Profile Sent in by Tina:
The most private thing I'm willing to admit:
One time my brother and I stayed up late to try and catch the tooth fairy. My bro hunts with my dad and so we had a machete and two skinning knives. We waited in the black room and then when we heard the tooth fairy came in we jumped out and my bro knifed my dad in the face!!!!! ahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!!! Wasn't funny then byt looking back now it is.
1/31/2012
He Thinks You're a Hydra
Email Sent in by Charlene:
I was in a museum and saw lots of artistic statues that people think are beautiful but many of them do not have heads or arms. People still think these things are beautiful. Do you think that you would still be beautiful without heads or arms? Discuss.
Alfred
I was in a museum and saw lots of artistic statues that people think are beautiful but many of them do not have heads or arms. People still think these things are beautiful. Do you think that you would still be beautiful without heads or arms? Discuss.
Alfred
Labels:
Sketchy E-mails,
Written by a Girl
Winter Is Coming
Story Sent in by Corey:
Elle and I were out on a third date together. To say that I was excited about her was an understatement. We did lunch at a specialty noodle place, and then I suggested that we catch a movie or visit a museum, as it was the dead of winter.
"Let's take a walk by the river! Do you mind?" she asked. I didn't mind. True, it was likely below freezing, but cold river walks meant huddling together, snowball fights, and potential romance.
The sidewalk alongside the river had frozen over, and we had to clutch together and make baby steps. It was pretty ridiculous, but Elle giggled about it, and it seemed as though she was having fun. So was I.
Unexpectedly, she broke away from me and yelled, "Look at me!" then ran down the sidewalk, arms a-flailing. In a slow-motion sort of event, her legs buckled in different directions, and she slammed clumsily onto the pavement.
"Yrrraaaaagghh!" she screamed, then, for emphasis, "Mrraaaaaagh!"
I shuffled over as quickly as I could and helped her up. "Are you okay?" I asked her.
"Now you do it," she said.
"Excuse me?"
"I fell, so now you have to fall. It's fair."
I replied, "I'd rather not fall. Are you sure you're okay?"
"Not until you fall, too. I'm not going to be the only one making an ass out of myself, here."
I mused for a moment, then fake-fell onto the ground. As I picked myself up, I asked, "How was that?"
She shook her head. "No. I actually fell and actually hurt myself. You have to–"
"You hurt yourself? Where? Are you okay?"
"You have to do the same thing. Reciprocity. It's important."
I asked, "So if you accidentally shot yourself in the foot, you'd hand me the gun and expect me to do the same thing?"
"If we were in a relationship? Yeah. That's what a relationship is."
"I'm not going to purposefully hurt myself. You didn't."
"Yes, I did."
"You hurt yourself, but was it on purpose?"
"No."
I recommended that we continue on our way, and if the occasion arose for me to hurt myself, then I would take it. She agreed to that. It still wasn't clear to me if she was kidding around or not, but she seemed in earnest.
The answer came about a minute later, when she walked a bit closer to the river and pointed across it. "What's that?" she asked.
I arrived alongside her and squinted to where she pointed. She then turned to me and attempted to shove me towards the river. Her thick winter outfit, however, made her slow, and I wasn't to be felled that easily.
"Fall," she said, trying repeatedly, "Fall! Fall!"
I didn't fall anywhere, but I said, "Let's head back to the sidewalk. Maybe some hot chocolate will help you feel better."
"I'd feel better if you fell."
"That's nice. Come on."
We walked a bit further down the sidewalk together when she gave me another shove. I was almost knocked off balance and I turned to her. "Stop it. You could really hurt me."
"That's the idea."
"Cut it out."
"No!" she yelled, then tried to knock me down again.
As she did so, her feet kicked out from behind her on the ice and she landed hard on her knees.
"Fraaaaaaaggh!" she screamed.
I went to help her up and once she was on her feet again, she laughed and said, "God obviously hates me! I just keep falling!"
She fell again, that time, I guessed, on purpose. She stood up, then fell again, then again, then again. "I just can't stop falling! God hates me! God hates me!" How she laughed and laughed!
"Elle," I said, "Come on, let's get you someplace warm."
"No!" she shrieked, "I'm just going to keep falling forever! I'll die falling! That's obviously what God wants!"
She stood up and made herself fall a few more times. I said, "Why don't I just meet you at Rook's," referring to a nearby cafe with amazing hot chocolate.
She didn't answer, but continuously threw herself into the snow. I tromped through the snow, away from her, made it the two-block walk to Rook's, ordered a hot chocolate, and waited for her to stop being silly.
She never arrived. They found her skeleton in a hollow by the river at the spring thaw. Just kidding about that last bit. Still, it was probably the most insane I'd ever seen another person become, and I'm in no hurry to see such a thing again.
Elle and I were out on a third date together. To say that I was excited about her was an understatement. We did lunch at a specialty noodle place, and then I suggested that we catch a movie or visit a museum, as it was the dead of winter.
"Let's take a walk by the river! Do you mind?" she asked. I didn't mind. True, it was likely below freezing, but cold river walks meant huddling together, snowball fights, and potential romance.
The sidewalk alongside the river had frozen over, and we had to clutch together and make baby steps. It was pretty ridiculous, but Elle giggled about it, and it seemed as though she was having fun. So was I.
Unexpectedly, she broke away from me and yelled, "Look at me!" then ran down the sidewalk, arms a-flailing. In a slow-motion sort of event, her legs buckled in different directions, and she slammed clumsily onto the pavement.
"Yrrraaaaagghh!" she screamed, then, for emphasis, "Mrraaaaaagh!"
I shuffled over as quickly as I could and helped her up. "Are you okay?" I asked her.
"Now you do it," she said.
"Excuse me?"
"I fell, so now you have to fall. It's fair."
I replied, "I'd rather not fall. Are you sure you're okay?"
"Not until you fall, too. I'm not going to be the only one making an ass out of myself, here."
I mused for a moment, then fake-fell onto the ground. As I picked myself up, I asked, "How was that?"
She shook her head. "No. I actually fell and actually hurt myself. You have to–"
"You hurt yourself? Where? Are you okay?"
"You have to do the same thing. Reciprocity. It's important."
I asked, "So if you accidentally shot yourself in the foot, you'd hand me the gun and expect me to do the same thing?"
"If we were in a relationship? Yeah. That's what a relationship is."
"I'm not going to purposefully hurt myself. You didn't."
"Yes, I did."
"You hurt yourself, but was it on purpose?"
"No."
I recommended that we continue on our way, and if the occasion arose for me to hurt myself, then I would take it. She agreed to that. It still wasn't clear to me if she was kidding around or not, but she seemed in earnest.
The answer came about a minute later, when she walked a bit closer to the river and pointed across it. "What's that?" she asked.
I arrived alongside her and squinted to where she pointed. She then turned to me and attempted to shove me towards the river. Her thick winter outfit, however, made her slow, and I wasn't to be felled that easily.
"Fall," she said, trying repeatedly, "Fall! Fall!"
I didn't fall anywhere, but I said, "Let's head back to the sidewalk. Maybe some hot chocolate will help you feel better."
"I'd feel better if you fell."
"That's nice. Come on."
We walked a bit further down the sidewalk together when she gave me another shove. I was almost knocked off balance and I turned to her. "Stop it. You could really hurt me."
"That's the idea."
"Cut it out."
"No!" she yelled, then tried to knock me down again.
As she did so, her feet kicked out from behind her on the ice and she landed hard on her knees.
"Fraaaaaaaggh!" she screamed.
I went to help her up and once she was on her feet again, she laughed and said, "God obviously hates me! I just keep falling!"
She fell again, that time, I guessed, on purpose. She stood up, then fell again, then again, then again. "I just can't stop falling! God hates me! God hates me!" How she laughed and laughed!
"Elle," I said, "Come on, let's get you someplace warm."
"No!" she shrieked, "I'm just going to keep falling forever! I'll die falling! That's obviously what God wants!"
She stood up and made herself fall a few more times. I said, "Why don't I just meet you at Rook's," referring to a nearby cafe with amazing hot chocolate.
She didn't answer, but continuously threw herself into the snow. I tromped through the snow, away from her, made it the two-block walk to Rook's, ordered a hot chocolate, and waited for her to stop being silly.
She never arrived. They found her skeleton in a hollow by the river at the spring thaw. Just kidding about that last bit. Still, it was probably the most insane I'd ever seen another person become, and I'm in no hurry to see such a thing again.
Labels:
Stories,
Written by a Guy
1/30/2012
Pregnant with Terror
Profile Sent in by Joe:
About me:
I am about as normal as a girl you can find. I have a proportional head to my middle to my legs to my feets. So grateful for my fam and friends. My favorite drinks are orange juice (the fresh squeezed one). I am an open book you ask I answer. I am a nanny and I watch children. Not my own children I do not have my own children. Yet. I want my own children so that I can finally watch my own and care for them. Ha I sort of care for the children I watch now but they're different when they're yours. They are precious and part of you forever and ever. Everyone else's don't mean a toilet pile after that. Can't wait to be pregnant and glowing!
About me:
I am about as normal as a girl you can find. I have a proportional head to my middle to my legs to my feets. So grateful for my fam and friends. My favorite drinks are orange juice (the fresh squeezed one). I am an open book you ask I answer. I am a nanny and I watch children. Not my own children I do not have my own children. Yet. I want my own children so that I can finally watch my own and care for them. Ha I sort of care for the children I watch now but they're different when they're yours. They are precious and part of you forever and ever. Everyone else's don't mean a toilet pile after that. Can't wait to be pregnant and glowing!
Labels:
Peculiar Profiles
When "Maybe" Means "Yes"
Emails Sent in by Jonathan:
Hi Jon.
I'll answer each of your questions but you need to answer me something first. Why did your last relationship break up?
Sara
*******************************************
Jon Responds:
Hi Sara,
My last relationship ended after my girlfriend slept with my uncle. I hope that this answers your question.
Sincerely,
Jon
*******************************************
Sara Responds:
Whoh. Bitter much? Maybe you drove her too it. Nothing is ever entirely a single person's fault.
*******************************************
Jon Responds:
She could have been just as equally driven to talk to me about what was wrong. However, she made her choice, her choice was her own, and I believe that she should take full responsibility for it. Now, I asked you some rather light questions about your job and your family. Let's get back to that, if you don't mind.
*******************************************
Sara Responds:
If it was a dick size thing then it kinda would be your fault. Not intentional on your part but still. Just saying.
