***Happy New Year from ABCotD! We're still posting daily, but we'll be back to regular posting levels shortly. Health and happiness to you and yours!***


Story Sent in by Millie:

Colin and I had been dating for a few months when New Year's Eve rolled around. My friends were throwing a house party, and Colin and I went.

About a dozen people were there, some couples, some singles. My friend Sasha and her boyfriend Drake were there, and we all had a good time catching up, drinking, and making merry. Colin, I noticed, was uncharacteristically quiet, although I caught him staring at Sasha (who he had never met prior) more than once. I didn't think much of it.

A minute before midnight, we all gathered around the TV. Colin put his arm around me. The ball dropped. We watched it go.

"Ten! Nine! Eight!"

Colin's hand dropped from around my shoulders.

"Seven! Six! Five!"

Colin mumbled, "Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah!"

"Four! Three! Two! One! Happy New–"

Colin grabbed Sasha's head and kissed her on the lips. She shoved him off. Drake pounced and shoved Colin down to the floor. I shouted. Drake punched at Colin a few times before Colin was somehow able to stand, then he shoved Drake against a wall, nearly knocking over a turntable. Colin then turned and ran out of the house. Drake chased after him.

All eyes were on me. The only thing I could say to Sasha was, "I'm sorry," about 50 times, even though, in retrospect, I don't think I had anything for which to be sorry.

Drake came back about 20 minutes later. He said that he had chased Colin down several blocks, but that Colin had ultimately given him the slip. I left not long afterward.

Colin called me the next day, not to apologize, but to ask me if Sasha had said anything about him after he had "left."

I replied, "Aside from the fact that you're an asshole? No, actually."

"Oh. Want to meet up later on?"

"No."

"You don't understand," he said, then hung up. Last I ever heard from him.

Story Sent in by Stephen:

Fran scratched her armpits constantly while we were out together, on a walk on our first date. It prompted me to ask her, "You okay?"

She replied, "Yeah, I just tried a new deodorant, and it's giving me a reaction."

I asked, "Want to stop at a pharmacy? We can pick up some hypoallergenic cream or something."

We went to a local chain drug store, and she led me to the deodorant aisle. She pointed to a stick on the shelf. "That's the one I tried this morning."

She then found another stick of a different brand, took it off the shelf, popped it open, and rubbed it on, under her blouse.

"What are you doing?" I asked, stunned at how matter-of-factly she was applying it.

She capped it and put it back on the shelf. She then looked at me and said, "What? I'm clean."

"That's really gross."

She asked, "Are you serious? I just want to make sure that it won't give me a reaction, like that first one." She flapped her arms up and down, then twisted her body back and forth. "I think this one's all right."

She then grabbed another stick from a different brand and did the same thing. "Just in case," she said.

I asked, "You don't think that's really unsanitary?"

She said, "Uh, no. I'm clean."

I asked, "What if someone else tested those out before you? Are you sure that they were clean?"

She replied, "No one used them. They were unspoiled. You can tell by looking at them."

She flapped her arms up and down again and asked, "Ready to go? My pits are feeling better."

The rest of the date wasn't as eventful, but I didn't ask her out again, mostly as a result of that incident.

Story Sent in by Marianne:

For our first date, Jerry picked me up at my house on a cold winter's evening. The heat in his car was nothing short of legendary. He had it cranked up high, blowing on my face right when I entered.

"Whew, it's steamy in here," I said, "Would you mind if I turned it down?"

"What's that?" he asked, "Turn it up? Okay!"

He blasted it to the max. I pointed the vents away from me. As he drove, he reached over and positioned them back towards me. He said, "That's too hot on my face. Leave them be."

"They're too hot on me," I said, "Would you mind if I turned it down?"

"I like it warm. Just not on me."

My face felt on fire. I hit the button to turn down the heat. Right away, he hit it back up to the max.

I said, "It's too hot! Please turn it down."

He laughed long deep laughter, like an evil mastermind. "Heat! Heat forever! Mwa-ha-ha-ha!"

By the time we arrived at the restaurant (it seemed as though he had taken the longest way there), I was ready to end the date, and was pretty quiet the whole time.

He picked up on it and asked, "So, what crawled up your butt?"

I said, "I just feel a little disrespected, about what happened in the car before. I'll get over it."

"If you can't take the heat, stay out of my car!" and he laughed again.

I stayed quiet. He went on, "If the heat in my car bothered you, then how will you handle the heat during lovemaking?"

Appetite: gone. The rest of the date was awkward, nearly silent, and when I excused myself to go to the. bathroom, I called a friend to take me home. I didn't tell Jerry.

At the end of dinner, he paid the bill, I thanked him, and he said, "So I guess you want me to drive you home?"

I said, "No thanks. I have a friend picking me up."

He stared at me. "A guy?"

"What if it is?"

He said, "That's a bitchy thing to do."

I shrugged. "If you don't like the heat..."

"Ugh. You really suck," he said, and left me there. Thankfully, my friend arrived soon after, and I have had a Jerry-free life since then.

Profile Sent in by Patricia:

About me:

I'm was in the army and I'm grateful to be back in the states and to have found a great job. All I'm missing is someone to share my life with. I look forward to meeting your family and friends. I have an open mind and try to get along with everybody. If you have pets I will try to eat them.

I like hunting, football (playing and watching) and making shoes. I'm thinking of starting a business with them. If you want to help out then that would be welcome.

Story Sent in by Daniel:

Cynthia and I were out to dinner together on our first date when, over a glass of wine, she gave me a little smile and said, "So, I have a question for you: do you pick out your own clothes, or does someone, like from the 1970s, come over and dress you?"

I was in a plain grey button-down shirt and black pants. I'm not sure what about the outfit screamed "1970s," but I found her comment rude. Holding my tongue, I replied, "I dress myself."

"Pfffft!" Cynthia actually spat out some of her wine, right onto her chin. She hadn't even had a full glass, yet. She mopped it up with her napkin and I did my best to pretend that it didn't happen. She went on, "At work, two days ago, I had a meeting with a guy from L.A. who was dressed like you. At the time I thought to myself, 'That's a ridiculous outfit,' but now that you're wearing something almost the same, it just makes things awkward, don't you think?"

I replied, "The only thing awkward is the hole you keep digging yourself into."

That wiped the little smirk off of her face. "You're a lousy date," she said, "Do you treat all women like this?"

"Like what? You insult me, I call you on it, and all of a sudden, it's my fault?"

"Jesus," she said, "Are you one of those hypersensitive guys? They went out of style in the 1970s too, you know."

She had mentioned work. It was an out. I took it. "How was work this past week?"

"Bad. I had smarmy little creeps from Los Angeles dressed like you, telling me how to do my job. Like I would take anything a smarmy little hypersensitive prick dressed like you would say seriously."

I asked, "Did this guy from your work meeting upset you? We can talk about it if you want, you know, instead of insulting me over and over."

"It's just a huge coincidence," she reasoned, "How likely is it that two different guys I'm sitting at a table with wear the same outfit in a week?"

I shrugged, unable to calculate the odds of something so mundane. I suggested, "We can talk about something other than work."

"We can talk about nothing. You remind me of him, you look like him, you sound like him. Goodbye," she said, downed the rest of her wine, and took off, just like that. I was disappointed that I had to pay for her drink, but glad that she walked out on me before we ordered any food.

Profile Sent in by James:

I spend a lot of time thinking about:

Who puts dog crap all over my sneakers at night? I walked through a puddle two weeks ago and put my sneakers out on my back porch to dry overnight. Fast forward to the next day and they are SMOTHERED with dog crap. I had to wash them off (making them soaking wet AGAIN) and put them on my back porch again. The next morning, AGAIN smothered in dog crap. I washed them again and put them outside in different places (I will NOT bring them inside - they stink!) and every day they are covered in crap again.

Besides that, I haven't been thinking about much lately.

Story Sent in by Joanne:

One of the questions Bob asked me during our intro online conversations was, "What's your favorite animal?" I'm a Leo, and since I was young, I've liked lions, so I told him that. A few dozen questions later, he asked me out on a date.

I agreed to meet him at a local park, late on a Saturday morning. When I showed up, he wasn't there yet, so I sat down on a bench.

Several minutes later, a mighty roar sounded behind me, and before I could turn around, someone tackled me off the bench, right to the ground. It was a guy, and I didn't take the time to see who it was before I attacked him right back.

He jumped off me and stood up. It was Bob. I scrambled up and yelled, "What the hell are you doing?"

"Raaaargh!" he said, "Like, you know, a lion."

"What?"

He looked around. "There are lions in these parts. You'd do well to be more aware of that."

"Idiot. Why did you tackle me?"

He looked away. "You said you like lions. Duh."

"But you don't go sneaking up on someone you haven't even met yet and basically attack them! Did you think I'd applaud or give you a medal or something?"

He went from meek to menacing in under a second. He yelled, "You said you goddamn like lions! I was pretending to be a lion. What's so goddamn hard to see about that? Maybe I'm not the idiot, Joanne! Maybe you're the idiot, idiot!"

He kicked dirt at me and ran away. The instant I made it home, I blocked his account.

Email Sent in by Ralph:

Hiya. I am not usuallyone to write to someone online but your profile was really good. I am IMed by guys constantly on this site so I am not on too often but if you were to do three things for me then that would make it more easier for me to meet you and want to spent time with you.

1. Your profile does not have pics of you with a mustache. Will you grow one if asked? I ask because I may ask you to grow one. Or I may not.
2. I like putting all of my wall hangings up in one room only and keepingn other walls of the ouse clear of any hangings. If we were to get marreid and get a house together then will you be okay with that.
3. Since I was little I was the youngest in my family. My parents always gave me a throne (not really a throne) but a biggest seat at the table to sit in like I was their princess. Now it sounds wirrd but I still like having the largest chair at the table. Doesn't habe tp be an actual throne but something bigger than the other chairs at the table whever we go out ot eat or if we end up getting a house together sometime.

