good at:

…….breaking into graveyards. No joke. I know where all the freshest corpses are. The trick is to find grass just lighter than the rest. It's freshly planted and usually over a new grave.

Do I dig them up? No I do not. I just like sitting near them and can spend hours reading there.

Have I ever seen a corpse? Yes. Too many times. Operational hazard.

Do I ever go into a mausoleum? No. Most are locked and it's a bad idea to go inside, ever since last year.

What happened last year? I was reading behind a mausoleum when I heard a noise like knocking coming from the front. When I went around to the front there was really loud knocking but it was coming from the inside side of the locked door. Haven't been back to that one since.

Am I sure it wasn't a squirrel? Yes. Squirrels don't knock that loud on anything.

Story Sent in by Sean:

Alyssa and I spoke online for a little while and it was during one such exchange that she told me that she liked red grapes very, very much. We set up a first date, and I thought it would be a fun thing to wrap a single red grape up like an elaborate gift, complete with wrapping paper and bows. A quick joke, and evidence that I actually listened when she spoke. Or wrote.

On the night of our date, after our introductory hellos, I handed her a box several times the size of the content within.

"Ooh, a present? You didn't have to get me anything," she said, but tore into the box as eagerly as Christmas morning. She sifted through the inner wrapping and pulled out, lovingly wrapped in plastic, the single red grape.

The smile that had plastered her face a moment before was swept away. "It's a grape," she said.

"You like red grapes," I reminded her, "That one's for you."

"Just one grape?" She snorted and rolled her eyes. "Hope you didn't break the bank on that one."

"It's a joke," I told her, "I have more red grapes if you want."

"I guess I'm just worth one grape to you," she said gravely as she walked to a nearby trash bin and deposited the paper, ribbons, and box. "When I see a big box, I expect something nice inside."

"I know. I was just kidding around. Just like you are, now. I hope."

She said, "Not really. You really got my hopes up over a grape. Do you honestly consider that a worthy gift?"

"It was just a joke. I was planning to take you out to dinner, and I have more red grapes if you want."

She wasn't really listening, anymore. She said, without a trace of sarcasm, "Did you really think this was a sweet gesture? I mean, yes, I like grapes, but one all wrapped up in a box? That's like something a two-year-old would do for his mother. One little red grape? Come on. I think I deserve better than that."

"If you just shut up about the grape, which was obviously a joke, then maybe we could move on and do dinner. What do you think?"

She gave me a nice, long stare, then said, "I think I'm going home." She then actually ate the grape, then turned and left. I'm glad that my gift gave her at least some pleasure.

Email Sent in by Jason:

yeah i been to sf. that where ur photos were taken? when i was there i was chasen by dogs and they ran me out of town! these same dogs always chase me when i go. my mother lived there for a while so i lived there to and there were these chasen dogs.

one time one caught up to me and growled and i growled back and it growled and i growled back again and it ran off! the dogs didnt bother me nemore after that but it taut me the valuble lesson of braveness in the face of danger. i treat working with people the same way. some come after you teeth all floppy and then u growl back and they run off! dont like doin that but people do what people do know what im sayin?

enough about me and dogs and growling back at dogs like i did in sf. what do u do??

Kerrie

Story Sent in by Bill:

I was on my college's track team, and one time after a big meet, I went out to dinner with a group of friends. Ellen was among them. She and I had never met before, but I had seen her at some prior events and had wanted to learn more about her.

I was sure to sit next to her at dinner, and we chatted for a while. There was a loud and big (and growing) group of us out, and so after she and I had both eaten, I tossed in money to cover both of our checks, and we left to take a walk.

She asked me plenty of questions about track, and I hit several questions back to her. Then, she asked me something curious:

"What's it like to be able to get any girl on campus?"

"I wouldn't know," I replied.

She said, "I'll bet you're screwing every woman you look at."

"No," I said, then pointed to her, "Case in point."

She shook her head and gave me a smile. "Nice try. Not going to happen."

I shrugged. "Okay."

"Why not?" she asked, "What's wrong with me?"

I said, "What do you care? You just told me that it wasn't going to happen."

She replied, "So you do want to screw me."

I said, "It doesn't matter to me, either way."

She stamped on the ground. "Why not? You don't think I'm attractive?"

I said, "We just met."

She raised her voice. "So? You can't tell if I'm attractive? You really are an idiot."

I stepped away from her and said, "Okay, have a good night. I'm not in the mood for a fight–"

"Oh, you're not in the mood? How about this?" she yelled, and slapped me hard, across the face. She then stomped off, leaving me in a little bit of pain and a lot of shock.