*******************************************
Jon Responds:
Or maybe she was just an idiot. Like you.
*******************************************
Sara Responds:
yeah maybe.
Hi Jon.
I'll answer each of your questions but you need to answer me something first. Why did your last relationship break up?
Sara
*******************************************
Jon Responds:
Hi Sara,
My last relationship ended after my girlfriend slept with my uncle. I hope that this answers your question.
Sincerely,
Jon
*******************************************
Sara Responds:
Whoh. Bitter much? Maybe you drove her too it. Nothing is ever entirely a single person's fault.
*******************************************
Jon Responds:
She could have been just as equally driven to talk to me about what was wrong. However, she made her choice, her choice was her own, and I believe that she should take full responsibility for it. Now, I asked you some rather light questions about your job and your family. Let's get back to that, if you don't mind.
*******************************************
Sara Responds:
If it was a dick size thing then it kinda would be your fault. Not intentional on your part but still. Just saying.
*******************************************
Jon Responds:
Or maybe she was just an idiot. Like you.
*******************************************
Sara Responds:
yeah maybe.
Labels:
Sketchy E-mails,
Written by a Guy
It's a Man's Life
Story Sent in by Angelica:
I used to write a dating column for a local paper. It was, perhaps, a silly endeavor. After all, there were only so many people who read it in the surrounding counties, and whenever a guy I was dating found out about it, he'd ask, "Oh, so you're just doing research?" or "I'm not going to show up in it, am I? Ha ha!" I therefore usually kept it on the DL. In any event, I tried to keep it general and did my best to only use dates I had been on as examples when I had to, and of course, I always changed the names of those unfortunate souls.
Enter Clark. I told him from the get-go that I was in journalism, but I never specifically mentioned what it was that I wrote. If he ever read that particular paper, then there was an even chance that he already knew. As it turned out, he did already know, but not because I told him. He kept quiet about it until we met in person at a local mom and pop coffee house. We sat down together on our first date and he pulled out three papers: The New York Times, The Wall Street Journal, and The Los Angeles Times.
"Behold, three papers," he said, "Which do you most want to write for?"
"The New York Times," I replied.
He opened up The New York Times in front of his face and read it to himself, without saying another word to me. I asked him, "So… how was work this week?"
He replied, "In the 50s, women would fetch men a pipe or their slippers while they read the paper."
"It's 2009, and women don't really do that anymore," I said.
"You write a dating column," he said, not lowering the paper, "I've read it."
Oh boy. "Yes, I do."
He put the paper down and said, "Let me tell you something: the men of this town have had it with you. We're going to revolt, and you'll never write for another paper again, much less The New York Times."
"You're going to revolt?"
He said, "You're not the only one who talks down to men. A lot of women do, and a lot of women read your column. We're not stupid. If you bring me a pipe and slippers now, then I'll go back to my men and tell them that you've repaid the debt."
"What?"
He repeated, "Bring me a pipe and slippers. Know your place, and I'll report back to my men that you know your place and that you're not a threat and we therefore won't revolt. Need me to use smaller words?"
I had to ask, "Are you nuts?"
He said, "No. There's almost two dozen of us who are sick of your column, and you're just getting too close to certain things. Bring me a pipe and slippers. I'll wait here. Otherwise I'm not responsible for what happens next: you are."
"Two dozen guys read my column?" I mused, "That's great."
He stuck out his sneaker-clad feet from under the table. "You're not doing as I asked. We just want to make sure that you remember certain things."
I smiled, said, "Okay," then stood up and left the coffee shop. I then went into a local drug store, browsed their toy aisle, and found a little bag of plastic army men. I bought them and returned to the coffee shop. To my slight surprise, Clark was still there, on his cell phone. When he saw me, he hung up, then sat back in his seat.
I pulled out the bag of army men and opened them up.
"What are you doing?" he asked. I didn't answer, but I set them all up on the table, guns and weapons facing him. He asked, "Did you bring me slippers and a pipe? Did you?"
I didn't answer, but I continued to set up the men until the bag was empty and there was a small plastic army facing him. I then lowered myself down so that my head was almost touching the table, and I gave him a dastardly smirk.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
I replied, "This is what I think of you and your 'men.'" I then knocked the army men over with a hand and said, "I'm not bringing you anything but a lot of hurt." I then gave him a toothy smile.
He said, "Okay, nutjob," then finished his coffee and left. Goal achieved: sometimes you have to fight lunacy with lunacy. As for Clark and his supposed "men," I never heard from any of them, but to be safe, I didn't write a thing about the incident until now, now that I've moved away and no longer write for that paper.
I used to write a dating column for a local paper. It was, perhaps, a silly endeavor. After all, there were only so many people who read it in the surrounding counties, and whenever a guy I was dating found out about it, he'd ask, "Oh, so you're just doing research?" or "I'm not going to show up in it, am I? Ha ha!" I therefore usually kept it on the DL. In any event, I tried to keep it general and did my best to only use dates I had been on as examples when I had to, and of course, I always changed the names of those unfortunate souls.
Enter Clark. I told him from the get-go that I was in journalism, but I never specifically mentioned what it was that I wrote. If he ever read that particular paper, then there was an even chance that he already knew. As it turned out, he did already know, but not because I told him. He kept quiet about it until we met in person at a local mom and pop coffee house. We sat down together on our first date and he pulled out three papers: The New York Times, The Wall Street Journal, and The Los Angeles Times.
"Behold, three papers," he said, "Which do you most want to write for?"
"The New York Times," I replied.
He opened up The New York Times in front of his face and read it to himself, without saying another word to me. I asked him, "So… how was work this week?"
He replied, "In the 50s, women would fetch men a pipe or their slippers while they read the paper."
"It's 2009, and women don't really do that anymore," I said.
"You write a dating column," he said, not lowering the paper, "I've read it."
Oh boy. "Yes, I do."
He put the paper down and said, "Let me tell you something: the men of this town have had it with you. We're going to revolt, and you'll never write for another paper again, much less The New York Times."
"You're going to revolt?"
He said, "You're not the only one who talks down to men. A lot of women do, and a lot of women read your column. We're not stupid. If you bring me a pipe and slippers now, then I'll go back to my men and tell them that you've repaid the debt."
"What?"
He repeated, "Bring me a pipe and slippers. Know your place, and I'll report back to my men that you know your place and that you're not a threat and we therefore won't revolt. Need me to use smaller words?"
I had to ask, "Are you nuts?"
He said, "No. There's almost two dozen of us who are sick of your column, and you're just getting too close to certain things. Bring me a pipe and slippers. I'll wait here. Otherwise I'm not responsible for what happens next: you are."
"Two dozen guys read my column?" I mused, "That's great."
He stuck out his sneaker-clad feet from under the table. "You're not doing as I asked. We just want to make sure that you remember certain things."
I smiled, said, "Okay," then stood up and left the coffee shop. I then went into a local drug store, browsed their toy aisle, and found a little bag of plastic army men. I bought them and returned to the coffee shop. To my slight surprise, Clark was still there, on his cell phone. When he saw me, he hung up, then sat back in his seat.
I pulled out the bag of army men and opened them up.
"What are you doing?" he asked. I didn't answer, but I set them all up on the table, guns and weapons facing him. He asked, "Did you bring me slippers and a pipe? Did you?"
I didn't answer, but I continued to set up the men until the bag was empty and there was a small plastic army facing him. I then lowered myself down so that my head was almost touching the table, and I gave him a dastardly smirk.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
I replied, "This is what I think of you and your 'men.'" I then knocked the army men over with a hand and said, "I'm not bringing you anything but a lot of hurt." I then gave him a toothy smile.
He said, "Okay, nutjob," then finished his coffee and left. Goal achieved: sometimes you have to fight lunacy with lunacy. As for Clark and his supposed "men," I never heard from any of them, but to be safe, I didn't write a thing about the incident until now, now that I've moved away and no longer write for that paper.
Labels:
Stories,
Written by a Girl
1/29/2012
Internet: Loser Lubrication
Profile Sent in by Esther:
About me:
Wine: social lubrication. Compassion: emotional lubrication. Sweat: physical lubrication between two bodies. All three combined makes for a great night!
Oh is that risque? I am just that type of guy lol! I sit back on the monkey bars of life! You call up to me I answer, but only with that special lubrication! Badadadadum!
Oh my sense of humor takes some getting used to but (oil me!) it is well worth it!
Labels:
Peculiar Profiles
It Takes Two to Toga
Story Sent in by Keira:
Arthur and I spoke for a little while online before we met in person. He was a manager at a housewares store, was always brimming with compliments, and he made me laugh a lot. When he asked me out for drinks, it was easy to say yes.
When I arrived for the date, he was already there. He was dressed in a toga, and the only other thing he wore was a large chain with a Penn State medallion on it. Arthur, I should add, was almost 30, and way out of college.
He gave me a warm greeting, and while it was good to finally meet him, I had to ask, "Why a toga?"
He replied, "It's my weekend outfit. It's just comfortable, and just what I wear. Nothing restrictive, letting it all just flab out or flop down. You know, common decency notwithstanding."
I pointed to his medallion. He had previously mentioned going to Kenyon as an undergrad. "You went to Penn State?"
He said, "No, that's just my bling. Want a drink?"
I sat next to him and ordered a Cape Codder. He ordered a Long Island Iced Tea, then another one, and then he was drunk. He developed a rapidly annoying habit of putting his arm around me and talking at full volume into my ear. I pushed away each time, but he couldn't really pick up the hint.
He ran his mouth about, of all things, tapestries: "…and after I visited the Cloisters, I knew that I had to get my own set of tapestries, but they're expensive so then I thought I could make them myself so I bought half of the supplies to make them but turns out you need all of the supplies, not just half, so I…"
I didn't want to be rude, but I definitely became less and less comfortable, and I wanted to leave. Soon enough, though, he made the decision for me. He swung himself around to face me, parted his legs a little bit, and said, "You have perfect thighs. May I mount one? Just for a second."
I stood up and said, "I'm going to the bathroom. I'll be right back."
"Okay!" he replied.
I left. He called me three times over the course of the day, I didn't pick up, and that was that.
Arthur and I spoke for a little while online before we met in person. He was a manager at a housewares store, was always brimming with compliments, and he made me laugh a lot. When he asked me out for drinks, it was easy to say yes.
When I arrived for the date, he was already there. He was dressed in a toga, and the only other thing he wore was a large chain with a Penn State medallion on it. Arthur, I should add, was almost 30, and way out of college.