Let me know. Everyone has their quirks!

Sonia

Story Sent in by Alejandro:

I took Ciara to a street fair on our first date. There was food, performers, and all manner of artisans. It was a once-a-year event, and so I was glad that the timing worked out. Ciara herself was bubbly, talkative, and seemed to be having a nice time.

While we strolled about, close to lunchtime, all of a sudden, Ciara huddled close. She said, "Oh my God, my worst enemy is here."

I looked around to see who could possibly fit that description.

"Don't look around!" she hissed, "Just follow me."

She led me over to an area between two small vendor tents. Too late, though.

"Ciara? Ciara! It is you, friend!" a super-high woman's voice said.

Ciara groaned and turned around with me to face a woman about 10 years older than we were, and almost a full head taller than Ciara, herself. The woman squeaked, "Hi, friend!" and gave Ciara a big hug.

Ciara said, "Hi, April. This is Alejandro."

April shook my hand and said, "Great to meet you, friend!" then turned to Ciara. "How've you been, friend?"

"I'm fine. We're just here, trying to enjoy the day."

"Do you like fried dough, friend?" April screeched, "There's a stall right down there that makes amazing fried dough. I try it every year, friend!"

Ciara pointed in the other direction. "We were just heading off that way–"

"There's an amazing potter down that way. I have two of her coffee mugs," April said, "I'll come with you, friend!"

Ciara said, "It's okay. We don't want to take you away from whatever you were doing."

April put her arms around both of us. "It's okay! I'm here alone, friends!"

Ciara pulled away and said, "Okay, first of all, Alejandro isn't your friend. You just met him. Secondly, I'm not your friend. We've been over this, haven't we?"

April gave her a sweet smile. "I was hoping we could let the past be the past, friend–"

"No!" Ciara shouted, then grabbed my arm, "Come on, Alejandro. Let's go."

April called after us, specifically to me, "She'll suck your juices out."

I asked, "She'll what?"

Ciara let go of my arm and said, "That does it." She went right into April's face and said, "You want another fight? Is that what you want?"

"You're the one getting physical," April said.

Ciara swung a hand at April's face. April cried out and shoved Ciara away. A few people around us gasped and pointed. Ciara backed up to me, and April moved away. Ciara yelled, "Stay away from me, 'friend.'"

April pointed at us and said, "You will die. That is certain," and then she stormed off.

Ciara was a different person for the rest of our time out together. She hardly said a word, muttered to herself, and went back and forth, clenching her fists. Despite my efforts to calm her down and switch her mind to different things, she was inconsolable. Too much drama for me. First and last date.

Story Sent in by Elinn:

I was out on my first date with Pete at a techno club when he received a text and shouted to me, over the music, "Hey, I'm going to meet a friend of mine outside. I'll be right back."

I nodded to him and he left. He returned a minute or two later with Brad, a big guy with closed eyes and a bobbing head. Pete said to me, "Stay with Brad for a sec. I have to go do something."

He left. Unusual first date practice, but I didn't mind, since the music was really good. Soon after, Brad, who had been dancing very close to me, tapped my shoulder and spoke the first words he had spoken to me all night: "Pete just texted me. He's going to be gone for longer than he thought. Want to leave?"

I asked, "Is Pete going to be meeting us somewhere?"

"Yeah."

It was around 11. I left with Brad and he took me to a nearby diner where we both ordered ice cream. I asked him, "Is Pete meeting us here?"

Brad shrugged. "I don't know. I could care less."

"Do you know where he is?"

"Probably back at the club by now. Why do you care?"

I put a couple of pieces together in my head and asked, "Did you take me out of the club just to get me away from Pete?"

"Yeah. Wanna go back to my place?"

"Oh. You know that Pete and I were on a date together, right?"

He said, "So?"

I replied, "Thanks for the ice cream. I'm going back to the club."

"Whatever, bitch," Brad said, sucking down a spoonful of ice cream.

I left the ice cream place, then called and texted Pete. He didn't reply, and I went back to the club to look for him. He wasn't around. With nothing else to do, I danced to a couple more songs, then went home a little after midnight.

When I woke the next day, I discovered a barrage of texts from Pete, sent between one and four in the morning, all of which were variances of "Where are you?" "Did you and Brad leave together?" "Are you at his place?" "Did you sleep with him?" and so on.

I texted him back to let him know that Brad and I didn't do anything and that I thought it was poor form for him (Pete) to just leave me with his weirdo friend.

Pete replied, "Whatever, bitch." I could see why the two were friends.

Email Sent in by Jennifer:

Hello Jennie:

I appreciate your message but I must disagree with you on several fronts:

First its brevity:

"Hey Lyle, I had a nice time with you but I think we're looking for different things and that anything more than a platonic relationship wouldn't work out between us. Sorry, but good luck out there!"

Well hello gutter trash! I think that a night of laughter and joy and emotional orgasms such as the one we experienced together (it was not a night: it was an experience) and joy is worth more than a mere 35-word response! But who's counting!

If you had a nice time during our shared experience then why would you throw a monkey wrench into the proverbial machinery works, thereby stopping the machinery from continuing to work in its intended task? I also think that you misuse the word "platonic." As well as the word "sorry." Have you been properly educated? I have gone to three schools, over ten years of post-secondary education (onto tertiary and quaternary, quinary education) and have not ever seen those words used the way you have used them. Perhaps you can explain what your intended use was? For I cannot grasp what you suppose they mean based on your context.

It is too late to bemoan a relationship (or lack thereof) between us. Like a born child, it is here. It exists. No manner of stuffing it back into the void uterus will unmake it. We only have this experience to share, but bury it like a seed and I promise you it will blossom forth like an oak.

Good luck, is it? And where precisely is "out there"? I need you to tell me that if you wish me good luck wherever out there is, then where, may I ask, do you wish me bad luck? You clearly imply that you wish me bad luck somewhere else, wherever "out there" isn't. Is "out there" anywhere that isn't where you are? Is it wherever I am not? I need further clarification.

If you could explain your reasoning, to start, then I think we will have a basis to understand your problems processing this experience for what it is, and we can then move forward. Together.

Yours in hope and companionably,
Lyle

PS: You may have noticed that I did not mention your phrase, "different things." This is for a myriad of reasons, primarily that it is one of the few parts of your message with which I actually agree. We can be looking for "different things" but still be looking for the same one true thing. You know what I mean. If not, I would be glad to illuminate you, perhaps during our next experience.

Story Sent in by Marty:

Irene was late to our date at a private, local, garden park. It was open seldom, and it was a beautiful day to be out among lots of unusual flowers.

I called her up and it went to her voicemail. Traffic, perhaps. Then, she called, out of breath: "I'm so sorry! I'm at a bed supply store and there's no signal in there and I completely lost track of time!"

"It's okay. I'm at the garden, so I'll meet you–"

"Can you meet me here? I'm picking out bedsheets."

The store wasn't very far, about one town away. I drove over and found her with about a dozen packs of bedsheets in a shopping cart. She gave me a nice greeting and I asked her, "After this, you want to hit up the garden?"

"Of course," she said.

We went shopping a bit more in the store, she returned all but one pack of bedsheets to the shelf, and then she checked out. In the parking lot, I asked her, "So, I'll meet you at the garden?"

"I have a better plan. Follow me." She led me around the store to the rear parking lot. Bordering on it was a patch of trees, beyond which was an apartment complex. She took me in among the trees and broke open her new pack of bedsheets.

"Let's play a game," she said.

"Okay… what sort of–"

She wrapped the bedsheets over my head and tightly around me. I laughed. What was she up to? It was strange, but I tried to have an open mind about the whole thing. We had known each other for less than a week, having met online, after all.

I heard her walking all around me, tightening the sheet, tucking it under my arms, between my legs, and into my pants. Finally, I heard her say, "Okay, now hold that for a minute."

I laughed again. "What sort of game is this? Are you going to paint a target on me and set me loose in the woods or something?"

No answer. "Hello?" I asked again.

Still no answer. I stood there like an idiot for another 30 seconds before I took the sheets off of myself and looked around.

Irene wasn't there. I called for her and looked around in the immediate area. No sign. I returned to the parking lot, with her sheets crumpled in a clump in my arms. She wasn't there. I stuck the sheets in my car, went inside the store, and looked up and down every aisle for her. Nothing. She was gone.

I walked out of the store and tried her cell. Voicemail. I left her a message to tell her that I didn't understand the game and that I would meet her at the garden. She didn't show up to the garden, and so I enjoyed myself there.

She never called me back, and to this day, I haven't heard from her. I still have her bedsheets, although I've since used them as drop cloths.

Profile Sent in by Julianna:

What I'm doing with my life:

It's my goal to be RICH and FAMOUS by 30 and I'm halfway there!!! Likely due to me grand larceny conviction (for the record I DID NOT DO ANYTHING but drive a getaway car. I wasn't the one who stole the money. Blame my ex-friend for that.) Hopefully you are one of those girls who admire honesty. I'd have to tell you sooner or later anyway, and lots of people still email me regardless.

Story Sent in by Christie:

After a week or so of talking to Trey over a dating site, Trey asked me if I wanted to meet up in person. I did, and he suggested going dancing for a first date.

I wrote back, "Maybe something like dinner, to start." I'm not the best dancer, I'm not overly into it, and despite how benign I was sure his intentions were, I wasn't too into the idea of being clasped in an embrace with a guy so soon into meeting him. Call me old fashioned. I just wanted to do something else.

"Sure thing," he wrote back, and I considered the matter settled.

When we met up, he gave me a big hug and I asked him, "What are we doing tonight?"

"We're dancing!" he announced with a grin.

I said, "Would you be really disappointed if we waited a bit on dancing? How about dinner or a walk or maybe going to see a show?"

"Ugh!" he shouted, way louder than he needed to, "Fine! We can do not-dancing. What do you want to do?"

"Uh… dinner?"

"Fine."