Of course, I told all of my friends about this encounter, and for some reason or another, she never went out of her way to show her face around me again.

Email Sent in by Jenna:

Roses are red
Violets are blue
I like peanut butter
Can you swim

Story Sent in by Mina:

Bob wrote to me online, and his messages were packed with good humor and lots of questions. I liked his personality and so he asked me out for "dinner and an adventure."

We planned to drive separately, and he gave me an address at which to meet him in the late afternoon. I thought that it would be a restaurant. It was a convenience store. Bob was already inside.

"Why are we meeting here?" I asked him.

He handed me three wrapped apple pies from a nearby shelf. "You need sustenance," he said, "Take these."

"What's your plan?" I asked.

"First we eat these pies," he said, grabbing several for himself, "Then we strike off!"

"For where?" I asked, up for an adventure, as long as it wasn't anything too crazy.

"There's a crazy place just out of town. You can follow me there so you don't have to worry about me attacking you and leaving you for dead."

"Great."

I followed him out of town in my car. He turned down a few quiet streets, then parked his car on the side of a tree-lined road. I parked behind him and we traipsed a little way into a forest. He led me to the ruins of an old house, the only real intact part of which was the chimney.

As I watched, he stepped into the ruins, walked up to the chimney, reached his arm up into it, and pulled out a gold chain. He carried it over to me.

"Put this on," he said.

"Is it yours? Did you put it in there?"

He said, "Yes. Put it on."

I took it from him. It was costume jewelry, and I didn't see anything wrong with trying it on, so I did. He nodded and said, "Great. Ready to go back to town?"

I replied, "Yeah... what's this all about?"

"You'll see," he said, "It has to do with our next destination."

I climbed back into my car and followed him back to town, where we parked. He took me back to the same convenience store and grabbed a few more apple pies.

I said, "If we fill up with pies, we won't have room for dinner. We're still doing dinner, right?"

He handed me two pies and said, "You need sustenance. Take these."

I put them back on the shelf. He ignored that, paid for his pies, and we walked out of the store. He said, "Follow me, okay? Don't lose me."

I again followed him in my car. He led me back to the same ruined chimney, reached into it, and pulled out another gold chain. He handed it to me and asked me, "Will you put it on?"

I was growing tired of whatever he was doing, and so I said, "Can we do dinner soon? I'm sorry, I don't get this."

He handed me the chain and said, "I'd like you to put it on." He then stepped into his car, and I followed him back to town, and back to the same convenience store.

Once inside, he grabbed another small handful of apple pies. He handed me a couple and said, "You need these. Sustenance."

I didn't take them and said, "I'm going to find a place to sit down for dinner. Come on. Let's do that."

He paid for more pies for himself, then jumped into his car and drove off. I didn't follow him, and thus the date ended. I held on to the two fake gold chains for a little while, but he never contacted me about them, and as of now, I have no idea where I put them.

Profile Sent in by Lisa:

The most private thing I'm willing to admit:

I woke up one morning last year covered completely in a thin layer of a blue slimy substance. To this day I have no idea what it all was although it washed off easy enough. It smelled like gasoline. Ever since then I sleep with a deadbolt on my door.

Story Sent in by Lori:

For my second date with Angelo, we took a drive to a nearby beach. It was the middle of autumn and the weather had been solidly cold for a month and a half. We had both bundled up for the occasion.

The wind blew fiercely that day, and the waves were high. No one else was on the beach, and I looked forward to strolling up and down, despite the cold. There was an old stone wall there that stretched from the parking lot all the way down to the water. It was about waist-high.

Angelo jumped onto it and balanced a good way before a gust made him lose his balance and he jumped off. I climbed onto it myself, and held my balance longer than he did.

I leaped down and stuck my tongue out at him, and he pushed past me and hopped back up onto it. He bent this way and that, but he held his own against the wind for a couple of minutes before he tried to do some sort of dance and then lost his balance and jumped down.

I climbed back up, walked all the way down to the water, then returned to where he waited for me. Having kept my balance longer than he did, I gave him a teasing smile.

He shoved me off the wall. I fell hard, onto my left arm.

I screamed and yelled, "What the hell was that for, you psychopath?"

He trembled, said, "Oh, shit!" and ran back up the beach, toward the parking lot, and didn't come back.

My arm was in a lot of pain, but it didn't turn out to be broken. I found that out by going to a local emergency room. When they asked me how it had happened, I told them that I was shoved and made a police report. As a result, he was charged with battery. I don't want to go into further details, but suffice it to say, I didn't go out with him again.