He gave me a warm greeting, and while it was good to finally meet him, I had to ask, "Why a toga?"
He replied, "It's my weekend outfit. It's just comfortable, and just what I wear. Nothing restrictive, letting it all just flab out or flop down. You know, common decency notwithstanding."
I pointed to his medallion. He had previously mentioned going to Kenyon as an undergrad. "You went to Penn State?"
He said, "No, that's just my bling. Want a drink?"
I sat next to him and ordered a Cape Codder. He ordered a Long Island Iced Tea, then another one, and then he was drunk. He developed a rapidly annoying habit of putting his arm around me and talking at full volume into my ear. I pushed away each time, but he couldn't really pick up the hint.
He ran his mouth about, of all things, tapestries: "…and after I visited the Cloisters, I knew that I had to get my own set of tapestries, but they're expensive so then I thought I could make them myself so I bought half of the supplies to make them but turns out you need all of the supplies, not just half, so I…"
I didn't want to be rude, but I definitely became less and less comfortable, and I wanted to leave. Soon enough, though, he made the decision for me. He swung himself around to face me, parted his legs a little bit, and said, "You have perfect thighs. May I mount one? Just for a second."
I stood up and said, "I'm going to the bathroom. I'll be right back."
"Okay!" he replied.
I left. He called me three times over the course of the day, I didn't pick up, and that was that.
Labels:
Stories,
Written by a Girl
1/28/2012
Loose Lips Sink Hips
Email Sent in by Devon:
If you wanted a type of lipstick that they only had in Nebraska then I would drive all the way out and grab it for you. I am that kind of guy. You would in return have to service me orally.
"THAT'S NOT FAIR" I hear you say because lipstick is lipstick and oral is oral.
Well you are right but by the time you figured that out would would have you new lipstick and those lips would be servicing me if you know what that means.
Hiho,
Julian
If you wanted a type of lipstick that they only had in Nebraska then I would drive all the way out and grab it for you. I am that kind of guy. You would in return have to service me orally.
"THAT'S NOT FAIR" I hear you say because lipstick is lipstick and oral is oral.
Well you are right but by the time you figured that out would would have you new lipstick and those lips would be servicing me if you know what that means.
Hiho,
Julian
Labels:
Sketchy E-mails,
Written by a Girl
In Other News: Woman Thrown Overboard
Story Sent in by Andrew:
Stephanie professed a love of animals on her profile, and she even had included photos of herself with a killer whale and with an elephant. I like animals as much as the average person, I'd say, but I liked Stephanie's smile and outgoing personality even more, so I messaged her and engaged her on the topic of animals. She had a lot to say, and I offered to continue the conversation with a dinner date.
At dinner, Stephanie sat down across from me, and said, "So, I'm in a bit of a sea turtle phase at the moment, so you can call me 'Stephanie the sea turtle!'"
"All right. Do you do work with sea turtles?"
"I'm going with the University of Delaware's Marine Science Program on a trip to study them. They picked me to go with them out of hundreds of applicants. I'm going to swim with them and be as one with them."
"That's great. How'd you swing that?"
"I lied on my application to the program and said that I had a Ph.D. in marine biology. I just really want to swim with the sea turtles."
I frowned. "What if they ask you some marine biology-related questions?"
"Stephanie the sea turtle knows them all."
"Okay. When did sea turtles first appear in the fossil record?"
Without taking a moment to think, she replied, "About a million billion years ago. They've always been around. Longer than dinosaurs."
"I see. What's the genus and species of the sea turtles you're going to study?"
She replied, "Sea turtle."
"What if they ask to see your dissertation?"
"They did. I'm sending it in to them. It's 'borrowed' from someone, but it's from a really obscure college that they've probably never heard of."
I said, "But they can still probably do a search. Aren't those types of academic papers public, so that they can stand against review and all that?" I've never done a dissertation, so I'm (still) not sure how the process works.
She said, "They haven't yet, and if they do, then I'll hopefully be at sea with the turtles by then, and what will they do? Throw me overboard?"
She laughed and snorted. I laughed along with her. The waitress came over and asked us if we were ready to order. I let Stephanie go first, and her exact words were, "Stephanie the sea turtle will have the eggplant parmesan," and then she looked the waitress in the eye and asked, "Do I look like I've done a dissertation?"
The waitress said, "Absolutely."
Stephanie turned to me and said, "See? It'll be fine."
I ordered my own food, and Stephanie talked more about sea turtles: their variety of color, their voices, their shells, and their beautiful eyes. Finally, after our dinner was served, she made it around to asking me, "What's your favorite animal, then?"
I replied, "I'm not sure. Bears, maybe."
"Not sea turtles?"
"No."
Stephanie said, "Oh. I mean, we've spent so much time talking about sea turtles that I thought that… I don't know. That we had that in common."
"We can still like different animals, Stephanie."
She didn't respond, and she shot me dark looks for the rest of dinner. I asked her a few more questions about herself (non-sea turtle related) and she gave me short answers, as if she didn't really want to be there anymore.
After a particularly painful length of silence, she murmured into her lap, "Stephanie the sea turtle is the best sea turtle ever. I'm even going to fool the sea turtles."
"I'm sure you are," I said.
She looked up at me and asked, "You heard that?"
"Well, you said it loud enough for me to hear."
"Oh. Okay."
Showing none of the excitement that she had exhibited before, she split the check with me, we walked out together, she bade me a hasty goodnight, and off she went to go back to her house, or pen, or tank, or wherever she came from.
Stephanie professed a love of animals on her profile, and she even had included photos of herself with a killer whale and with an elephant. I like animals as much as the average person, I'd say, but I liked Stephanie's smile and outgoing personality even more, so I messaged her and engaged her on the topic of animals. She had a lot to say, and I offered to continue the conversation with a dinner date.
At dinner, Stephanie sat down across from me, and said, "So, I'm in a bit of a sea turtle phase at the moment, so you can call me 'Stephanie the sea turtle!'"
"All right. Do you do work with sea turtles?"
"I'm going with the University of Delaware's Marine Science Program on a trip to study them. They picked me to go with them out of hundreds of applicants. I'm going to swim with them and be as one with them."
"That's great. How'd you swing that?"
"I lied on my application to the program and said that I had a Ph.D. in marine biology. I just really want to swim with the sea turtles."
I frowned. "What if they ask you some marine biology-related questions?"
"Stephanie the sea turtle knows them all."
"Okay. When did sea turtles first appear in the fossil record?"
Without taking a moment to think, she replied, "About a million billion years ago. They've always been around. Longer than dinosaurs."
"I see. What's the genus and species of the sea turtles you're going to study?"
She replied, "Sea turtle."
"What if they ask to see your dissertation?"
"They did. I'm sending it in to them. It's 'borrowed' from someone, but it's from a really obscure college that they've probably never heard of."
I said, "But they can still probably do a search. Aren't those types of academic papers public, so that they can stand against review and all that?" I've never done a dissertation, so I'm (still) not sure how the process works.
She said, "They haven't yet, and if they do, then I'll hopefully be at sea with the turtles by then, and what will they do? Throw me overboard?"
She laughed and snorted. I laughed along with her. The waitress came over and asked us if we were ready to order. I let Stephanie go first, and her exact words were, "Stephanie the sea turtle will have the eggplant parmesan," and then she looked the waitress in the eye and asked, "Do I look like I've done a dissertation?"
The waitress said, "Absolutely."
Stephanie turned to me and said, "See? It'll be fine."
I ordered my own food, and Stephanie talked more about sea turtles: their variety of color, their voices, their shells, and their beautiful eyes. Finally, after our dinner was served, she made it around to asking me, "What's your favorite animal, then?"
I replied, "I'm not sure. Bears, maybe."
"Not sea turtles?"
"No."
Stephanie said, "Oh. I mean, we've spent so much time talking about sea turtles that I thought that… I don't know. That we had that in common."
"We can still like different animals, Stephanie."
She didn't respond, and she shot me dark looks for the rest of dinner. I asked her a few more questions about herself (non-sea turtle related) and she gave me short answers, as if she didn't really want to be there anymore.
After a particularly painful length of silence, she murmured into her lap, "Stephanie the sea turtle is the best sea turtle ever. I'm even going to fool the sea turtles."
"I'm sure you are," I said.
She looked up at me and asked, "You heard that?"
"Well, you said it loud enough for me to hear."
"Oh. Okay."
Showing none of the excitement that she had exhibited before, she split the check with me, we walked out together, she bade me a hasty goodnight, and off she went to go back to her house, or pen, or tank, or wherever she came from.
Labels:
Stories,
Written by a Guy
1/27/2012
The Apple Should've Fallen Further
Profile Sent in by Elle:
About me:
I have three cars all of which I bought with my own cash flow! Suck it, mom and dad!
A date with you and I will mean that you (obviously pretty) will come with me to my parents house so they can see who I'm rolling with these days. Then I'll take you out somewhere, I don't know. wherever you want.
If things go well, we'll go out again, natch. Simple, straight shooting.
Labels:
Peculiar Profiles
Stick to Your Guns
Emails Sent in by Phil:
Hey I like your profile but I was wondering about something. On it you say that you want women, but could I convince you to also like guys? I ask because the idea of seeing a guy with another guy right in front of me is pretty good and I was wondering if you would be interested?
Amy
******************************************************
Phil Responds:
Amy,
Is there money involved?
Phil
******************************************************
Amy Responds:
Uhhhhh.... no but you get to have a good time with another guy in front of me lol. I don't have money and maybe I'll let you do something quick to me, like touch a breast or something.
Amy
******************************************************
Phil Responds:
No deal.
******************************************************
Amy Responds:
K.
Labels:
Sketchy E-mails,
Written by a Guy
That's Not for Sale
Story Sent in by Marissa:
Jeffrey and I met up at a mall on a rainy day for our first meeting. We had lunch in a restaurant, then walked around, sat down for a bit, then walked around some more.
It would have been fine, aside from the fact that at one point, after I told Jeffrey an embarrassing story about my past, he put his arm around me as if to console me, but as a joke. Then, he kept his arm there, which I thought was a bit forward, and then, he reached down with that same arm and pinched my rear.
"Hey!" I said, and pulled away from him, "None of that."
"Ever?" he asked.
I replied, "Um, not today. That's a little much."
He beckoned to me. "Come here," he said, and walked further away, then added, when he saw I wasn't following, "I promise, nothing bad. Just follow me for a sec. Please."