We went to a nearby bar and grill, and not too long after sitting down, he said, "So after dinner, we dance. That's the deal."

"I don't want to go dancing. I'm sorry. Maybe next time."

"Well, what if I don't want to have dinner? You're forcing me to do that, right? How is that fair?"

"I'm not forcing you to do anything. I suggested doing dinner instead of dancing. Instead of. Not precursor to. I'm not too into dancing. I think I mentioned that."

"Ugh!" he said again.

The waiter took our drink orders. I asked for an iced tea. Trey ordered a Long Island iced tea.

After the waiter left, Trey leaned in and said, "It's going to be one of those nights. I can tell."

Remaining polite, I asked him about himself, and he would not shut up. He told me not only his entire life story, but the life story of each of his exes and of his siblings. I knew more about this guy by dinner's end than I knew about myself.

Dinner came to a close, and he asked, "So, have you changed your mind, yet? You know, about dancing?"

"No."

"Jesus Christ!" he spat, and stood up, then sat down, then stood up again, then sat down once more. "I guess you expect me to pay for this, don't you?"

"That would be nice," I said, "But you don't have to if–"

"No, I expected as much," he said, then stood up, took out enough cash to cover the check, then ran, not walked, out of the restaurant.

Not long after I arrived home, he sent me three texts:

"Guess where I am????"

"I'm out dancing!!!!! So much fun!!!!!"

"Can you give me a ride to this other girl's place?????"

Ah, romance.

Email Sent in by Roshi:

HEllo. You have a funny profile. It made me seriously laugh out loud. I am Natalie, and I invite you to check out mine. No, I don't have any pics up (long story) but if you're curious then I look like Blanka from Street Fighter (redhead). After a few messages I may send you a pic. Again, sorry to be so secretish - long story involved! I also do my own electrical wiring work so again kind of like Blanka ha.

Things I like to eat are off my profile but it would seriously take a list longer than the time there is in the day. We exist and to continue existing we must eat ot survive. I do a lot of cooking.

Favorite: soccer team? Sport? How do you stay active? Ever gargle while jogging at the same time? I did it once to save time and it is seriously the funnyest thing I've ever done.

Natalie

Story Sent in by Adam:

Susan and I had just met, and had started a walk to a restaurant together for our first date when I asked her how her workday had been.

"Crummy," she replied, "I almost got fired today."

She worked in a big accounting firm, and had been there for just under a year. She had previously sung its praises to me about the benefits and how well the company took care of its employees, so this was a matter of some concern.

"What happened?" I asked.

"It's actually your fault. They found out that I was writing to you from my work email account."

"Uh—"

"Now they're saying that I have to make up the time that I spent writing to you on company time, and I got into a fight with one of my bosses today about it. I'm in huge trouble now, so thanks."

She gave me a big eye roll, a sigh, and forged ahead a bit faster. I hurried up and said, "But it was your choice to message me from your work account. You could've written to me from your personal account or—"

"They don't let us use our personal accounts on work time. They log usage and my boss regularly checks the logs."

I didn't know what else to say, so convinced she seemed to be that it was my fault. Then, she added, "So if I get fired, guess who's coming to your door with a shotgun?"

I laughed. She didn't, and she went on, "Who's the one who feeds the fish in the office tank? Me, that's who. If I'm fired, then who's going to feed them? If I'm fired, then living creatures might die. Because of you."

I said, "If they were going to fire you, wouldn't they have done it by now?"

She said, "It has to go through multiple levels. Sometimes it could take over a week to be officially fired, because my boss has to submit paperwork, her boss has to submit paperwork, his boss then has to, and so on. Those poor, poor fish, though."

"I'm sure you'll be okay, especially as this was probably your first transgression, right?"

"Those poor, poor fish."

I took her to a sushi place, where many other poor, poor fish had gone. Strangely, she wasn't as concerned with the plight of her meal as she was with the goldfish tank at her job.

She said, "I know one guy, he works on another floor from me, and we see each other in the elevator once or twice a week. I guess I could ask him to feed the fish, but what if he says that he can't? I'm really worried about this, here." She downed a tuna roll.

She offered to split dinner with me, but I insisted on paying for both of us. After dinner, we left the restaurant and she said, "I'm going to have to deprive you access to my chest, tonight. Sorry, but I have to prepare a statement for when I'm called on the carpet tomorrow. About you."

I joked, "Do you need a witness? You can call me if you need to."

She replied, "That's all I need, to call you in to corroborate the charges. If I'm using anyone in my defense, it'll be the fish."

"I'm sorry?"

"The fish. In the office tank. I spend time feeding them and sometimes cleaning out their tank a little, so that has to count for something. No joke, no one else does anything for them, and it's not even part of my job description. I can probably tell my bosses that I spend just as much time helping the office fish as I did writing to you on company time."

"Good luck with that. Let me know how it goes."

She got fired the next day. I know because she wrote me the following email from her work email address:

Dear Adam:

I am writing to inform you that as of 10:11AM (effective 10:00AM officially) I am no longer an employee of Weston and Wilkes. Seems like I'm the only one who cares about the plight of sea life. Anyway, it will be best if we are not in touch anymore for two reasons: one: I don't need you jeopardizing my future employment situations (again). Two: I am likely being watched. Thank you!

From,
Susan

Of everyone's well-being in the entire scenario, is it wrong that I'm still most concerned about the fish?

Profile Sent in by Wilton:

Who I'm looking for:

Tired of spending Friday nights french kissing my dog LOL. She's clean no worry I always brush her teeth each morning. Probably the cleanest dog around. Have lots of time to keep her clean since I've been single LOL. Doesn't count as lesbian, I mean she's a dog LOL. It cracks me up.

Story Sent in by Eunice:

One Christmas Eve, Anthony and I were driving to my parents' house. He and I were from coastal North Carolina (Greenville area) and my folks lived in Harriman, Tennessee. A long drive, but we prepared for it, or so we thought.

In the interests of time, we took major highways across the state. As we approached the border, we found the highway closed down for an unknown reason, and the police had marked off an exit as a detour. We took it, and it turned into some pretty rural local roads. Eventually, the detour signs vanished, and it became pretty clear that we had taken a wrong turn.

The car had GPS, so we figured out an alternate route. Unfortunately, the terrain was very hilly and Anthony's 1990 sedan just couldn't take it. There came a clanging sound, and then it was suddenly a maximum speed of about 10 miles per hour.

"Damn," he muttered, "I think the transmission just went."

Bad to worse. No other cars around, one bar of cell signal, and night was coming on. If there was any luck, it was that we still had just about a half tank of gas.

However, it didn't look like we would be going much of anywhere for quite a while. We had packed food and water, but I really wanted to contact my folks, otherwise they'd be worried sick.

Anthony said, "The best we can do is to flag down another car and ask for help, or a ride to the closest service station."

We kept the heat on in the car and waited for another vehicle to pass. None did. I finally told Anthony, "I've got to call my folks, and we've got to get moving. I'm going to walk up the road a bit to try and find better cell reception."

He walked with me up a hill. After walking what seemed like about a mile, I had enough bars to call out. My parents were worried and told me repeatedly to stay in the car. Anthony took the opportunity to call AAA and a few other tow services, but they told him that they likely couldn't make it out to us for a little while.

We returned to the car for Christmas. No other vehicles had come by for hours. We kept the heat on low, cuddled up together, ate and drank a bit, and, eventually, fell into an uneasy sleep on a roadside in the middle of nowhere.

We awoke to tapping on the window at four in the morning and a flashlight shining in. Anthony asked, "Is it a tow truck?"

It wasn't. Anthony rolled down his window a bit. It was a man who stank of alcohol. He asked, "What are you doing here? What are you doing here?"

"Our car broke down," Anthony explained through the window, "We're waiting on a tow."

"You have to leave," the guy said, "You can't stay. Understand me? You've got to go, right now."

Anthony said, "The tow truck's on its way. It'll be here in 10 minutes."

The man looked around and said, "You just have to leave."

Anthony said, "We said that the car broke down, so we're not going anywhere without a tow. If you're going to threaten us, then it's not going to end well for you. I guarantee it."

"I'll be back," the man said, then climbed back into his truck and pulled away.
"We've got to get out of here," Anthony said.

We jumped out of the car, hurried back to where the good cell service was (staying off the road), called AAA, and asked them for a status report on the tow truck. They said that one would be along quickly.

Sure enough, almost right when we made it back to the car, the tow truck pulled up.

As Anthony's car was affixed to the truck, the weird man drove by in the opposite direction, honked his horn repeatedly, and floored it away from us.

The tow truck driver brought us to the closest service station (a good 15 miles away) and we were able to reach the station owner and convince him to come in to take a quick look at the car.

It took him two days for his garage to finish work on it (mostly because his employees didn't seem to feel like coming in), and in that time, we got to know that particular small town very well.

When the car was finally fixed, we continued on to Tennessee, and finally celebrated Christmas with my family, albeit a few days late. Seeing the expressions on their faces, and having a level-headed guy like Anthony around, unexpectedly made it the best Christmas ever.

Email Sent in by Rianne:

Hey hey I will be your Santa Klaus. Why don't you check out my mighty sack and see the juicy gifts I have left within for you and your family this year? Haha don't really show my sack to your family. I can be convinced that it is just for you. I have many treats inside but you have to open it first. Gently please.

Ho ho ho! Merry Xmas this year. Family all snug on Christmas Eve is the perfect time for me to break into your house (with your permission and you expecting me) with my big sack. Gifts just for you, or maybe you can invite friends over to see if you are good and want to share gifts. Or maybe you are just naughty. I can deal with that naughty girl. Haha Santa.

Ethan

Story Sent in by Gil:

I picked up Evangeline at her house for our first date. She looked great, in a very flattering outfit, but she also brought with her an unusual accessory: a stuffed, plastic grocery bag.

My first thought was that they were a spare pair of shoes, and I asked her as much, merely out of curiosity.