Email Sent in by Clancy:

Hey Clancy.

Thanks for writing. I looked at your profile and liked most of what I read. The part I didn't like was the part where you mention that you've done volunteer work for cancer and heart disease charities. You come across as sanctimonious. I'm not going to give you a goddamn gold medal for being a good person.

Here's a clue for you, Clancy: the world is a horrible place. No amount of money or charity or lack of breast cancer or disease will change that. Nature will just find new ways to hate and kill us. I don't need morons like you to tell me how to be better in a world that makes it impossible for me to be better. Live your own life, Clancy! Stop imposing your will on people who don't give a rat's ass, you patronizing dick.

Mindy

Story Sent in by Joe:

Dana and I worked in a local supermarket. Reggie was an assistant manager who also worked there, and he was not too well-liked. Dana and I were friendly, and from the moment I first saw her, I liked her. I could never tell if she liked me back, but I didn't want to make things uncomfortable at work, so I kept my mouth shut.

We had been working there for several months when I heard a rumor from another coworker that Dana and Reggie had hooked up after hours. The rumor had spread to most of the employees, of course. It was never confirmed or denied by anyone, and I wanted to stay out of the drama, so I distanced myself considerably from Dana.

One day, after my shift was over, Dana approached me and asked, "Hey, I'm off in an hour. Do you think we could go someplace and talk?"

Although I was wary of workplace politics, I still really liked her. I told her to meet me at a cafe across town.

She showed up and we talked about everything except for work. She seemed very interested in me, asked me if I had a girlfriend, and touched me a few times as we spoke. I was painfully curious about the rumor, but turns out, I didn't have to bring it up.

We moved on to a bar, sat down, and Dana pounded back several drinks. She opened up about work and said, "I know there are rumors about me, but none of them are true. I would never do anything with Reggie or any of those other assholes. I think I'm going to quit. My life has been hell for the past year and a half…"

She went on about a bad breakup she had over a year earlier, sobbed about a deceased family member, two disagreements with landlords, and so on. It was a sad story, and she inched closer and closer to me as she told it. I didn't want to take advantage of her while she was down, and so I fought my rather strong urges.

Ultimately, she was within easy kissing distance, and she leaned her head against me. She went on, "And now these rumors at work." She picked up her head and looked at me. "I never hooked up with him. I never hooked up with Reggie or anyone else there. Do you believe me?"

I said, "Yes," and I did. Or at least, I wanted to.

She put a hand on my face and we kissed for a good ten seconds before she broke contact.

She groaned and it turned into a laugh, which soon died away. She said, "I went down on him. Three times." She giggled again.

I slid away from her. She didn't seem to notice and continued, "He really is an asshole." She then rested her head back and closed her eyes. "Mmmmm… what an asshole…"

I left her there, and aside from the bare minimum of pleasantries at work, I never made an effort to speak to her again. She quit not long after that, after an in-store blowout with one of the non-Reggie managers.

Profile Sent in by Seth:

The most private thing I'm willing to admit:

I'm pregnant with twins. Yes I'm serious. But you're not the father (unless you, the father, you know who you are, are reading this. In that case, you ARE the father and you're going to be paying me mighty sums of child support for the next 18 years! Hope it was worth it for you!) so you don't have to worry.

***Check it out! We at ABCotD love independent musicians, so scroll down right to our new Rock Stars section. More added as we hear stuff we like.***


Story Sent in by Melissa:

I dated Steve for a couple of years, and things didn't work out. We didn't talk for a while, and then slowly, we became friends. Just friends. I was glad to have him back in my life, and from what I could tell, he was glad, too.

I had started dating Jordan, who was a writer and the lead for a local electronica band called Darkwater. One time, Myself, Jordan, Steve, and some other friends went out to dinner and drinks together.

As we all became further inebriated, Jordan took me aside and asked me, "How long have you and Steve been friends?"

"A while. Why?"

"You ever sleep with him?"

I gave Jordan a look and said, "We dated a while back, but we're just friends now."

"So that's a yes," Jordan nodded grimly, "Okay."

I repeated, "He and I are just friends. It didn't work out for a lot of insurmountable reasons."

Jordan wasn't listening. He returned to the table, and I was afraid that he was going to start something, but he behaved well for the rest of the night, and even invited everyone to his concert the following weekend. Most of the people there, Steve included, expressed interest.