I did. We walked to an under-populated stairwell and walked up a flight, so that we were on a landing where no one else was. I thought that there was a particular store that he wanted to check out, or else–
He turned to me on the landing, said, "That's not a little much. This is," and then shot his hand toward my lap.
I was able to hit his hand away in time. He tried again with his other hand. I grabbed his wrist and bent his fingers back.
"Yeeeooow!" he screeched, then ripped his hand away, looked at his fingers, said, "You psycho bitch!" then ran upstairs.
I was shocked by what had happened, but I quickly headed downstairs, out of the mall, and home, before he could change his mind about my "psychosis" or my perceived receptiveness to his advances.
Jeffrey and I met up at a mall on a rainy day for our first meeting. We had lunch in a restaurant, then walked around, sat down for a bit, then walked around some more.
It would have been fine, aside from the fact that at one point, after I told Jeffrey an embarrassing story about my past, he put his arm around me as if to console me, but as a joke. Then, he kept his arm there, which I thought was a bit forward, and then, he reached down with that same arm and pinched my rear.
"Hey!" I said, and pulled away from him, "None of that."
"Ever?" he asked.
I replied, "Um, not today. That's a little much."
He beckoned to me. "Come here," he said, and walked further away, then added, when he saw I wasn't following, "I promise, nothing bad. Just follow me for a sec. Please."
I did. We walked to an under-populated stairwell and walked up a flight, so that we were on a landing where no one else was. I thought that there was a particular store that he wanted to check out, or else–
He turned to me on the landing, said, "That's not a little much. This is," and then shot his hand toward my lap.
I was able to hit his hand away in time. He tried again with his other hand. I grabbed his wrist and bent his fingers back.
"Yeeeooow!" he screeched, then ripped his hand away, looked at his fingers, said, "You psycho bitch!" then ran upstairs.
I was shocked by what had happened, but I quickly headed downstairs, out of the mall, and home, before he could change his mind about my "psychosis" or my perceived receptiveness to his advances.
Labels:
Stories,
Written by a Girl
1/26/2012
That Must Exist on YouTube Somewhere
Profile Sent in by Crystal:
About me:
My most prized possessions are my books. Not my gadgets, not my childhood toys, not baseball cards. Books are magic. I believe that with every sense of the word.
Just the other day I was reading one of my national geographic books and read about the rhino. They have horns sticking out of their nose and not the musical kind! These horns are made of tightly packed hairs. Try to pack your own hairs together as tight as you might but it won't get that tight.
Speaking of hairs, pubic hair is really gross to have caught in your throat. I speak from experience if you know what I mean. Do you think rhinos have pubic hair or do you think they have lots of little pubic horns as a result of their hair being so tightly packed into their nose horn? These are the things I think about and about rhinos going down on each other. Books are magic.
About me:
My most prized possessions are my books. Not my gadgets, not my childhood toys, not baseball cards. Books are magic. I believe that with every sense of the word.
Just the other day I was reading one of my national geographic books and read about the rhino. They have horns sticking out of their nose and not the musical kind! These horns are made of tightly packed hairs. Try to pack your own hairs together as tight as you might but it won't get that tight.
Speaking of hairs, pubic hair is really gross to have caught in your throat. I speak from experience if you know what I mean. Do you think rhinos have pubic hair or do you think they have lots of little pubic horns as a result of their hair being so tightly packed into their nose horn? These are the things I think about and about rhinos going down on each other. Books are magic.
Labels:
Peculiar Profiles
You Could Just Date a Rock
Email Sent in by Connor:
Hi Connor.
Thank you for your inbox message. You ask a lot of good questions. My question to you is: could you survive a relationship with no intercourse ever? We can still breed but I will have your semen artificially inserted while I am under general anesthesia. Once you get to know me better I will explain all the whys and whats but I figure that before we move into knowing each other tenderly you should know this upfront and center. If I see a single sp3rm at all then I don't care if we've been together months, years, decades, centuries, or millennia. Sperm=breakup.
Terri
Hi Connor.
Thank you for your inbox message. You ask a lot of good questions. My question to you is: could you survive a relationship with no intercourse ever? We can still breed but I will have your semen artificially inserted while I am under general anesthesia. Once you get to know me better I will explain all the whys and whats but I figure that before we move into knowing each other tenderly you should know this upfront and center. If I see a single sp3rm at all then I don't care if we've been together months, years, decades, centuries, or millennia. Sperm=breakup.
Terri
Labels:
Sketchy E-mails,
Written by a Guy
Sensitivity Impaired
Story Sent in by Marc:
In one of my early online conversations with Debbie, she mentioned that she liked carnations, their variety of color, and all that. Because I thought it would be nice, I picked up a small bouquet of them right before our first date, which was to be at a small neighborhood restaurant.
I gave them to her upon meeting her, and she seemed truly flattered. She thanked me several times, and then we went inside to eat.
As we slipped into conversation, she asked me, "Have I told you about my brother at all?"
"Not much aside from the fact that you have one, and that he's ill?"
She nodded. "Cerebral palsy. He's at Marren Treatment Center. He loves carnations, too. I think it's the colors. I was going to visit him after dinner."
After dinner, according to the plans that Debbie and I had made, we were supposed to go to another place that was having live music. Perhaps she had forgotten.
I asked, "Are we still going to Soft Note?"
She said, "Oh! I forgot that. Um, sure, we can still go. Can we hit Marren first? It won't take long."
"I can just meet you at Soft Note. I don't want to impose or interrupt the time you're spending with your brother."
"You won't be imposing! I just want to stop in, show him the flowers you gave me, and then we can go."
Sounded quick, and also sounded important to her. I didn't mind the side trip, and so I followed her in my car to the treatment center.
Her brother, Paul, to put it gently, had a pretty severe case of CP. He was in a wheelchair and couldn't seem to move without some difficulty, although he definitely reacted with some excitement when he saw his sister with the flowers. She handed them to him, and he swung them back and forth, like a baseball bat, until he became tired.
"He really likes them," Debbie said, "Would you mind if he kept them?"
"Not at all." They were Debbie's flowers, and she was free to do what she wanted with them. Giving them to her sick brother, I thought, was a sweet gesture.
We had been there for about a half-hour when I asked, "Did you want to head to Soft Note soon?"
She said, "In just a little bit. I haven't been here to see him in over a year."
A realization hit me. I asked, "So you decided to see him the night of our date?"
She replied, "Well, yeah. The flowers reminded me of him, and we were in the area." She then postured her forearms upright against her chest, rocked back and forth, and said, "Durr! Durr! Durr!" in what I guessed was meant to be an impersonation of her brother.
It was odd that not only had she not visited her sick, local brother in over a year, but that of all the times she chose to visit, it was in the middle of our date.
She went back to filling her brother in all about her life, and he occasionally swung the flowers around, shaking off leaves and petals, bending them in every direction. She laughed at that, and a few other things that he did, including a glance at me each time as if to ask, "Isn't he ridiculous?"
We had been there for 45 minutes. I stood up and said, "I'll meet you at Soft Note."
She replied, "Okay. I'm going to see if I can take Paul with me."
"Take him... I'm sorry, what?"
She slipped past me and walked out of the room, leaving me alone with Paul. I told him that it was nice to meet him, but he didn't respond.
Debbie returned and told me that even though she was related, the place wouldn't let her check him out. She said, "I'm going to call my parents to see if one of them will come down here now and authorize a release, even if just to come to Soft Note. I really think Paul would love it there. Durr, durr."
"I'm sure he would. Meet you there, then. Maybe."
I went myself to Soft Note and very much enjoyed the music. Debbie texted me twice, once to ask, "Can't reach my parents. If they agree to let him out, can u come back here and help me stuff him in the car?" and the second time to say, "Nevermind. I'm breaking him out of here tonight."
Debbie herself never made it to Soft Note, and I suppose I forgot to ever reach out to her again.
Labels:
Stories,
Written by a Guy
1/25/2012
Behind, Rewind
Profile Sent in by Wilson:
Who I'm looking for:
I will send you a picture of my ex (from behind) and if you look kind of like him (from behind) then you can message me, but only if you look like him from behind. I have my reasons please.
Labels:
Peculiar Profiles
Sound the Retreat
Story Sent in by Cristina:
Julia and I spoke online for a while before we met in person, mostly because I had to go on a work-related retreat for nine days, which prevented us from meeting up as soon as I would have liked.
When we did finally meet up for the first time, in a local city park, she was full of questions: How did the retreat go? (Well.) What was emphasized? (Leadership and building trust with consumers - yawn.) How many people went? (50.) Did I think it was a good thing for the 50 of us to go through? (Not really. A half-hour meeting would have imparted the same wisdom.) And so on and so on.
As we walked, she asked me a few more questions about the retreat, then finally asked, "Did anyone bring their significant others?"
"No," I replied, "It was for company employees only, and I don't think that any significant others would've wanted to go. The whole affair was meeting after meeting in a pretty place."
"I probably would've liked it," Julia said, with acid in her tone, "I mean, if I was invited."
I smiled and said, "Believe me, you wouldn't have liked it."
"I wouldn't have gone to any of the meetings. I would've just been there, cozy, walking around. I'd have dinner ready for you at the end of your day of meetings."
"Dinner was provided."
"You should've invited me. We've been talking for long enough."
I said, "We've never met before today. I think it would've been inappropriate for me to take you on an overnight thing, just the two of us, let alone with me and 50 coworkers."
"I would've invited you," she went on, "If it was me, you'd have totally been invited. 'Come with me to a pretty place where you can stroll around all day,' I'd have said."
I replied, "Let's move on. We're in a pretty place right now," I said, referring to the lovely park in which we walked.
"This place?" Julia stopped and looked around. "This place is a trash heap. Like my parents. Any other kernels of wisdom you want to share from your super-secret retreat? God, I can't stand people like you."
Surprised and hurt, I nonetheless replied, "Then why are you still hanging around here? You can go at anytime."
"I will!" she snapped, "I'll go to a pretty, super-secret meeting place of my own! I'll have as many meetings as I want or don't want to have there!"
She pushed past me and strode away, leaving me winded, confused, but ultimately grateful that she unleashed the crazy so soon.
Julia and I spoke online for a while before we met in person, mostly because I had to go on a work-related retreat for nine days, which prevented us from meeting up as soon as I would have liked.
When we did finally meet up for the first time, in a local city park, she was full of questions: How did the retreat go? (Well.) What was emphasized? (Leadership and building trust with consumers - yawn.) How many people went? (50.) Did I think it was a good thing for the 50 of us to go through? (Not really. A half-hour meeting would have imparted the same wisdom.) And so on and so on.