"No," she said, "It's my trash. I didn't have time to throw it out before leaving. I'll toss it in a can or dumpster or whatever we pass along the way."

Worked for me, although a little strange. I forgot all about it, and so did she. Dinner happened, and then we took a nice walk, and then we made it back to my car. It smelled like rotten garbage.

"Pugh," I said, "We forgot about your trash bag. Want to toss it?"

She said, "Yes. Drive me home and I'll take care of it."

We must have passed at least three trash bins on the very block where my car was parked. I suggested, "Why don't we bring it to a trash just outside the car? Silly to take it back home."

"I'm fine taking it home."

"Would you mind throwing it out here? I'm sorry, but it's really stinking up my car."

She yelled, "No! No, okay! I want to bring it home and home is where I'm going to bring it! Home! Home! Home! Home! Home!"

It was strange, as she had definitely previously said that she would be fine tossing it away while we were out. Her sudden turn to nastiness was so unexpected (and so loud) that it turned me a bit nasty, myself. I grabbed the trash bag, jumped out of the car, and made for the closest trash bin.

"No!" she screamed, "Get back here! That's mine! It's mine!"

I threw it into the closest bin I could find, then strode back to my car. She pushed past me, reached into the garbage can, and pulled the bag right out.

I said, "What are you doing? I don't want it stinking up my car. Leave it."

She said, "I don't want you coming back here for it. I'm hanging onto it, and if you don't drive me home, I'll find someone else to do it."

"Are you serious? You think I'm going to drive back here after dropping you off and go through your trash?"

"Take me home or I walk."

"Are you really serious?"

"Take me home with this bag."

"No way," I said, and made for my car.

I heard her shout, "You're just going to leave me? Are you really that big of a jerk?"

I guess I was. If you're not going to trust me to not look through your garbage, then why should I have to suffer for it? I left her there with her trash. Her choice.

Unfortunately, my car stank for a couple of days afterward, but soon the smell and her unpleasant memory faded away.

Profile Sent in by Harry:

About me:

I am a member of a swim club that I go to every day. We swim and talk about swimming and sometimes have water dances. I am a fan of the water to put it mildly. You can call me Waterbaby! I am the Waterbaby of this site! The Waterbaby of the planet.

Oh Waterbaby that is me. I want a waterbed so I can be a true Waterbaby. Ah yeah that would be fun. So I would like to meet a man with similar interests! He will be smart and handsome and fun and will love swimming with a true blue Waterbaby! I made up a song about me that I will even sing to you if we meet!

Oh! Oh! Oh! Waterbaby!

Swimming through the streets! Swimming through the town! Swimming through the water!

Oh! Oh! Oh! Waterbaby!

I will sing it to you. It is my little joke. I like guys who are good swimmers so please swim well and strong and fast or I will catch you and engulf you into that which is Waterbabababababababby!

Story Sent in by Stephanie:

Jim and I were walking down a street together on our first date, after a short walk around a park and on our way to dinner. All of a sudden, he dropped several coins on the pavement.

"Whoops!" he said, then stooped to pick them up. I bent to help him.

"No, no!" he said, "I've got it. There's aren't too many of them." He then situated his head so as to see up my dress.

I stepped away. He jerked at me, then tried to look up it, again. "Come on! Just a peek!" he whined, once I was too far away for him to try again.

"This date's over," I said and walked away.

"Hey!" he yelled, jumping to his feet and running for me, "Wait up!"

I sped down the sidewalk, but he caught up and stood in front of me. "I'm sorry," he said.

I replied, "I appreciate that, but–"

"But there's nothing wrong with taking a look. I mean, you are wearing underwear, aren't you?"

I side-stepped him and moved on. He called after me, "Aren't you? Hey! Aren't you? Are you wearing underwear or not?"

I didn't appreciate that, especially as there happened to be several other people walking along the same sidewalk. He didn't make the mistake of following me, but instead yelled, "Are you wearing panties?"

Furious, I turned around and screamed, "No, but you are!" then hurried to my car as fast as my legs would carry me. I was positive that he would give chase, but I made it back to my car without incident.

He wrote me an email that night in which he said that what he did was nothing to be ashamed of. "I was just being a normal guy," he said, "But your reaction makes me think that you were raped or something. Were you?"

I've never been, thanks to luck and common sense, and especially for knowing when to walk away from idiots like this one.

Email Sent in by Todd:

Hello Todd,

It was good to meet you the other night. So good. I want to move this up to the next phase of our relationship. You can tell me about your previous relationships info whenever you want to now.

My last relationship ended when the guy turned into a drunk. He said I nagged him too much but he would forget normal things like doing errands and going to work. That's something that should be nagged about! He drank a lot and forgot that he had a jkob and ate drugs and turned into a jerk so I dumped him.

My guy before that was shipped overseas and I never heard from him again.

My guy before that was engaged to me (I mentioned this to you) but he didnt show up on the day of our engagement picnic and instead I found him in my cousins bedroom handcuffed to a radiator! How's that for an engagement present! Not a good one and he had to explain that to me but after being engaged to him a second time (we broke off the first one because he was handcuffed to the radiator) I broke it off after I got bored with him and his family. Some families are just nothing at all. Why are they living and eating all of our precious oxygen? I think they should go away or at least breathe something not oxygen so we can all have more.

Hope it's okay to unload that much on you, your turn!

Shelby


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(Todd says: "Our first date was at a cafe: uneventful and quick, and so I didn't really know much about her until she wrote this.")

Story Sent in by Allen:

At a Chinese restaurant on my first date with Jody, things took an interesting turn. She asked me, "What religion are you?"

I told her, and she replied, "That's great, but not as cool as Bundooz."

"Bundooz?" I asked her.

"The coolest religion ever. There is no god. There is only Bundooz, the smartest thing ever. It speaks to anyone who listens. Not through signs, wonders, or any symbolic crap."

"Does… er… Bundooz speak to you?"

"He's speaking to me now," she said, then stood up. "Excuse me."

She headed for the bathrooms, leaving me puzzled. She returned after several minutes, sat down, and said, loudly, "Praise Bundooz!"

"What did Bundooz have to say?"

"He speaks through natural biological processes," she explained, "No tricks or visions. You physically feel what he wants you to do. Just now, he ordered me to poop, so I did."

Hmm. I asked, "Was that possibly your own… insides telling you that?"

"No. Bundooz all the way. He also makes it so that I can breathe while not thinking about it, at night, while I'm asleep."

"What about those of us who don't believe in Bundooz? He still helps us, it seems."

She nodded. "He does, whether you believe in him or not. If I were you, I'd believe in him, though. Something bad always happens to people who don't believe in Bundooz."

"Isn't that most people?"

"And we wonder why there's so much pain and misery in the world."

"So if I believe that Bundooz is the source of my physical needs, then all will be well?"

"Something bad will happen to you, otherwise. I just know it."

I steered the conversation away from any further talk of Bundooz, and we talked about soccer (we were both fans), some TV shows, each other, and so on. Anything but theology.

Towards the end of dinner, she asked me, "So, do you believe in Bundooz, now?"

"I don't think so."

She frowned. "How about now?"

"Uh… no."

"What's it going to take? Your next trip to the bathroom? Do you ever go to the bathroom?"

"Sometimes, but I think that's more a natural process."

"And who governs natural processes? Bundooz!"

I would have been laughing had she not worn a straight face every time she mentioned Bundooz. She sounded genuinely reverent, and if it was a joke, then she was definitely taking it too far. Have some fun with it, I thought.

"If I expressed a belief in Bundooz, what would be my first step?"

"We'd poop together."

I couldn't take it anymore. I laughed, long and hard. She cut in, "In separate stalls. Not so that we could, you know, see each other. But in the same room."

"Okay," I said, "What is this all about? Why'd you make all this up?"

She said, "For a college religion class, we had to make our own religion. After I presented mine, a couple of the guys in class said that they really liked mine, and so I thought that there might be more to it, so I spent the past few years developing it, and now I think it works as a system."

"Uh-huh."

"A beautiful way to bond!"

"Going to the bathroom together. Great. I think I pass on it."

"I didn't say right now. I'd work up to it with a potential convert. It would be weird to do it right now."

"It would be weird to do it, period!"

It went back and forth for a little while, but remained pretty lighthearted. We're still acquaintances, actually, and she still brings up Bundooz every now and again. However, I never took her up on her conversion offer, and we never went on another date.

Profile Sent in by Dick:

About me:

Hey guys I'm Kyla! New to all this so be gentle ;). So how does this work? I wait to get messages from you? Is it cool if I write out messages too? Still new to this so forgive me and my manners.

So I am a divorced woman, no kids. My genitalia are still pure and clean but don't take my word for it! See them for yourself!

During the day I reach preschool. Love the kids, but also always up for a night adventure to a bar or what have you. Fun and low-key to start.

Story Sent in by Connie:

Zack and I were college students, out on our first date together. He told me, "I'm pre-law. Almost everyone in my family, going back, were lawyers."

I replied, "Your family must be proud that you're keeping up with the tradition."

"Of course. What are you studying again? I forgot."

"Biochemistry."

"Ha!" he laughed, "You want fries with that?"

Just get through dinner, I told myself, don't sink to his level. Just make it through dinner, call it an early night, and then you never have to see him again.

Our food came out. He had ordered some sort of buffalo chicken dish with the instructions, "The hotter the better."

It was hot, all right. He took a bite, scarfed it down, his eyes went wide, and he downed his water and soda like a vacuum cleaner.

"Oh my God!" he said, "So hot! So hot! Lawsuit! This is lawsuit territory."

I said. "You told them the hotter the better."

"But this is too much! Beyond undigestible. Total lawsuit waiting to happen."

He called the waitress over to complain. She apologized and offered to bring him a milder version. He said to her, "This isn't just hot. It's lawsuit hot. I could sue you, the owner, and this whole place to the ground."

She replied, "You did say to make it hot, sir."