I arrived early at the venue to help Jordan set up, and after the doors opened, I saw my friends and Steve among them. We all embraced and soon enough, the venue was packed (Jordan's group was the first act among a few) and the music started.

Jordan put on a good set, then between songs, he took the microphone and said to the crowd, "Where's my girl?" He looked over the standing audience and spotted me. He pointed. "There she is! Everyone say hi to Melissa."

"Hi, Melissa!" the crowd obediently chanted.

He then saw Steve and said, "Oh, and the guy she used to shag is here, too. Everyone say hi to the guy she used to shag."

One or two people said, "Hi, guy she used to shag," but most of the audience quieted down and looked around nervously. As for me, I felt about two inches tall.

Jordan then made a few lewd gestures, then a few more. The MC hopped on stage and said, "Give it up for Darkwater."

There was applause. Jordan said to the MC, "We're not done," but the MC replied, "You kind of are. Pack up."

Jordan stomped offstage and his bandmates followed behind him. I turned to my friends and said, "I think I'm ready to go." They were, too, and so we took off.

Jordan sent me a long, long apology message. Here's an excerpt:

Melissa:

I'm so very sorry for my behavior. As you know, I've had a rough time lately, and the way a guy's mind works is strange sometimes, even for him. I feel so bad for making you and your little shag-rat feel bad. No hard feelings to either of you, and I hope you'll let me say I'm sorry in person. It's just hard to see him and imagine him and you together. Most guys can put that out of their heads but I can't. I want to work through this with you together and then maybe I can find peace. Together you understand. Not alone or apart, but together. We will find strength. I believe in it. And I believe in us.

Jordan


I replied:

Thanks, Jordan. Apology accepted. I don't think we should be in touch any longer. Be well.

Melissa

He wrote back:

So it's you and the little shag-rat again? I should've known. You're all the same.


If he continues to go through life behaving like that, then he'll find that yes, most women are the same, at least with regards to him.

***Check it out! We at ABCotD love independent musicians, so scroll down right to our new Rock Stars section. More added as we hear stuff we like.***


Email Sent in by Paula:

Love the pictures of your tats! They are so chic! And that picture of you at the bar is so becoming! I think you really come across as beautiful, insightful, and deep, you stupid pig-faced tramp.

Sincerely,
Ethan

Story Sent in by Steve:

I had become acquainted with Maryann online. She was adorable, and could've passed for a young Rita Hayworth. She was also very bright, having earned two master's degrees. To say that I was excited about scoring a date with her was an understatement.

I took her out for coffee on a warm spring night. She was in a pair of dark jeans and a floral blouse, and she looked great. We had a good chat together, and I asked her if she wanted to take a walk.

While strolling through town and through a park, I couldn't help but notice that her pants were practically falling down. I thought that it would be the polite thing to inform her (before they fell down even further) and I said, "You might want to pull your pants up."

She gasped, her eyes widened, her face went blood red, and she yanked her pants up far higher than was necessary. "Oh my God," she said, "You weren't supposed to see that."

I said, "It's not a big deal. It's not like I'm offended. I just thought you'd probably want to know."

"You weren't supposed to see that. Oh my God. Oh my God. You weren't supposed to see that."

I joked, "See what? I didn't see anything, although I probably would have if I had waited another minute."

She stopped walking and readjusted herself so that her pants were riding stupidly high, way above her stomach.

I laughed a bit and said, "That can't be comfortable."

She asked, "Are they not high enough?" and then pulled them up even further, which I hadn't thought possible.

I said, "Maryann, I don't think you're really helping matters. They've been fine for most of the evening. Just keep them regular and be conscious of them and I'm sure you'll be fine."

She kept her fingers curled tightly around the waist of her jeans and walked around like that for the rest of the night. She cringed a couple of times as if in some sort of pain, but I tried my best to not indulge her performance with "Are you okay?" or "Why are you doing that?"

At the end of our walk, I finally turned to her to say, "Are you trying to prove some sort of point?"

In answer, she stuffed her arms down her jeans. Now they weren't going anywhere. I said, "Okay, then. I'm probably going to go. Have a good night."

"I'd hug you," she said, "But my arms are kind of down my pants."

"Don't worry about it."

Neither of us contacted the other after that. I hope she bought a belt.

Profile Sent in by Alli:

About me:

I was in my local library and thought what the hell I'll write a profile!

So about me? Um I guess I like my local library and writing this profile. What do you like?

Any library is fine I live in my local one. Great place to make a profile. So about me? I spend a lot of time in my library.