As we walked, she asked me a few more questions about the retreat, then finally asked, "Did anyone bring their significant others?"
"No," I replied, "It was for company employees only, and I don't think that any significant others would've wanted to go. The whole affair was meeting after meeting in a pretty place."
"I probably would've liked it," Julia said, with acid in her tone, "I mean, if I was invited."
I smiled and said, "Believe me, you wouldn't have liked it."
"I wouldn't have gone to any of the meetings. I would've just been there, cozy, walking around. I'd have dinner ready for you at the end of your day of meetings."
"Dinner was provided."
"You should've invited me. We've been talking for long enough."
I said, "We've never met before today. I think it would've been inappropriate for me to take you on an overnight thing, just the two of us, let alone with me and 50 coworkers."
"I would've invited you," she went on, "If it was me, you'd have totally been invited. 'Come with me to a pretty place where you can stroll around all day,' I'd have said."
I replied, "Let's move on. We're in a pretty place right now," I said, referring to the lovely park in which we walked.
"This place?" Julia stopped and looked around. "This place is a trash heap. Like my parents. Any other kernels of wisdom you want to share from your super-secret retreat? God, I can't stand people like you."
Surprised and hurt, I nonetheless replied, "Then why are you still hanging around here? You can go at anytime."
"I will!" she snapped, "I'll go to a pretty, super-secret meeting place of my own! I'll have as many meetings as I want or don't want to have there!"
She pushed past me and strode away, leaving me winded, confused, but ultimately grateful that she unleashed the crazy so soon.
Labels:
Stories,
Written by a Girl
That's Snot Love
Email Sent in by Tikesha:
My nose is runny. I just snotted all over the keyboard. Thought you should know that this occurred upon viewing your profile. If snot is love, then my keyboard is coated with it. I'm serious. What's your actual email address? I'll send pics to prove I'm not lying.
Ken
My nose is runny. I just snotted all over the keyboard. Thought you should know that this occurred upon viewing your profile. If snot is love, then my keyboard is coated with it. I'm serious. What's your actual email address? I'll send pics to prove I'm not lying.
Ken
Labels:
Sketchy E-mails,
Written by a Girl
Free Dinner Has a Price
Story Sent in by Eric:
I was out to dinner on my date with Tracy. She had already finished one and a half diet sodas before I was done with my first glass of water, and well before our main courses were served. In the middle of our conversation, she picked up the liquor menu and scanned it, then asked me, "Do you have a favorite type?"
"Burgundy," I replied.
"Burgundy, okay."
When the waiter came by to refill my water, Tracy ordered a bottle of Chardonnay. After the waiter left, she said to me, "I'm just in one of those Chardonnay moods, you know."
The bottle arrived and the waiter poured two glasses. Tracy downed hers pretty quickly, but I let mine sit. "What's the matter?" she asked, "You don't like Chardonnay?"
"Not really," I replied.
Tracy then beckoned across the table to my filled glass. I slid it over to her. She poured its contents back into the bottle and shook the bottle up a bit. She said, "I don't think we can return it, now. It's been open and I've had some, already."
"Enjoy it," I said, and I meant it, even though she never even asked me if I liked Chardonnay before ordering a bottle.
"Wow," she said, "You must be really bitter about this, huh?"
"No."
"It's just Chardonnay. It's really not a big deal."
"Okay."
"Are you even listening to me? I can see you trembling with rage from here."
I frowned at her. "Excuse me. I'm not trembling, and I'm not in any rage. I'm surprised that you didn't ask me if I liked Chardonnay before ordering it, but I don't think you meant any harm by it."
"I knew it," she said, "You're furious. It's not worth it. It's just Chardonnay!"
"Okay," I agreed, "It's just Chardonnay. It's not a big deal."
"You're lying!" She leaned back and gave a heavy sigh. "I can't believe this."
Our food arrived. The waiter left. Just before I dug in, I said, "I'm not lying."
The next five minutes, we ate in complete silence. Hoping to salvage what little hope I had for a pleasant evening, I extended what I thought was an olive branch and asked, "Could I try some of the Chardonnay?"
She moved the bottle off the table and sat it next to herself. I then said, "If I'm paying for it, then I'd like to have some."
She said, "I'm paying for it. I'm paying for everything. Seems to be the only way to defuse your attitude."
I went through her logic in my head, understood that it made no sense at all, then offered, "You don't have to pay for everything. Just let me have some Chardonnay, is all I ask."
She replied, "I'd rather pay for everything than let you drink a drop."
I was content to let her win that one. Returning to my free dinner, I looked forward to returning home after the date. No matter what I'd be up to (sleep, reading, etc.), it was guaranteed to be better than where I was.
I was out to dinner on my date with Tracy. She had already finished one and a half diet sodas before I was done with my first glass of water, and well before our main courses were served. In the middle of our conversation, she picked up the liquor menu and scanned it, then asked me, "Do you have a favorite type?"
"Burgundy," I replied.
"Burgundy, okay."
When the waiter came by to refill my water, Tracy ordered a bottle of Chardonnay. After the waiter left, she said to me, "I'm just in one of those Chardonnay moods, you know."
The bottle arrived and the waiter poured two glasses. Tracy downed hers pretty quickly, but I let mine sit. "What's the matter?" she asked, "You don't like Chardonnay?"
"Not really," I replied.
Tracy then beckoned across the table to my filled glass. I slid it over to her. She poured its contents back into the bottle and shook the bottle up a bit. She said, "I don't think we can return it, now. It's been open and I've had some, already."
"Enjoy it," I said, and I meant it, even though she never even asked me if I liked Chardonnay before ordering a bottle.
"Wow," she said, "You must be really bitter about this, huh?"
"No."
"It's just Chardonnay. It's really not a big deal."
"Okay."
"Are you even listening to me? I can see you trembling with rage from here."
I frowned at her. "Excuse me. I'm not trembling, and I'm not in any rage. I'm surprised that you didn't ask me if I liked Chardonnay before ordering it, but I don't think you meant any harm by it."
"I knew it," she said, "You're furious. It's not worth it. It's just Chardonnay!"
"Okay," I agreed, "It's just Chardonnay. It's not a big deal."
"You're lying!" She leaned back and gave a heavy sigh. "I can't believe this."
Our food arrived. The waiter left. Just before I dug in, I said, "I'm not lying."
The next five minutes, we ate in complete silence. Hoping to salvage what little hope I had for a pleasant evening, I extended what I thought was an olive branch and asked, "Could I try some of the Chardonnay?"
She moved the bottle off the table and sat it next to herself. I then said, "If I'm paying for it, then I'd like to have some."
She said, "I'm paying for it. I'm paying for everything. Seems to be the only way to defuse your attitude."
I went through her logic in my head, understood that it made no sense at all, then offered, "You don't have to pay for everything. Just let me have some Chardonnay, is all I ask."
She replied, "I'd rather pay for everything than let you drink a drop."
I was content to let her win that one. Returning to my free dinner, I looked forward to returning home after the date. No matter what I'd be up to (sleep, reading, etc.), it was guaranteed to be better than where I was.
Labels:
Stories,
Written by a Guy
1/24/2012
They Worked for Doc Brown
Email Sent in by Heidi:
I really liked your profile and admire your work. I'm Jack.
I'll bet that you have some good stories about teaching in Germany. Care to share any? Also, the fact that you won a big science contest is intriguing. Which contest? Was it for school? What was it all about?
I spent the first ten years of my life in eleven states. My parents both worked for the same company and they were moved around a lot. Surprisingly, I've kept friends from almost everywhere that I've lived, and they would probably call me a good guy, for whatever it's worth.
If you don't write me back then I'll go back in time and KILL YOU ALL NIGHT LONG!!!!! WOOOOOOOOO HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!
**?,
Jack
I really liked your profile and admire your work. I'm Jack.
I'll bet that you have some good stories about teaching in Germany. Care to share any? Also, the fact that you won a big science contest is intriguing. Which contest? Was it for school? What was it all about?
I spent the first ten years of my life in eleven states. My parents both worked for the same company and they were moved around a lot. Surprisingly, I've kept friends from almost everywhere that I've lived, and they would probably call me a good guy, for whatever it's worth.
If you don't write me back then I'll go back in time and KILL YOU ALL NIGHT LONG!!!!! WOOOOOOOOO HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!
**?,
Jack
Labels:
Sketchy E-mails,
Written by a Girl
Flash in the Pan
Story Sent in by Christopher:
This happened to me about 10 years ago. My first date with Joanna was supposed to be at a restaurant in town, but she called me last minute and asked, "Would you mind meeting me at 138 Boritt Street, instead?"
I replied, "Sure. That your house?"
"A friend's house. See you soon."
I arrived and parked on the side of the road. 138 Boritt was a small, two-story house on a good-sized piece of property, distant enough from its neighbors, but not too far from the street. Joanna was sitting on the front steps, and there was a light on above the front door. The house was otherwise dark.
She stood up and gave me a quick hug. "Hey," she said, "Okay, this is going to sound weird, but could I ask you to drop your pants?"
I chuckled, then saw that she was serious. She said, "I'm actually not kidding. I was assaulted in town two years ago, and I don't know who did it, but I know that he lives right around here. I just want to make sure that it isn't you. I didn't see his face."
"But you saw his wang?"
"He made sure to show me that," she said, "Would you mind?"
I imagined how it would look to anyone passing by. I asked, "Can it be done inside?"
She replied, "No. This isn't my house. It's a friend's house and he's out. I don't have the key."
"Can we go around back and do this?"
"I'd feel better just getting it over with, here. He had something very distinctive on himself, and I can tell with a quick glance. Please."
She seemed sincere and shaken, and I didn't see any harm in a quick flash. I have to emphasize here that she requested it. I unzipped my trousers and pulled it out. She looked at it, and her face burst into a smile that she couldn't keep under wraps any longer.
Before I could pull it back in, she stood up and made for the door. It was unlocked. She glanced back at me, said, "It's so small," and then closed the door behind herself and turned off the porch light.
I zipped up my pants and remained on her porch for a good minute, thinking about what to do next. She likely anticipated that I'd knock on her door or try to contact her, so I decided against that. Instead, I opted to be the bigger person, so I turned around and left.
On my way home, she called my phone but hung up before I could answer it. Other than that, I didn't hear from her again, and that was fine by me.
This happened to me about 10 years ago. My first date with Joanna was supposed to be at a restaurant in town, but she called me last minute and asked, "Would you mind meeting me at 138 Boritt Street, instead?"