He glanced at me and said, "I think you'd need proof."

"What about an eyewitness testimony?" I asked.

Zack bared his teeth at me and said, "Uh, whose side are you on, here?"

I gave him a smirk. The waitress took his food back and promised to bring him a milder version. He muttered ceaselessly after she left, always careful to avoid eye contact with me. "I should sue you, too," he said in my direction, "Obstructing justice."

She brought him a new version, and to that he said, "Take it back, now. I'm not hungry."

"I'll take it," I offered, and I did in fact plan to eat it.

"You're paying for it. I'm sure not," he said.

"Fine with me."

I ended up paying for my meal and for the one that he didn't eat, the one that I took home. As I looked over the check, he said, "It sure is nice to not have to pay anything."

I pointed to his soda on the check. He rolled his eyes and said, "You're honestly going to make me pay for that? It's just a soda."

He paid for it, I put down the rest of the cash, grabbed my wrapped-up food, and left before he had a chance to follow me out.

Email Sent in by Stella:

y r u cryin in 1 of ur pics? u shud be glad that u r born in america in africa kids r strving u selfish brat. jk.

the back of my head is sqare shaped. weird birth defect i was told but makes it real easy to sleep lol. u like guys with sqare heads? ever seen 1? u shud. r kids would have heads of round or sqare shape? i do not know but it is a sleight defect to most ppl wont notice unless i point it out to them lol. ugggggggghhhh i dunno wat else u wanna kno??

Ian

Story Sent in by Jonathan:

I met with Melissa at a town fair for our first date. Bakers, artisans, and purveyors of various services had booths set up all around a central square. It was an annual event, the weather was beautiful, and I looked forward to it.

When I first encountered Melissa there, I discovered that her lips had a peculiar glisten to them, as if she had put on just a little too much lip balm. I didn't mention anything about it, and we gave each other a first-greeting hug. Right afterward, she pulled out a little canister of balm, smeared some more on her lips, and off we walked.

Less than five minutes later, she had applied balm twice more. I couldn't keep my curiosity in check any longer and I asked her, "Are your lips okay?"

She said, "Yeah, they just get really dry whenever the seasons change." She applied more. At this point, the balm was spreading from her lips to the skin around them, making a decent part of her lower face look wet and shiny. Hopefully, she'd let it be for a little while.

She did, and we sat down to lunch. She didn't say very much, not even in response to my questions, and she had another strange habit of walking so close to me that I kept bumping into her.

We finished up lunch, and before we continued on, she took out her balm canister and slathered her balm onto her face, like she was applying spackle to a gaping gash in the wall.

I asked, "Is that good for your face?"

"It's my own blend," she remarked, "It helps my entire complexion."

"Your face looks wet and sticky."

"The prices we pay for beauty, right?"

"I guess."

No joke, her face shone like a lighthouse. It wasn't over her entire face, but well over 60% or it. After I took one glance too many, she said, "Is there something wrong?"

I replied, "No. It's just… it's just all over your face."

"So?"

Before I could come up with anything else to say, she applied more, to the area under her eyes. "Ooh," she said, fanning herself, "Hot and tingly."

She spread the glop away from her eyes, then rubbed her hands all over her face, spreading it about evenly, all around. When she was done, a strange, white, foamy film had settled all over her face and neck.

I said, "Okay, I'm going to get you some napkins, but I think you should maybe wash some of it off."

"It's okay. This is normal. It needs to settle." It looked like thick soap suds all over her face. She closed her eyes. "Let me just sit down somewhere while it… it…"

I led her to a nearby bench, grabbed a handful of napkins from a nearby vendor, and brought them to her. She blotted her face gently and muttered, "My eyes are burning," a few times. "Can you bring me to a bathroom?"

I led her to the women's room in the nearby city hall, and waited outside for a good 20 minutes while she did whatever she did within.

When she exited, her face was bright pink, and sure enough, a new layer of balm was smeared all over her mouth. "I'm good. Thanks for waiting. Ready to keep going?"

The rest of our time together was basically a repetition of her constantly applying that gooey stuff to her face and bumping into me. I could never have imagined myself wanting to kiss her, as her balm smelled like a combination of alcohol, moisturizer, and gasoline. First and only date.

Email Sent in by Brenda:

Third e-mail to you. Anyone ever teach you manners? I can teach them to you if you contact ne back. To recap I'm shawn and you need to write me back this is a reminder to you.

So what do you like to do for fun I'm shawn pleased to meet your. You should write me back I will bring you to great places all the best clubs in the world I'm shawn. Why haveb't you rwritten me back yet?

Even if you're not interested you can stil write me back with a not eas to why you are not intertested in shawn. Shawn I'm not into you because and then you list the reasons tho I don't know why you wouldn't be interested you've never even gotten to know me yet! Otherwise write to me with reasons why you do want to write back to me I'm not picky lol. I'm shawn.

shawn

Story Sent in by Agatha:

Stephen and I agreed to meet up at a coffee place for our first date. It was in the middle of a bustling downtown area with plenty of stores, and seemed like a good central location to meet.

I drove there, parked, and went inside the cafe. He wasn't there, and after 10 minutes had passed, I called him. No answer. Another five minutes went by and I tried him again. He didn't pick up. I left.

When I returned to my car, I noticed two pieces of what looked like paper underneath one of my windshield wipers. When I took them off of my windshield, I discovered that they were photos of me entering the coffee shop, taken with a telephoto lens. One of them had the phrase, "You should be more careful" handwritten on the back.

Freaked out, I looked around. No sign of anyone or anything suspicious. I called Stephen again, suspecting that he had something to do with it (he had listed photography as a hobby on his profile). Again, no response. I climbed into my car and drove home by a circuitous route. I don't think that anyone followed me home.

I didn't call him anymore, and he didn't contact me. Best I can figure, he waited for me to arrive, took the photos, ran to have them printed up, and stuck them to my car before I left the coffee place. To this day, I have no idea what he was trying to accomplish, other than trying to upset me. It worked, but I can't imagine too many dates being impressed with such an act.

Profile Sent in by Willa:

My self-summary:

I'm a popular songwriter who you've probably heard of or at least my music. It keeps getting ripped off my the RIAA companies and now I'm actually involved in half a dozen (that's 6) lawsuits against them and various "songwriters" who you've definitely heard of. Just a formality really since I have all the proof in the world that I wrote those popular songs. You know them. I promise.

Things I like include people who like my music and know that I am their original author/songwriter copyright ©©©©©©©©©.

Things I don't like include RECORD COMPANY THIEVES WHO STEAL MUSIC FROM GOOD HARDWORKING PEOPLE AND MARKET IT AS ORIGINAL WORK BY "ARTISTS" WHO COULDN"T SING THEIR WAY OUT OF A GODDAMN PAPER BAG. A LOT OF MONEY IS COMING TO ME AND THERE WILL BE VENGEANCE. I WILL TAKE THREM ALLDOWN AND YOU WIL HAVE HEARD OF ME BY THE TIME THE DUST SETTLES.

There's a clue in that last paragraph. I can't say much more but know that I am pasisonate about my work and fiercely protective of it. Know this if you decide to contact me and attempt to steal more of my music.

Story Sent in by Dave:

Monica and I had been out on one date already, and for our second date, I invited her over to my apartment, as I had the idea to cook her dinner. After dinner, the plan was to go out for karaoke.

She came over, I served her the meal, and all was well. She excused herself to use my bathroom, at one point, for what seemed to be a while, but then she returned, assured me that everything was okay, and I thought no more of it.

We went out to sing, had a great time, and returned home to our respective houses. For all intents and purposes, a good date.

When I entered my bathroom, I discovered several used shaving cartridges in my bathtub, complete with accompanying piles of shaving cream, hairs, and shaving scum. It looked like a woolly mammoth had shaved in my bathtub.

It struck me as the height of rudeness or absent-mindedness (or both) but I tried to put on a good sense of humor about it. I wrote her an email to let her know that I had a great time on the date, and to ask her, "Why did you shave in my tub?"

She wrote back that she also had a great time, but firmly denied shaving in my bathtub at all. Now dear friends, I know for a fact that the perpetrator wasn't myself, and I was the only person who lived in my apartment. The bathroom was clean before she arrived, and I didn't go into it until after the date was over. No one else, with the exception of the superintendent, had access to my place. Case closed. Fess up.

"I didn't. I wouldn't shave in your bathroom. Sorry!" she wrote.

I was confused and turned off by the whole affair, mostly as I was the one stuck cleaning up the mess, and so I wasn't in a rush to contact her much after that. The next day, I bought a new pack of razor cartridges and did my best to forget about the whole thing.

She contacted me again, a few days later: "Hey, so are we hanging out again? I had a great time with you the other night."

I wrote back, "I'm sorry. I'm still a bit put off by the shaving in my tub. If it wasn't you, then someone must have broken in, shaved, and just left everything else in place. Weird."

She wrote back, "I didn't shave in your tub. Moving on…"

I'm sure she was just humiliated by the whole thing, but I just couldn't get past it. Not so much because of the shaving part, but because she lied about having done it. I ended things, and since then, have taken to hiding my shaving supplies whenever another guest has come to call.

Profile Sent in by Sandra:

I spend a lot of time thinking about:

Twice now I've met women off this site who have sisters who are better matches for me. Never ends well hahahaha. Maybe you can send me a picture, yes, of your sister alongside you and we can take it from there. Nothing personal I just like to weigh my options just like you. If you judge me… I don't know. You will be put up on my blog and I'll write nasty things about you and link it all over the internet with your full name. Maybe that will shut you haters up about it.

Story Sent in by Lily:

Simon wrote to me over a dating site. In his first message, he asked me if I wanted to meet up at a library to read together. It struck me as unconventional, although a poor way to get to know somebody, so I suggested a cafe instead.

He wrote back: "Let us compromise: a first meeting at a library cafe?"