I know probably the library better than stupid librarians. I always ask them for a job and they say you have to study in school and not live in a library if you want to work in a library. Duh a library is like a school and you can study in it and it's easy to sleep in, lol.

Library and for food I always go to city hall they have free sandwiches every day. Simple man with life and pleasures well that's me tell me about you?

Story Sent in by Chris:

Elena and I were on our first date and taking a subway from way uptown to 42nd Street in Manhattan. We were talking together and everything was well.

As we rode along, Elena recognized a group of four other young women, riding together. They screamed when they saw her and embraced her. Elena, her back to me, absorbed herself into their group.

One of them said, "We're getting off at 68th Street! Kayla's in a play."

"Really?" Elena asked, "That's so cool!"

I waited a bit longer for Elena to introduce me, but she didn't. I took the initiative and introduced myself. They said, "Oh... hi," and continued with their conversation.

When the subway arrived at 68th Street, I was looking forward to finally having Elena to myself. Instead, when the doors opened, she followed her friends out without a second glance at me!

I pursued and asked her, "Where are you going? This isn't our stop!"

She said, "Yeah, I know. Have a good night!" She sped off with her companions. I found a good soup place nearby, called a local friend to hang out, and had a good night after all.

Email Sent in by Yasmine:

I had a great time in college and it's great that you did too. What was it like in Egypt? I can't believe you went there.

You profile says that you've lived on three continents. Have you ever been to Antarctica? Great place to hide things. Or hide from things.

You also mentioned an incident with a ouija board. My family has had to move twice because a angry ghost keeps following us. The first time it happened there was a huge bite taken out of a loaf of sliced bread. After that the lights went on and off and then nothing for years. We thought and hoped it forgot about us.

Then we came back from vacation and everything in my bedroom was backwards, like up against the wrong walls and like a mirror image from the way it had been. My parents were mad! But at me! But I don't control ghosts haha.

My parents moved and wouldn't tell me why (I was young at the time) but I know it's because of the ghost. They had to move again after all of these noises came from our new home's chimney. I tried to see what was making the noises and tool the chimney down but my father (protecting the ghost?) stopped me and we moved again.

Now that I've moved out of their house the ghost stuff has stopped but still weird huh?

Jon

Story Sent in by Greta:

Ian and I were out together one evening on our first date, walking nowhere in particular, when we came upon a deserted playground. There were slides, jungle gyms, monkey bars, swings, or as Ian said it:

"This place has got the works!"

Like five-year-olds, we ran for the equipment and had minutes of fun. He pushed me on a swing, I went down the slide, he climbed on top of the monkey bars, and I jumped on a bouncy bridge.

When I had about had my fill, I took out a bottle of hand sanitizer and used it. I held it out in Ian's direction, offering some to him.

He groaned and said, "You know, that stuff makes you sicker! It kills all the good bacteria!"

I replied, "If you use it constantly, probably. I just think it's probably a better idea than not to use it after touching playground equipment. Want some?"

In reply, he said, "No," and licked his hands and fingers again and again.

I must have given him a what-the-hell-are-you-doing look, because he asked me, "What?" Before I could respond, he continued, "I'll prove it to you."

He walked up to the metal jungle gym and licked, actually licked its bars. He gave the jungle gym a tongue bath for about 10 seconds before I found my words and said, "That's filthy! What are you doing?"

"Just licking it clean," he said, "People are way too uptight today," he pointed at me, "Case in point."

I said, "Little kids sneeze into their hands or wipe their noses and then touch that thing."

"Beam me up, snotty," he joked, then rubbed his hands all over the metal bars.

I was ready to leave the playground and said, "Let's go to dinner, already."

"Okay, but I'm not going to wash my hands."

Sure enough, he didn't. At dinner, we made small talk while all I could think of was how gross the whole playground situation was. He ordered a sandwich which of course, he ate with his unwashed hands.

After dinner, he walked me back to my car and tried to kiss me. "Not on a first date," was what I said, but what I meant was, "You licked a freaking jungle gym. Stay the hell away!"

He caught on, though. He asked, "Is this about the jungle gym?"

I said, "No, I just don't want to push things too fast."

"But we've already gone to a playground together that's… that's special."

"Exactly. Can't have too many special things at once."

He sighed. "I guess not. See you soon?"

"I'll be in touch," I said, and when he hugged me goodbye, I hugged him back.

I was never in touch.


*****************************************
The opposite of not being in touch.

Email Sent in by N.E.:

You've got a sweet face! And a sweet way with words! Why don't you bring your sweet face over to the land of Mycrotch for the night? It is a sweet place to bring your sweet face! A sweet race to the land of Mycrotch for your face!