I replied, "Sure. That your house?"
"A friend's house. See you soon."
I arrived and parked on the side of the road. 138 Boritt was a small, two-story house on a good-sized piece of property, distant enough from its neighbors, but not too far from the street. Joanna was sitting on the front steps, and there was a light on above the front door. The house was otherwise dark.
She stood up and gave me a quick hug. "Hey," she said, "Okay, this is going to sound weird, but could I ask you to drop your pants?"
I chuckled, then saw that she was serious. She said, "I'm actually not kidding. I was assaulted in town two years ago, and I don't know who did it, but I know that he lives right around here. I just want to make sure that it isn't you. I didn't see his face."
"But you saw his wang?"
"He made sure to show me that," she said, "Would you mind?"
I imagined how it would look to anyone passing by. I asked, "Can it be done inside?"
She replied, "No. This isn't my house. It's a friend's house and he's out. I don't have the key."
"Can we go around back and do this?"
"I'd feel better just getting it over with, here. He had something very distinctive on himself, and I can tell with a quick glance. Please."
She seemed sincere and shaken, and I didn't see any harm in a quick flash. I have to emphasize here that she requested it. I unzipped my trousers and pulled it out. She looked at it, and her face burst into a smile that she couldn't keep under wraps any longer.
Before I could pull it back in, she stood up and made for the door. It was unlocked. She glanced back at me, said, "It's so small," and then closed the door behind herself and turned off the porch light.
I zipped up my pants and remained on her porch for a good minute, thinking about what to do next. She likely anticipated that I'd knock on her door or try to contact her, so I decided against that. Instead, I opted to be the bigger person, so I turned around and left.
On my way home, she called my phone but hung up before I could answer it. Other than that, I didn't hear from her again, and that was fine by me.
Labels:
Stories,
Written by a Guy
She Has the Nicest Toilet I've Ever Seen
Profile Sent in by Rianne:
About me:
As a woodworker, I will enrich your life with wood. Wood contrary to popular belief is not as flammable as metal and stone lovers will have you think. It is there for all of us to use and nature keeps growing more. There is no more metal or stone being born. Only wood. Limitless!
I urge you to test me on anything. There mustn't be a doubt about it.
For a former girlfriend she made a joke that she wanted a wooden throne for her birthday and I made her a wooden throne! She still has it and sits in it and still thinks of me fondly when she uses it. At least I hope she does!
naked-upon-the-throne-of-my-better-self-we-laugh-and-laugh-out-loud-but-not-too-quietly-or-too-quickly-for-the-boss.
About me:
As a woodworker, I will enrich your life with wood. Wood contrary to popular belief is not as flammable as metal and stone lovers will have you think. It is there for all of us to use and nature keeps growing more. There is no more metal or stone being born. Only wood. Limitless!
I urge you to test me on anything. There mustn't be a doubt about it.
For a former girlfriend she made a joke that she wanted a wooden throne for her birthday and I made her a wooden throne! She still has it and sits in it and still thinks of me fondly when she uses it. At least I hope she does!
naked-upon-the-throne-of-my-better-self-we-laugh-and-laugh-out-loud-but-not-too-quietly-or-too-quickly-for-the-boss.
Labels:
Peculiar Profiles
Saint Newt Gingrich
Story Sent in by Gemma:
This occurred just last Friday:
I liked Liam's profile essays, so I wrote him a message to say hello. He wrote back with a nice email and ended it with, "I know this is a bit forward, but would you like to meet up for coffee? Might as well see if there's an in person connection instead of waiting for it."
I didn't see why not, and we made plans to do just that. At this point, I should mention that I used to be a Jon Huntsman supporter before he bowed out of the primaries, and now I support Mitt Romney.
At the cafe, we sat down with our drinks and he asked me if I had caught the GOP debate the night before. I had. He said, not yet knowing who I supported, "If Dirtbag wins the nomination, I'm going to vote Obama, swear to God."
"Who is 'Dirtbag'?"
He gave me a look. "Who do you think? Romney. Dirtbag is as dirtbag does." I was silent, and he saw right through it. He asked, "You're a Dirtbag supporter? You? Really?"
I replied, "I support Romney."
"Oh. Dirtbag. Got it," he said with a smile, "You support Dirtbag. No problem, here."
I repeated, "Romney. Who do you support?"
"Uh, Newt. Duh."
I gave him an are-you-serious look, and he asked, "Do you believe in God?"
"Yes."
"Newt is the anointed one. The guy's practically a saint."
I asked, "Isn't he kind of morally bankrupt?"
Liam laughed long and hard, then said, "Dirtbag propaganda. Newt has powers beyond comprehension. He gave us a house majority and forced Clinton's hand on everything. He's the most well-read out of any candidate ever, and he's a master at accomplishing the impossible. He's touched. I can't think of a better role model for Americans. Can you?"
I opened my mouth to list the hundred better role models who immediately came to mind. Liam interrupted, "And don't mention Dirtbag. He's beneath contempt."
I suggested, "What say we put politics aside?"
Liam said, "Works for me. You concede your loss and we can move on."
"Excuse me? Concede my… what?"
Liam repeated, "Concede your loss. In our little debate, here. Concede your loss and we'll talk about whatever you want: sports, life, the weather, anything. Concede your loss."
I gave him a hard stare. "I didn't lose anything. We just talked about the candidates. There was no debate."
"You need to listen to yourself," Liam said, "You're not making any sense. Concede your loss. Simple. Easy. Not hard. Easy. Concede your loss." He smiled such a sanctimonious smile that a large part of me wanted to slap it right off of his face. At that point, I could've cared less about who he supported: it was his way of talking to me, like I was an infant, that riled me up.
I said, "I'm not conceding anything. There's nothing to concede."
He stood up and extended his hand to me. "Excuse me, please. I have someplace else to be at this time." I didn't shake his hand. He said, "Shake it."
I remained motionless. He repeated, "Shake it. Do you have a problem with English, today?"
I replied, "Not as big a problem as you seem to have with reality."
Liam retracted his hand, gave me a military salute, said, "Hail, President Dirtbag!" and goose-stepped out of the cafe. Amused patrons watched him go. As for me, I gathered up my bag, coat, and returned home to block his account.
This occurred just last Friday:
I liked Liam's profile essays, so I wrote him a message to say hello. He wrote back with a nice email and ended it with, "I know this is a bit forward, but would you like to meet up for coffee? Might as well see if there's an in person connection instead of waiting for it."
I didn't see why not, and we made plans to do just that. At this point, I should mention that I used to be a Jon Huntsman supporter before he bowed out of the primaries, and now I support Mitt Romney.
At the cafe, we sat down with our drinks and he asked me if I had caught the GOP debate the night before. I had. He said, not yet knowing who I supported, "If Dirtbag wins the nomination, I'm going to vote Obama, swear to God."
"Who is 'Dirtbag'?"
He gave me a look. "Who do you think? Romney. Dirtbag is as dirtbag does." I was silent, and he saw right through it. He asked, "You're a Dirtbag supporter? You? Really?"
I replied, "I support Romney."
"Oh. Dirtbag. Got it," he said with a smile, "You support Dirtbag. No problem, here."
I repeated, "Romney. Who do you support?"
"Uh, Newt. Duh."
I gave him an are-you-serious look, and he asked, "Do you believe in God?"
"Yes."
"Newt is the anointed one. The guy's practically a saint."
I asked, "Isn't he kind of morally bankrupt?"
Liam laughed long and hard, then said, "Dirtbag propaganda. Newt has powers beyond comprehension. He gave us a house majority and forced Clinton's hand on everything. He's the most well-read out of any candidate ever, and he's a master at accomplishing the impossible. He's touched. I can't think of a better role model for Americans. Can you?"
I opened my mouth to list the hundred better role models who immediately came to mind. Liam interrupted, "And don't mention Dirtbag. He's beneath contempt."
I suggested, "What say we put politics aside?"
Liam said, "Works for me. You concede your loss and we can move on."
"Excuse me? Concede my… what?"
Liam repeated, "Concede your loss. In our little debate, here. Concede your loss and we'll talk about whatever you want: sports, life, the weather, anything. Concede your loss."
I gave him a hard stare. "I didn't lose anything. We just talked about the candidates. There was no debate."
"You need to listen to yourself," Liam said, "You're not making any sense. Concede your loss. Simple. Easy. Not hard. Easy. Concede your loss." He smiled such a sanctimonious smile that a large part of me wanted to slap it right off of his face. At that point, I could've cared less about who he supported: it was his way of talking to me, like I was an infant, that riled me up.
I said, "I'm not conceding anything. There's nothing to concede."
He stood up and extended his hand to me. "Excuse me, please. I have someplace else to be at this time." I didn't shake his hand. He said, "Shake it."
I remained motionless. He repeated, "Shake it. Do you have a problem with English, today?"
I replied, "Not as big a problem as you seem to have with reality."
Liam retracted his hand, gave me a military salute, said, "Hail, President Dirtbag!" and goose-stepped out of the cafe. Amused patrons watched him go. As for me, I gathered up my bag, coat, and returned home to block his account.
Labels:
Stories,
Written by a Girl
1/23/2012
Monkey See, Monkey Don't
Emails Sent in by Tom:
I've checked your profile out so many times and still you have not written me. For a bag of meat with a purported brain I think you can be pretty silly! It is easy! You can even reply below instead of writing a new message! One less step from thoughtful me.
You type in the box below: Hi Genevieve. So nice to hear from you. I am interested in you and I want to hear more about your life. My life will be incomplete until I have heard from you.
Or something like that! You can even copy/paste it! I have made it easy for you and you can now do it! I await your message!
From,
Genevieve.
************************************************
Tom Responds:
Hi Genevieve. So nice to hear from you. I am interested in you and I want to hear more about your life. My life will be incomplete until I have heard from you.
Or something like that! You can even copy/paste it! I have made it easy for you and you can now do it! I await your message!
From,
Genevieve.
************************************************
Genevieve Responds:
No you were not supposed to include everything below it including my name! You were just supposed to include that one first paragraph and sign it your name silly.
From,
Genevieve
************************************************
Tom Responds:
I've checked your profile out so many times and still you have not written me. For a bag of meat with a purported brain I think you can be pretty silly! It is easy! You can even reply below instead of writing a new message! One less step from thoughtful me.
From,
Tom
************************************************
Genevieve Responds:
NO!!! Haha you should just write "Hi Genevieve. So nice to hear from you. I am interested in you and I want to hear more about your life. My life will be incomplete until I have heard from you." That is all!