It was weird, but not enough for me to completely dismiss him over it. We met up, as he had wished, in a library cafe. He was already sitting down when I arrived, at a table with two chairs. He sat in one, and a stack of books sat in another.

"Hey," I said, "Mind if I move these?" and I made for the book stack.

He said, "Don't you dare move them. That's where the books sit. You have to find alternate arrangements, I'm afraid."

Okay, then. I found an empty chair at another table, pulled it up, and sat down in it, next to where the books sat. Simon said, "Let's hope that someone else doesn't need that chair. It was at that other table for a reason."

I replied, "Would you rather I just left you alone here with your books?"

"At least they don't talk back. So yeah, I might like that."

I stood up and made my way out of the room. He called, "Hey! Don't disrespect this place! You put that chair back! Hey! I'm talking to you!"

Forgive me if I was a bit more concerned about being disrespected, myself.

Emails Sent in by Joe:

Hi I'm Lauren. Could you pick a few things up for me today? Pick up a half gallon of skim milk (later date the better), total whole grain cereal, a bag of oranges, five cans of black bean soup, a quarter pound of ham, wheat bread, mustard, ketchup, and some cookie dough ice cream. If you can do it before 6 that would be best and bring it to my work NOT to my home, thank you. I'll give you the address once you've picked it all up. I will also pay you back in cash.

Lauren


****************************
Joe Responds:

Hi Lauren.

Did you mean to send this to me? I think you might have entered in the wrong address.

Sincerely,
Joe


****************************
Lauren Responds:

I made no mistake and I meant to send it to you. Figured that an online guy wants to impress so I made it easy for you. I said I'd pay you back. No problem? Let me know or I'll give another guy the chance.


****************************
Joe Responds:

I'd rather not do your shopping for you, so you're better off finding some other guy. Thanks anyway for the opportunity to demonstrate desperation.


****************************
Lauren Responds:

No prob.

Story Sent in by Brendan:

In one of my earlier messages to Elizabeth, I mentioned that I worked at an electronics retailer. That seemed to excite her quite a bit, and she asked me a lot of questions about it: In what department did I work? What was my store discount like? How many coworkers did I have? And so on. The questions were asked in general conversation, rather than as an interrogation, and so I thought it was just her being, well, conversational.

For our first date, I offered to take her out to dinner, and she strongly suggested that I take her to a particular place not at all far from where I worked. It was centrally located, and I didn't think twice about it.

Dinner was fine. She was friendly, we listened when each other spoke, and cracked jokes back and forth. Towards the end of the meal, she said, "So, I couldn't help but notice that we're near where you work."

"So we are."

"Well, do you think we could make a quick stop in there after we're done here?"

I laughed. "Shopping's going to be part of our date?"

She said, "No. But since you work there, I was wondering if I could tap you for advice. I've been considering… you know, purchases."

That was different. It was an opportunity to show off a little bit, granted, in the context of a retail sales job, but even so, such opportunities were few and far between. She seemed to value my opinion, and perhaps that would work out well for me.

After dinner, we walked into my store. Two of my coworkers almost instantly said hi as we walked by. Elizabeth sped ahead to the home entertainment area, where we kept TVs, surround speakers, DVRs, and the like.

She asked me, "Which is the most expensive?"

I showed her our most expensive set-up. She asked, "And what's your discount, again?"

Ah. I saw where this was going. A bit disappointed, I said to her, "It'll still be pricey, even with my discount. Almost negligible."

"Yeah. Well, what's a cheaper set-up? Now that you're here, I'm not letting you go until I use your discount." She gave me a big smile. I found it hard to smile back, as she seemed far more interested in my discount than in me. Plus, management frowned on employees buying a lot of equipment for people other than themselves.

She moved on from the home entertainment area and moved over to the Blu-Ray players and discs. "I don't have a Blu-ray player," she said, "but that will all change tonight, right?" and she slapped my back. Ugh.

She grabbed a stack of Blu-ray discs, about 20 of them, and said, "Let's check out. We'll start with these and then come back."

At the checkout counter, one of my coworkers scanned the discs and took off my discount. Elizabeth handed the clerk her credit card, but in such a way so that it fell behind the checkout counter. While the clerk bent to retrieve it, Elizabeth grabbed a small stack of gift cards, which were located right next to the register, and pocketed them.

I said, "What are you doing? Put those back."

"Shh!" Elizabeth said.

"No, not 'shh.' Put those back right now."

My coworker had stood back up with Elizabeth's card and her attention was fastened to the situation at once.

Elizabeth glanced from her to me and said, "Brendan, I have no idea what you're talking about, so shut up."

I replied, "That stack of gift cards in your pocket. They're worthless anyway, until they're activated at the register. It's just a pocket full of plastic."

Elizabeth reached into her pocket and slammed the cards down onto the checkout counter. "These fell into my pocket," she explained to the checkout clerk, "Whoops."

The clerk scooped them up, ran Elizabeth's card, and frowned at the screen. She said, "It's saying that your card's denied. Do you have another form of payment?"

Elizabeth snatched her card away from the clerk, fished in her purse, and then said to me, "Could you grab these for me? I'll owe you."

"No. I'd just really like to go."

Elizabeth widened her eyes at me. "You're just going to go? Fine. Go. But don't expect to hear from me."

"I hope not to hear from you," I said as I walked out of the store as quickly as I could.

The next time I went into work, I was told that she had tried to light a cigarette in the store and that a manager had to be called over and there had been a screaming match of some sort. Up until I recently left that place, my coworkers teased me about it. "So, how's your klepto girlfriend?" Ah, romance.

Email Sent in by Pamela:

Hey,

I'm Josh and I liked reading your profile. I admire anyone who can make a living in the arts. How did you fall into stage and production management? What's been your biggest challenge so far in that career?

I've been in the area for five years, but I'm still learning new things about what to do and where to go. Do you have a favorite restaurant? I like Donatello's for Italian (although when it's packed, it's louder than an elephant picnic) and Lotus Hill for Japanese. I like rolling my own sushi, so maybe I should open up my own Japanese place.

Fun fact: I would kiss you like how a starving anteater sucks clump upon juicy clump of ants into its gaping maw and swallows it all down. Just thought you should know.

Josh

Story Sent in by Juan:

In college, I met Elsa. She lived locally, but I came from out of state, so she had a car handy whereas I didn't. For our first date, she offered to pick me up and drive us to the nearby town for dinner.

Not five minutes after she had picked me up, as she drove, she breezed right through a stop sign. There was a honk, a tire screech, and I saw a coupe slide into the back of Elsa's car, on her side. It was a low-speed impact, thankfully, but still a shock.

The first thing Elsa did was turn to me. "Did you see what happened?"

I replied, "Yeah. You went through the stop sign and—"

"Stop sign? There was no stop sign!"

I looked back, out my window. The driver of the coupe stepped out of his vehicle and came over to Elsa's side. He was a middle-aged man and seemed genuinely concerned. He asked us, "Are you okay?"

Elsa said, facing the steering wheel, "There was no stop sign."

I stepped out of the car, told the man that we were all right, asked him if he was okay, and looked behind us to see that there truly was a stop sign. Elsa was wholly at fault.

The man tried to talk to her, but all I could hear her say was, "There was no stop sign. There was no stop sign."

The man pulled out his phone, and I did my best to get through to Elsa until the police arrived. That's when Elsa became more animated.

"There may be a stop sign there now, but there wasn't one when I drove into the intersection, before."

The cop said, astutely, "Stop signs don't just appear out of nowhere."

"This one did!" Elsa protested, "This one wasn't there before! I swear to God!"

The cop took statements from me and from the other car driver. I essentially confirmed the coupe-driver's story, and the cop asked me twice if I thought Elsa fit to drive.

"I think so," was all I could reply. After the exchange of insurance information and the issuing of a summons to Elsa, we all climbed back into our respective cars.

Elsa was distraught, and she kept shooting the stop sign dirty looks. "It wasn't there before," she muttered, "It wasn't. I can hear it laughing at me. I hate it."

Instead of driving us to dinner, she drove me back to my place, which I hadn't expected, but it was pretty clear that poor Elsa wanted to be alone for the rest of the night.

Profile Sent in by Kelly:

My favorite books, movies, shows, music, and food:

I like books that are nonfictional. It seems like every book about fiction things is exactly the same. Good guys win, bad guys lose. Real life is more unpredictable than that so I like reading about real life books. Same with movies. Real movies only, for the most part. Movies where bad guys win I think are more entertaining.

Favorite season is spring. Everything smells nicer. Even my stinky regions. I don't know if it's special spores in the air or what that fasten onto my moister parts but there you have it. What do you like most about springtime?

Story Sent in by Tina:

I used to be way more into the local band scene than I am now, and one of the experiences that helped sour me on it all was my time with Ed. He was the frontman for a popular local group in my city, and they booked regular, weekly gigs. He and I met online, and I started to attend his shows.

He took me out on a few dates, and soon made it clear that he was interested in me as more than a friend. He was attractive, talented, and had some solid business acumen to boot. I thought I was lucky.

He and I had planned to go out on a rare Saturday night wherein he didn't have a booking. Less than an hour before he was due to pick me up, he called to tell me that there was a last-minute booking opportunity and that he wanted to take it.

I knew that the band was important to him, and he and I hadn't been dating for too long, so I told him, "That's fine. I'll come to your show. We can postpone the date but maybe grab a drink after the show."

He then uncharacteristically said, "Maybe you shouldn't come."

I asked, "Why not? I love watching you guys."

He replied, "I just don't need you bitter and nasty over this."

"Uh... I'm not either. I offered to watch you perform. Raincheck on the date. It's really okay."

Then he laughed into the phone and finally said, "Sure, whatever. Come if you want to."

I did. It was a sizable crowd. When his group started with their first song, I'm not sure what it was, but his playing, his singing... it was off. It was as if he had already had a few drinks before stepping onstage.

Then, at the end of his second song, he pointed to a girl in the crowd who wasn't me. He said, into his microphone, "Oh my God... you are so beautiful. Who the hell are you?"