It has been long since a worthy man has journeyed to Mycrotch. I am a BBW but you will not need a map to find your way! Just ask for help from the friendly keeper of the fertile lands and we will be on our way together! After a trip to Mycrotch we should journey to the city of Yourcrotch! I like to please and be pleased so please(!!!) race your sweet face to my place!

Melinda

Story Sent in by Cheryl:

Caleb wrote me online and he came across, at first, as a funny, respectful guy. He was really into sports, but he also was a graphic artist, combining his love of athletics with photography. I was impressed with his work and we went out to dinner together.

From the moment we sat down, we talked at length about his passion. He said, "Every athlete has attractive qualities. Baseball, track, even sumo."

I smiled at his words and joked, "What about female sumo wrestlers? Do you find them attractive?"

"I'm a breast guy, myself," he said. "Some are ass men, some are thigh guys, but I'm a tits boy, through and through."

I stared. "I'm sorry. What?"

"I said I'm not an ass man. That's what you were asking me, right?"

I laughed and said, "No. I just joked about female sumo wrestling."

"Yeah. Give me tits, all the way." He opened his mouth, tilted his head up, and wagged his tongue around, as if suckling at a juicy teat. Hmmm.

I looked away with a smile and said, "Anyway... um, I really liked your pictures."

"What's your size?" he asked, "I can fit snugly around a c-cup. That's what I'd guess you are."

"Okay, enough about breasts."

"Why? Everyone has them."

I replied, "Everyone has personal problems, too, but I don't go whipping those out on a first date."

He glanced at my chest and asked, "You gonna whip 'em out?"

"No."

"Oh."

Silence. He drummed his fingers on the table, then said, "Okay," stood up, and left me at the restaurant. We hadn't ordered food yet, but we had ordered drinks. I paid for mine and asked the manager if I could leave her Caleb's number in exchange for his beer. She was really cool and allowed me to do that.

Whether she ever acquired the money from him, I don't know. I haven't heard from Caleb or been back to that place, since.

Profile Sent in by Casey:

The six things I can't live without:

Bunny ears........ cat ears..... devil horns..... anything worn on head. I like pictures of people in them and I will wear them myself for u. I also can't live without my family unless my family stops cooking toblerone soup. They will not stop.

Other things I can't live without? Windows because I love sunlight and sunscreen because I hate sunshine. A nice grocery basket at the super market every now and then would be nice. Mine always wobble like my uncle at reunions. Stupid drunk bastard. He should not be on my list. Can def live without him.

Can't live without zippers. Don't want my parts hanging out for people to take. Stupid goddam uncle.

Story Sent in by Ray:

I met Erica online. She was an administrative assistant at a lawyer's office. However, she was very proud of her older brother Neil, and she mentioned him quite a few times in her messages to me. Neil was apparently cast as a bit role in some soap opera on some channel somewhere.

Erica, strangely, was surprised that I hadn't heard of him. "You haven't heard of him?" she asked, "I'm surprised. He's been on a couple of talk shows to talk about his acting."

I asked, "Which talk shows?"

"I forget. There are so many!"

There certainly are. When Erica and I met up in person, over dinner and drinks, she said, "I have a surprise for you. After dinner, you're going to meet my brother, the actor!"

"He's in town?" I asked, "I thought he'd be off filming some soap opera or talk show somewhere."

She replied, "He still comes to visit when he can. He might be acting in a big movie soon. A really big one."

"Great. So, tell me about your job."

"Oh, it's just admin stuff. My brother's the impressive one in our family."

I tried my best. "I'm sure you're impressive in your own right."

"Ha! Not really."

"Ha."

After dinner, she asked that I follow her to another bar, and there, sure enough, was her brother, surrounded by a legion of doting fans.

Just kidding. He was drinking alone, and likely had been for some time. Erica tapped his shoulder. He turned around and asked who I was. I introduced myself, and he asked who I was again. He laughed at me, then laughed some more.

I laughed a bit myself, then quipped, "Ha ha, you're a soap opera actor."

He stopped laughing, then stood up, a head taller than I was, at least. He leaned right into my face and said, "You're a… fuck you!"

He leaned over and Erica caught him. She gave me a hateful look and said to me, "You've upset him! He mustn't get upset!" She then looked back at Neil and said, "Come on. I'll take you home."

Neil cried as she walked him out. Never heard from Erica, and haven't heard anything about Neil either, and that was a few years ago, now.