From,
Genevieve
************************************************
Tom Responds:
Hi Samantha. So nice to hear from you. I am interested in you and I want to hear more about your life. My life will be incomplete until I have heard from you.
************************************************
Genevieve Responds:
WHO IS SAMANTHA???
I've checked your profile out so many times and still you have not written me. For a bag of meat with a purported brain I think you can be pretty silly! It is easy! You can even reply below instead of writing a new message! One less step from thoughtful me.
You type in the box below: Hi Genevieve. So nice to hear from you. I am interested in you and I want to hear more about your life. My life will be incomplete until I have heard from you.
Or something like that! You can even copy/paste it! I have made it easy for you and you can now do it! I await your message!
From,
Genevieve.
************************************************
Tom Responds:
Hi Genevieve. So nice to hear from you. I am interested in you and I want to hear more about your life. My life will be incomplete until I have heard from you.
Or something like that! You can even copy/paste it! I have made it easy for you and you can now do it! I await your message!
From,
Genevieve.
************************************************
Genevieve Responds:
No you were not supposed to include everything below it including my name! You were just supposed to include that one first paragraph and sign it your name silly.
From,
Genevieve
************************************************
Tom Responds:
I've checked your profile out so many times and still you have not written me. For a bag of meat with a purported brain I think you can be pretty silly! It is easy! You can even reply below instead of writing a new message! One less step from thoughtful me.
From,
Tom
************************************************
Genevieve Responds:
NO!!! Haha you should just write "Hi Genevieve. So nice to hear from you. I am interested in you and I want to hear more about your life. My life will be incomplete until I have heard from you." That is all!
From,
Genevieve
************************************************
Tom Responds:
Hi Samantha. So nice to hear from you. I am interested in you and I want to hear more about your life. My life will be incomplete until I have heard from you.
************************************************
Genevieve Responds:
WHO IS SAMANTHA???
Labels:
Sketchy E-mails,
Written by a Guy
Slap Happy
Story Sent in by Ellda:
Rob and I met online. He lived about 45 minutes away from me, which was around the outer limits of my usual dating radius. However, his first message was charming and funny, and I thought that he'd make a good acquaintance, if nothing else.
For our first date, he offered to come out to my neck of the woods, and although I had told him that I'd be happy to meet him halfway, he insisted. It worked for me.
The problems began about an hour before we were due to meet up. He called me to say, "I'm leaving now!"
I replied, "Okay, I'll meet you downtown at seven."
Five minutes later, he called and said, "Now I'm in my car and I'm pulling onto the highway."
I replied, "Thanks for the update. I'll see you there."
Five minutes later, he called back: "Hey! I'm on the highway now, and I just passed Taylorville."
"And?"
"And I'll soon be passing Mitchell."
I said, "You don't have to keep me posted on your progress. I'll just meet you there and we can–"
"But I must!" he said, then hung up.
Five minutes later, he called back and said, "I'm just through Mitchell, now. Have you ever realized how many trees there are in Mitchell?"
"No."
"Mitchell's packed solid with trees! Where do the people even live? There are just too many trees here."
"Rob, I'm getting ready, so I'll see you there."
As I readied, he called me three more times. Each message was progressively creepier: "I'm getting closer to you. I can't wait!" "I'm halfway there. My gut's just itching to meet you." "I'll be there soon. I don't know if there's much you can do about it, now."
I arrived at the restaurant a little bit early. It was still light out, and the plan was to take a walk after our early dinner. The time for our meeting came and went, and he didn't show. I thought about calling him, but I figured that since he was so diligent about reaching out to me throughout the past hour, if there was anything to worry about, he'd let me know.
Finally, a waiter came up to me and asked if I wanted anything. I ordered a soda, then realized something with a start: the waiter was Rob. He was dressed in a waiter's outfit, and grinned down at me, wide-eyed and exposing most of his teeth.
There was that first flash of recognition, and then he stuck his fingers into my face and wiggled them. "Raaaaaagh!" he said, and I pulled away from him.
"Rob," I said, "You work here? What the hell is going on?"
He sat down across from me and said, "I don't work here. I just put this on to fool you. So I'm here, you're here, and my hunger is very, very here. You want a soda, let's get you a soda. It'll dissolve your insides into a soft paste. Mmmm."
My heart was still backflipping, and not in a pleasant way. He kept that maniacal grin on his face, and better judgement overcame politeness and I said, "I'm going to go."
I stood up. He stood with me and said, "You're just leaving? It took me 45 minutes to get here!"
"I know. You kept reminding me."
"I should slap you."
"Try it."
"Oh my God!" he said, "You actually want me to do it? I was just kidding! I said, 'I should slap you,' not, 'I'm going to slap you.'"
I replied, "Well, I'm going to go. Excuse me."
As I hurried past him, he said, "Maybe I should slap you."
I tore back to my car, and drove away from that wack job.
Rob and I met online. He lived about 45 minutes away from me, which was around the outer limits of my usual dating radius. However, his first message was charming and funny, and I thought that he'd make a good acquaintance, if nothing else.
For our first date, he offered to come out to my neck of the woods, and although I had told him that I'd be happy to meet him halfway, he insisted. It worked for me.
The problems began about an hour before we were due to meet up. He called me to say, "I'm leaving now!"
I replied, "Okay, I'll meet you downtown at seven."
Five minutes later, he called and said, "Now I'm in my car and I'm pulling onto the highway."
I replied, "Thanks for the update. I'll see you there."
Five minutes later, he called back: "Hey! I'm on the highway now, and I just passed Taylorville."
"And?"
"And I'll soon be passing Mitchell."
I said, "You don't have to keep me posted on your progress. I'll just meet you there and we can–"
"But I must!" he said, then hung up.
Five minutes later, he called back and said, "I'm just through Mitchell, now. Have you ever realized how many trees there are in Mitchell?"
"No."
"Mitchell's packed solid with trees! Where do the people even live? There are just too many trees here."
"Rob, I'm getting ready, so I'll see you there."
As I readied, he called me three more times. Each message was progressively creepier: "I'm getting closer to you. I can't wait!" "I'm halfway there. My gut's just itching to meet you." "I'll be there soon. I don't know if there's much you can do about it, now."
I arrived at the restaurant a little bit early. It was still light out, and the plan was to take a walk after our early dinner. The time for our meeting came and went, and he didn't show. I thought about calling him, but I figured that since he was so diligent about reaching out to me throughout the past hour, if there was anything to worry about, he'd let me know.
Finally, a waiter came up to me and asked if I wanted anything. I ordered a soda, then realized something with a start: the waiter was Rob. He was dressed in a waiter's outfit, and grinned down at me, wide-eyed and exposing most of his teeth.
There was that first flash of recognition, and then he stuck his fingers into my face and wiggled them. "Raaaaaagh!" he said, and I pulled away from him.
"Rob," I said, "You work here? What the hell is going on?"
He sat down across from me and said, "I don't work here. I just put this on to fool you. So I'm here, you're here, and my hunger is very, very here. You want a soda, let's get you a soda. It'll dissolve your insides into a soft paste. Mmmm."
My heart was still backflipping, and not in a pleasant way. He kept that maniacal grin on his face, and better judgement overcame politeness and I said, "I'm going to go."
I stood up. He stood with me and said, "You're just leaving? It took me 45 minutes to get here!"
"I know. You kept reminding me."
"I should slap you."
"Try it."
"Oh my God!" he said, "You actually want me to do it? I was just kidding! I said, 'I should slap you,' not, 'I'm going to slap you.'"
I replied, "Well, I'm going to go. Excuse me."
As I hurried past him, he said, "Maybe I should slap you."
I tore back to my car, and drove away from that wack job.
Labels:
Stories,
Written by a Girl
And How Much Experience Pays off a Gas Bill?
Profile Sent in by Doreen:
About me:
In the path unwinding, it's the circle… the circle of liiiiiife!
Remember those words? How could you not? We grew up with them. They describe me perfectly. My life has been a series of unwinding paths all leading in a circle. Now I am back in my hometown after a life of winding paths. I tried to make it on the outside, made it, and now I return as (probably) the richest guy in town.
Not rich in money, oh no. Something far more valuable. I am richest in LIFE and EXPERIENCE! And I am willing to share in my bounty! One date with me will make you hungry for my life spread. Two dates and you'll be hooked just like on crack but far more beneficial for the body and soul…
My paths have been filled with troubles but I went out and succeeded where others have failed. I have treated with kings and poets, warriors and gypsies, smarts and stupids, and I have found wisdom in every nook, every cranny.
I would love to date you!!! Especially if you are in publishing or are an editor (please have credits/published works to your name or the names of uyour clients and numbers at which I may reach them). I mean to publish my life story and am interested in anyone who can make it happen. If you are in the sicences or arts then perhaps someone else would be better for you! Serious inquiries only, please.
About me:
In the path unwinding, it's the circle… the circle of liiiiiife!
Remember those words? How could you not? We grew up with them. They describe me perfectly. My life has been a series of unwinding paths all leading in a circle. Now I am back in my hometown after a life of winding paths. I tried to make it on the outside, made it, and now I return as (probably) the richest guy in town.
Not rich in money, oh no. Something far more valuable. I am richest in LIFE and EXPERIENCE! And I am willing to share in my bounty! One date with me will make you hungry for my life spread. Two dates and you'll be hooked just like on crack but far more beneficial for the body and soul…
My paths have been filled with troubles but I went out and succeeded where others have failed. I have treated with kings and poets, warriors and gypsies, smarts and stupids, and I have found wisdom in every nook, every cranny.
I would love to date you!!! Especially if you are in publishing or are an editor (please have credits/published works to your name or the names of uyour clients and numbers at which I may reach them). I mean to publish my life story and am interested in anyone who can make it happen. If you are in the sicences or arts then perhaps someone else would be better for you! Serious inquiries only, please.
Labels:
Peculiar Profiles
The Spice Must Flow
Story Sent in by John:
Sandy and I were out at a restaurant after just having met for the first time. It was a Chinese place, and there was no salt or pepper on the table. When our appetizers were delivered, Sandy requested pepper, which they brought to her in a standard-sized shaker.
She then broke open her egg roll, unscrewed the top of the pepper shaker, and poured a little more than half of the pepper in the shaker into a half of the egg roll. She then put the pepper down and stuffed the whole egg roll half into her mouth.
She smacked her lips and then drank down most of her water, then she repeated the process with the second half of her egg roll, pouring in the rest of the pepper in the shaker, then tearing into it.