If she answered, I didn't hear her. Ed asked, "You here alone?"

Then, I heard a girl's voice answering back, "Here with my boyfriend."

"Fuck him," Ed said, "You are the most beautiful piece of any ass that I've ever seen. Come on up here, love."

Some laughter in the crowd. None came from me. Ed went on, "I said, come on up here. I'm going to give you a night you'll never forget."

Mercifully, one of Ed's band mates commandeered the microphone away and said, "Give us five, folks." He put an arm around Ed and pulled him away.

Ed shoved the guy, then turned, leaped off the stage, and fought his way through the crowd towards where I guessed the other girl was. There was a scuffle, some shouts, that band mate jumped into the fray, fought his way to Ed, and then one of the bouncers became involved, and the other attendees backed away towards the walls, and the last I saw of Ed was him being dragged out to a side door by a bouncer and some other guy.

Ed's band completed a set without him, then, at the end of it, the band mate from before apologized to the crowd on Ed's behalf, and they packed up.

I thought about trying to find Ed after the show, but instead I went home.

He called me the next morning. "Good thing you weren't there last night," he said, "There was almost a riot."

"Oh, I was there," I said.

"You were?" he asked, "Are you sure? I didn't see you."

"Yeah. I'm sure. I was... a little surprised at how you acted. Were you—"

He hung up. That was that.

Email Sent in by Ward:

Hi,

I think you were my burger king salesman tonight, the guy behind the counter. I'm not sure but you look a lot like him. I've been checking out your profile for days and now I am pretty sure you were him. When we meet up for a date can you bring me some mcnuggets? I am totally serious I don't have a problem with you working at burger king at all!: I just love seriously mcnuggets. If you can bring me a bucket of them then I mean I'd be fine just eatin them all in my car all night! Hahahahaha… we could have some fun with it and talk for a while. Let me know. What kind of sauces do you have there now?

Only bring me mcnuggets for free. If you say "I have to charge you for these" then I could've gone to get them myself and not from you. That or a big employees discount. Peace love and godbless.

Eva


**********************************
(Ward says: "Don't work at Burger King.")

Story Sent in by Abe:

Susan was a ballet dancer and part-time instructor. Over one of our online exchanges, I told her that I'd love to see her dance. She invited me to her studio after a class one weekday evening, and I also offered to take her out to dinner afterward.

I arrived just as her class was leaving. She set up some music on a little boom box and performed a short, private performance for me. I was very impressed, and flattered that she'd do this for me on our first meeting. It wasn't expected, but her talent was admirable, and it was enjoyable to watch her perform. She had clearly been at it for a while.

Then, after a particular twirl (the name of which I don't know), she lost her balance and stumbled awkwardly, almost hitting the ground. She didn't, but took another step, then seemed to think better of it. She glanced at me, saw the cringe on my face (it was automatic – I was just concerned that she'd hurt herself) and then she picked up the boom box/CD player and threw it against the wall, where it broke into pieces.

She turned to me, as if for approval. I had jumped back, and almost considered making for the door outright. As if she read my mind, she said, "Maybe we should postpone this. Now I'm in a crappy mood because my boom box is broken and I have to go out and buy another one before the stores close: I have another class to teach here early tomorrow."

"Okay, then," I agreed.

I left. Shortest date I'd ever been on, and the only one that included physical violence. I didn't feel much like contacting her again, and she sure as anything didn't contact me after that.

Story Sent in by Carol:

I was out to dinner on my first date with Fred. He had drank a few beers and his mouth started moving faster than his brain, which seemingly rolled to a stop.

"You are really, really, really, really, really pretty," he told me.

"Thanks," I replied.

He shook his head and leaned in. "You don't understand… you're really, really, really pretty."

"Thank you."

"Oh, you're welcome. Want to get high back at my place? I've got everything."

I said, "No, thank you. We can stay here."

"What if I told you to come back to my place? As in, I'm not asking."

I laughed, but also started to shake a bit. "I'd still have to turn you down, but thanks for the gallant offer."

He laughed himself, then said, "You know I drove my tow truck here. I could disable your car in less than 30 seconds. Then you'd have to come back to my place."

I didn't know if he really had a tow truck and/or if he had really driven it there, but I wasn't about to take chances. "If you did that, I'd call the cops."

"I should tow your car so fast… I'm going to if you don't come home with me."

"You touch my car, I call the cops. Swear to God."

He laughed again, long and hard, then stood up from the table and stumbled out of the pub without paying. I didn't follow him, but it didn't take me long to decide to cut my losses, pay, and leave before he could do anything to my car.

On my way out, I realized that I didn't think he could know which car was mine. I had parked on the street, and he was already inside the pub when I had arrived there. I found my untouched car, nearly jumped into it, and took off.

Before I made it home, he called me. I didn't think it was wise to pick up, but in case… I don't know, really. Stupid, in hindsight, but I picked it up.

"Hey!" he barked, "Which car is yours? I'm gonna tow it."

"I left. You're not towing anything."

Silence. I went on, "So, good night."

"Get back here so I can tow your car. I mean it. You're coming home with me whether you want to or not. I have to tow your car first so come back."

I replied, "All right. I'm on my way. I'll be there in an hour and a half. I have a few errands to run, to pick up some things if I'm coming over."

"Really? Great! See you then! Ha ha!" and he hung up.

I woke up the next morning with a text from him: "U COMMING OR WAT???"

Oh, wouldn't you know it. I forgot to go back to the pub, get towed, and spend the night at his place. Silly, forgetful me.

Email Sent in by Amelia:

Hey sweet baby girl:

I want to ride you like a llama from hell. Full speed across craggy mountaintops. You will not be allowed to fall. I'll give you wings like redbull. A flying bull riding a llama ha that will be us? Thoughts?

Ron

Story Sent in by Dorian:

Alana and I met online. She sounded too good to be true: young professional with a sharp sense of humor. I found myself asking, "Why isn't this girl taken yet?" Well, guess what? I found out why.

My first clue appeared after I suggested going to an upscale place. She said, "I don't know if that's really our speed. Maybe somewhere like a Friday's?"

Friday's, for those who don't know, is a chain restaurant. Not a bad place, and I didn't have a problem with going there, although, something about the way she asked to switch put me on guard.

I wasn't sure what it was until she arrived at the restaurant and all became clear: she had (what I guessed was) a three year old in tow, and he would not shut up.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!" the three year old screamed in greeting.

"Uh, hi..." I replied.

"Yaaaaaaaaaagh!" three year old said.

Alana smiled. Aww. She said, "John-John, say hi to Mr. Dorian."

"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!" said John-John, screaming his guts inside-out.

I asked Alana, "Are you sitting for him, or is he—"

"Nope! He's one-hundred-percent mine!" she said with a big grin.

"Baaaaaaaaaaaagh!" John-John confirmed.

I said, "You forgot to mention that you have a child."

She shrugged. "It's not a big deal. He gets along with everyone."

Another couple walked by. John-John pointed at them and postulated, "Raaaaaaaaaaagh!" loud enough to wake Socrates himself from his deep, thanatological slumber.

I said, "I forgot to mention something, too: I really don't get along with loud, annoying kids."

Alana took slight offense to that, apparently, as she hugged sweet John-John closer to herself and said, "Well, I'm sorry but I'm kind of a package deal."

"It's okay," I said, "Good luck out there," and I left.

Profile Sent in by Hank:

What I'm doing with my life:

I work at a regular old 9-5 lab but I'm starting a side business converting snores to energy. Sound is energy and because everyone snores, there's no way I can't turn energy into more energy at a cheap profit. Rough going now, sure, but I have it on good authority and a lot of physicists that this is possible with the right equipment. Saving up my nickels and dimes for the right equipment then!

So what I'm looking for in a potential mate would likely include someone who snores. That's good news finally for all of you snorers out there, the louder the better! I have access to sleep labs and I have permission to use them on my own projects for prestige purposes. If you snore, we already have something in common! (I snore too) so put your pride on the shelf and write me! If you don't snore, that's okay too as you can put me in touch with snorers probably.

Story Sent in by Melissa:

On my first date with Jeff, we met in a park near a cluster of downtown shops and restaurants. We had planned for a walk, then lunch, then a comedy show. We had communicated mostly through email over the prior two weeks.

The first thing I noticed in person was that he walked at least two steps ahead of me. When I hastened to catch up, he sped up, himself.

"Are we in a race?" I asked him.

"No. It's just my way," he replied, "Unless you want to race."

"Do you think we could walk alongside each other? It would make it easier to talk to you."

"Sure, let's try it."

He tried it for exactly three seconds before reverting back to jetting ahead. I tried to catch up again, but he sped up, faster and faster until he was at a low run. I stopped trying to catch up, but he kept on going.

"I'll meet you at the restaurant," he said, "I have to get us a table, anyway."

At issue was that he never told me to which restaurant we were going. I called him up and asked him. He told me and I met him there. It was nearly deserted inside, and when I sat down across from him, I said, "There wasn't much of a need to run here, was there?"

"There was every reason to run!" he said, "Menu time!" and opened up his menu. A moment later, he put it down and asked me, "Know what you want yet?"

I had barely scanned down the appetizer list. I said, "Can we slow it down just a bit? What's the rush?"

He didn't say anything to that, and I took my time with the menu. We ordered our lunches, they arrived at the table, and his was gone in less than two minutes. As I worked through mine, I caught him glancing at his watches (he had two on) a few times.

"Why two watches?" I asked him.

He explained, "One is the real time, the other is the time it should be."

"Should be?"

"Yeah. It makes me more efficient."

That made no sense to me, and he shortly thereafter flagged down the waitress for the check, which he paid, and I thanked him.

We walked out together, and he asked me, "We still have some time before the comedy show... want to race?"

I was in no sort of footwear for such a thing, and I told him, "I'm not exactly in jogging shoes."

"So go barefoot. I'll go barefoot, too."

"No."

"Fine."

We went to the comedy show, and in contrast to the rest of the date, I had a blast. Jeff, however, was mopey the entire time, didn't laugh at anything, and when it was finally over, he gave me a quick peck on the cheek and said, "See you soon!" before jogging off. That was, I thought, the last that I'd hear of him.

He called me two days later to ask me out again. He had two tickets to a crafts fair. Normally I'd have jumped at the chance, but I informed him that I didn't think that we were a good match. He moaned, groaned, then agreed, and so that was that.

Profile Sent in by Toni:

About me:

I am the hellspawn of two stegasauri and a tar pit. Maybe you've read about me. I was on the cover of sixty magazines last month.

Seriously though I'm Amos and I am on this site to find a woman with whom to create hellspawn of my own. Before they grow hair to disrupt their smoothskin. Like fishes. Or litle jalapenos. Haha I laugh.

Most women I meet on this site don't know their asses from my asses. This presents a problem when it is washing time. If interested, let me know. I will read every email you send off to me.

Story Sent in by Rita:

My friend Paula set me up on a date with her friend, Brad. Brad was a carpenter who did a lot of odd jobs and didn't have much of an income. We went out for a quick coffee date just to get acquainted. He was nice, and he clearly loved carpentry, although he had a bit of a chip on his shoulder, as if the reasons for his lack of financial stability were everyone else's fault but his own.

He did pay for the coffees, and said that he wanted to make me a proper dinner at his place. We arranged a time, and about a week later, I showed up to the address he had given me.

It was a trailer park off the main highway. I arrived with a homemade quiche. When I knocked on the door to the address that Brad had given me, a pencil-thin guy with a sweat-soaked undershirt came to the door. He wasn't Brad.

I said, "Hi, I'm looking for Brad."

The guy looked me up and down, then said, "He's out back."

"Thank you!"

The guy didn't say anything else, but he watched me walk away. When I made it to the trailer's backyard, I found a tent, lit from the inside by a lantern. I called, "Brad?" and Brad unzipped the tent from the inside.

It was stuffed, positively stuffed, with blankets, pillows, and cushions, like a little fort. There barely seemed to be any room within for one person, let alone two, and the smell was a mix between wet dog and public urinal.

"Come on in!" he said.

"No!" I replied, "Are you kidding me?"

He said, "No place like home."

I said, "Right. Can we go inside the trailer? The guy who owns it is your friend, right?"

Brad said, "That's Jay. His mom owns the trailer, but I can't really use it. It's not mine, and this is where I live."

"Can we go somewhere else?"

He looked all around and said, "This is my home. What's wrong with it? Am I too poor for you or something?"

"That has nothing to do with it. I don't want to cram in there, and it smells awful."

Wrong thing to say. He gave me a stunned look, then said, "What the hell is wrong with the way my place smells? I empty a can of Lysol into it every week! It smells like a bed of roses!"

"I'm going to go." I turned and walked off.

"A bed of roses! A bed of roses!" he called after me, over and over.

I made it back to my car. Jay, from the doorway of his mother's trailer, was still there, looking at me as I left. I don't let Paula set me up with anyone anymore.

Email Sent in by Leo:

Hi,

I was going to be a nun but then got smart LOL. In my spare time I'm a girl who can bake and change tires. I can sing (made first cut in American Idol) and I have balls collected in jars. Remind you of something?

Mina

Story Sent in by Dave:

I was on a first date with Amanda. Everything was going well. She was an attractive teacher, and I was (and still am) an editor at a cable channel. We had a lot of stories to share, I kept her laughing, and for all intents and purposes, it seemed exactly the sort of story to not end up on ABCotD.

Our dinners came and we ate and continued to speak, but something strange happened. She was in the middle of telling me all about her family:

"My dad's side is huge. He has eight siblings. Eight! My Uncle Fred started a toy company that was bought out by Kay Bee Toys, and…"

She went on, and I listened along. So far, so good.

"…and my Aunt Sandra is a concert pianist. She… she… uh…"

She trailed off and looked off into space. It prompted me to ask, "Amanda? You okay?"

She raised her arm as if she had a question, then shook it out. I asked, "Arm asleep?"

She said, "No, it's…" She continued with the arm shaking. I waited patiently for her explanation.

"…it's my arm… it… it doesn't want to be on this date with you, anymore."

I smiled and laughed. She did neither. Then, under the table, I felt a shaking. Her left leg swung from side to side. She said, "Oh no… now my left leg doesn't want to date you, either!"

My smile evaporated. What was she doing? I asked, "Uh… I'm sorry to hear about your appendages, but do you want to be here, on this date?"

She nodded vigorously. "I do! I do! I don't know why they're acting up–oh God!"

Her other arm and then her right leg shook like noodles. She looked back and forth as if she was being attacked. She asked her arms, "Why don't you want to be here? Stop it!"

Her head pitched forward, so far that I thought it would land in her food. She wobbled up to her feet, shook her arms as she grabbed her purse, then said, "Whoa!" as she stumbled her way out of the restaurant as if she was someone's marionette. "No, I want to stay!" she said, as her legs carried her out, "I want to stay…"

I didn't stop her. Instead, I finished my dinner, finished part of her dinner, paid the check, and left for home.

I debated writing to her, because, well, she was clearly nuts. Then again, it seemed weird to me to just let things go at that, so I wrote her a one-line, "Hey, I hope everything's okay, good luck out there," message.

She wrote back:

Email Sent in by Raul:

I had a boyfriend but he disappeared! You kind of look like him - bald with a furface. Permit don't mind me ai"m ia little drunk tonight but you can't hold that against me….. my boyfriend disappeared!

We were walking along together and happy then we were in bed and then he wasn't in bed anymore and the apartment smelled like eggs or fartgas and whatever it was he was gone in a cloud of eggfartgas lol.

So…… know where my boyfriend went? I ask becuase you look like him and cook like him eggs. Do you even know how to cook eggs? He gone. Me sad. If you have seen he please let me know he owes me moneies!!

Carla

Story Sent in by Sheron:

Bill and I met online and we made it as far as a first date. He took me to an Italian restaurant and had a wad of gum in his mouth about the size of half a fist. Perhaps he was trying his best to not chew it with his mouth open, but he failed at that, and it was gross.

Less than five minutes in, I had had enough of his lip smacking and chewing, and I asked him, "Would you mind finishing the gum?"

He smiled. "Why? It's still a free country, isn't it?"

"I agree, but it's just kind of interfering with… I don't know… my enjoyment of the date."

"This is me, baby," he said, "I only respect you if you respect me."

I replied, "I do respect you, but–"

He reared his head back and spat the entire wad across the table. It thwacked against my chest and fell into my lap.

I yelled, shot up, and ran for the bathroom to clean myself up. While I was in there, I heard a commotion and raised voices, one of which sounded like Bill. There was a bang, like a fist against a table, and then stomping, and then it quieted down.

Before I could exit, one of the waitresses came into the bathroom to ask me if I was okay. The manager had thrown Bill out. I said that I was fine, just a bit shaken. The manager offered to drive me home, which I thought was very generous, although I had driven there myself, so he offered to walk me out to my car.

In the parking lot, I didn't see any sign of Bill and I made a beeline right for my car. I drove away and as soon as I made it home, I blocked his account. I never heard from him again.

Email Sent in by Marlene:

So I was sitting alone in my room (what else is new?) when I was browsing online personals (see last parentheticals) when I stumbled, head over heels into your profile.

It was as if I was walking along, minding my own business when all of a sudden I fell down some steps!  La la da da dee da… OMFG, SHIT!!!! AAAGAAGAGHHh BAAFFFF(UMMMBBAARFABBARFFBNFFMFM)FN…!!!

I thought it was the end of me! But it wasn't! I am clearly alive for a purpose! Do you believe in fate/destiny? Now I do! And it's all because of you!

I guess the next step is up to you! You will look at my profile! You will read it! You will write me back! I can't wait!

Joey

Story Sent in by Corey:

Tiffany was one of my high school classmates. She was very attractive, but a bit of a loner – quiet, studious, and introverted. I liked her, and so I invited her along whenever my friends and I were up to anything. She seemed grateful, and it helped to open her up a bit, although she always seemed to be particularly attached to me, I guess because I was the one who always invited her along in the first place.

After we all hung out a few times, it became more and more obvious that she liked me. She'd take my arm whenever we walked from place to place, I'd catch her looking at me when she thought I didn't notice, and even my friends asked me when I was planning to ask her out. I liked her, so I did.

Our first date was to a diner. I thought it would be a good chance to learn more about her, one-on-one. True to form, she was more of a listener than a talker, until I finally was able to pry out the fact that she liked to draw.

"What do you like to draw?" I asked her.

She replied, "Okay, I drew you this. I wasn't sure whether or not to bring it, but something told me it was a good idea."

I was blown away. No one had ever drawn me something before. She fished into her bag and pulled out a folded piece of paper. I couldn't wait to see it, and I was probably expecting a masterpiece.

She unfolded it onto the diner table. It was a crude picture of a graveyard, complete with scores of headstones and crosses. Two headstones, side-by-side, in the foreground, were circled in red.

"That's us," she said, a dark smile creeping over her lips, "Where we'll be together."

"Uh…"

She explained, "Most couples spend their time together being dead. A lifetime together and then many more lifetimes together next to each other, in the ground."

"Oh, is… is that right?"

"Yes, but we'll find out for sure, together!"

I took the drawing. "Thank you, Tiffany. I'm very grateful for the picture."

"It came to me in a vision. A vision of our future." She then extended her hand to me, and I took it, if for no other reason than I was a little terrified of what she'd do to me if I didn't.

The rest of dinner passed without any further talk of being buried together, and she was largely quiet. I drove her home.

On my way back to my own place, she called me to say what a great time she had and that she couldn't wait to see me again. I told her that I thought we'd be better off as friends. She screamed, hung up the phone, and literally never spoke another word to me again.