I didn't say a word, but I watched in curiosity, awe, and then even more curiosity. She looked up at me and said, "Pepper makes everything taste better. Have you ever tried it?"
"Pepper? Yes."
"It's like the best kept secret in the world. It's always sitting right in front of you, but no one ever uses it. It's good on everything, and the more you have on something, the more flavorful it is."
I replied, "I'm sure there's more flavor, but is it a better flavor? You can seriously tolerate that much pepper at once?"
She said, "Wait 'til I get going! I put it on ice cream, on cakes, pies, you name it. It unlocks the other flavors within. People don't know that, but I do."
"You put pepper on ice cream?"
"Yeah, but if I'm not careful, it makes me sneeze. I can't let it near my nose."
When our meals came, she asked for more pepper. The waiter expressed amazement that she had polished off a full shaker of it, but returned with another shaker, as requested. She poured about half of it all over her shrimp and vegetables.
Sandy requested ice cream for dessert, and they brought it out to her. Sure enough, she liberally sprinkled pepper onto it, then ate it from start to finish. She said, "When I cook, you can imagine, I use a lot of pepper."
I could imagine, all right. About a minute or so later, she wobbled to her feet and said, "Excuse me, I have to find the bathroom."
She hurried away and was gone for a little while. When she came back, she was a few shades paler, but she wore a smile. "Tastes the same going down as it does coming up: delicious!" she said.
I thanked her for the information, we left the restaurant, said our goodnights, and that was that.
Sandy and I were out at a restaurant after just having met for the first time. It was a Chinese place, and there was no salt or pepper on the table. When our appetizers were delivered, Sandy requested pepper, which they brought to her in a standard-sized shaker.
She then broke open her egg roll, unscrewed the top of the pepper shaker, and poured a little more than half of the pepper in the shaker into a half of the egg roll. She then put the pepper down and stuffed the whole egg roll half into her mouth.
She smacked her lips and then drank down most of her water, then she repeated the process with the second half of her egg roll, pouring in the rest of the pepper in the shaker, then tearing into it.
I didn't say a word, but I watched in curiosity, awe, and then even more curiosity. She looked up at me and said, "Pepper makes everything taste better. Have you ever tried it?"
"Pepper? Yes."
"It's like the best kept secret in the world. It's always sitting right in front of you, but no one ever uses it. It's good on everything, and the more you have on something, the more flavorful it is."
I replied, "I'm sure there's more flavor, but is it a better flavor? You can seriously tolerate that much pepper at once?"
She said, "Wait 'til I get going! I put it on ice cream, on cakes, pies, you name it. It unlocks the other flavors within. People don't know that, but I do."
"You put pepper on ice cream?"
"Yeah, but if I'm not careful, it makes me sneeze. I can't let it near my nose."
When our meals came, she asked for more pepper. The waiter expressed amazement that she had polished off a full shaker of it, but returned with another shaker, as requested. She poured about half of it all over her shrimp and vegetables.
Sandy requested ice cream for dessert, and they brought it out to her. Sure enough, she liberally sprinkled pepper onto it, then ate it from start to finish. She said, "When I cook, you can imagine, I use a lot of pepper."
I could imagine, all right. About a minute or so later, she wobbled to her feet and said, "Excuse me, I have to find the bathroom."
She hurried away and was gone for a little while. When she came back, she was a few shades paler, but she wore a smile. "Tastes the same going down as it does coming up: delicious!" she said.
I thanked her for the information, we left the restaurant, said our goodnights, and that was that.
Labels:
Stories,
Written by a Guy
1/22/2012
Swan Lust
Email Sent in by James:
A lot of guys on this website look like different animals. There was one guy I saw who had hair all around his face and looked like a lion! Hahaha it was very funny. You look more like a giraffe or a rodent but my kind of guy is a jackrabbit.
I think I look like a swan but without the long neck or feathers or too much whiteness. The gracefulness is really where I excel as a swan. If I was not a swan in a past life then I will work in this life to be known as a swan in a past life. It would explain a lot!
Sara
A lot of guys on this website look like different animals. There was one guy I saw who had hair all around his face and looked like a lion! Hahaha it was very funny. You look more like a giraffe or a rodent but my kind of guy is a jackrabbit.
I think I look like a swan but without the long neck or feathers or too much whiteness. The gracefulness is really where I excel as a swan. If I was not a swan in a past life then I will work in this life to be known as a swan in a past life. It would explain a lot!
Sara
Labels:
Sketchy E-mails,
Written by a Guy
Site Redesign - 1/2012
Greetings!
I've completed a site redesign. Your patience has been appreciated. Let me know what you think. Thank you!
- JMG
I've completed a site redesign. Your patience has been appreciated. Let me know what you think. Thank you!
- JMG
Labels:
A Bad Case of the Dates News
"There Can Be Some Weirdos on the Internet"
Story Sent in by Tina:
Murray wrote me a message online and we spoke for a good three weeks before he asked me out on a date. I wrote him back and asked him where he wanted to go, and he replied, "We can do an online date."
I wrote back, "What's an online date?"
He replied, "This Friday night, I'll instant message you at 7:00 and we'll both have food and something to drink and we'll talk back and forth like we're on a real, in-person date."
I wrote back, "Why not actually have a real, in-person date?"
He wrote back, "I'd feel better having an online date first. I trust you, but there can be some weirdos on the Internet, as I'm sure you know."
I replied, "True, but what if we were to meet in a public place and keep it to something simple, like coffee? Would that help you feel better?"
He wrote back, "Sure. Yeah. I guess."
We arranged to meet that Friday in a coffee shop, around 5:30pm. I had arrived there and was waiting for him when he called me up and said, "Hey, I'm not sure if I'll be able to make it. It's getting dark out."
"So? We agreed on 5:30."
"Yeah, but I didn't think it would be this dark by then. I mean, we'd still be in a public place and all, but the dark can be dangerous, especially if it's our first time meeting. You understand?"
"No. Honestly, Murray, if you don't want to meet up with me now, then I'll move on to other people."
"I'll be right there." He hung up.
When he arrived, he looked a bit nervous but gave me a friendly smile and a hug, all the same.
"You're not a killer, right?" he joked.
I joked back, "Actually, I am. Ha ha ha!"
He screamed, turned, and left. I never contacted or heard from him ever again.
Murray wrote me a message online and we spoke for a good three weeks before he asked me out on a date. I wrote him back and asked him where he wanted to go, and he replied, "We can do an online date."
I wrote back, "What's an online date?"
He replied, "This Friday night, I'll instant message you at 7:00 and we'll both have food and something to drink and we'll talk back and forth like we're on a real, in-person date."
I wrote back, "Why not actually have a real, in-person date?"
He wrote back, "I'd feel better having an online date first. I trust you, but there can be some weirdos on the Internet, as I'm sure you know."
I replied, "True, but what if we were to meet in a public place and keep it to something simple, like coffee? Would that help you feel better?"
He wrote back, "Sure. Yeah. I guess."
We arranged to meet that Friday in a coffee shop, around 5:30pm. I had arrived there and was waiting for him when he called me up and said, "Hey, I'm not sure if I'll be able to make it. It's getting dark out."
"So? We agreed on 5:30."
"Yeah, but I didn't think it would be this dark by then. I mean, we'd still be in a public place and all, but the dark can be dangerous, especially if it's our first time meeting. You understand?"
"No. Honestly, Murray, if you don't want to meet up with me now, then I'll move on to other people."
"I'll be right there." He hung up.
When he arrived, he looked a bit nervous but gave me a friendly smile and a hug, all the same.
"You're not a killer, right?" he joked.
I joked back, "Actually, I am. Ha ha ha!"
He screamed, turned, and left. I never contacted or heard from him ever again.
Labels:
Stories,
Written by a Girl
1/21/2012
You Sure He Spelled it Wrong?
Emails Sent in by Brenda:
hello.
would you like to come over to my place for dinner? I promise to be nice and make you magical delicious things. I will start to cock when you tell me.
Bruce
***********************************************
Brenda Responds:
Hi Bruce,
While I appreciate the offer, I make it a policy to not go over to a guy's house on a first date. It's nothing personal and I hope you understand. Maybe we can meet for coffee. I read your profile and you seem to have a good sense of humor!
Also, you spelled cook wrong.
Brenda
***********************************************
Bruce Responds:
A high and mighty bitch who's too good to come over to what she thinks is a poor boy's house? Or maybe you think I'm a rapist. I am neither you judgmental shitbag.
***********************************************
Brenda Responds:
You promised me in your first email that you'd be nice. Now you are breaking that promise? Wow. Maybe it's better that we never meet up.
***********************************************
Bruce Responds:
hello.
would you like to come over to my place for dinner? I promise to be nice and make you magical delicious things. I will start to cock when you tell me.
Bruce
Labels:
Sketchy E-mails,
Written by a Girl
Although I've Since Been Bent into Thirds
Story Sent in by Barry:
It wasn't my date with Elena that went wrong. It was the aftermath. I met her online, all seemed fine, we went out to a museum and then dinner. She had a great laugh, we both talked quite a bit, and just after we hugged goodbye, I slipped in a, "I'd like to see you again."
She replied, "You bet your ass you are," and we went on our separate ways. A hug was as far as I got, but I still felt great, and I couldn't wait to see her again.
A day later, I called her and left her a message that was something like, "Hey Elena, I had a great time with you. I have some ideas for what we can do next week, if you're around."
About a week passed from when I left that message, and there was no response from her. Guessing that she didn't have as good a time as I thought she did, I wrote her an email that essentially said, "Hi Elena. I hope that you're well. If you ever want to meet again, then let me know."
No response for a day, and then I received the following message:
"Barry: Do NOT keep contacting me. My boyfriend was able to tell that there was something wrong, and I told him that you tried to make me cheat on him. What you were thinking, I'll never know, but it was all I could do to not tell him where you live. Because you contacted me again, I'm giving him your email address. I hope that he's merciful to you."
A day later, the following arrived from an email address I didn't recognize:
"How about if I find you and bend you in half for taking my girlfriend out you piece of shit?"
I didn't respond and hoped that it would all blow over. It's been a year since then, and no one has so far come to bend me in half.
It wasn't my date with Elena that went wrong. It was the aftermath. I met her online, all seemed fine, we went out to a museum and then dinner. She had a great laugh, we both talked quite a bit, and just after we hugged goodbye, I slipped in a, "I'd like to see you again."
She replied, "You bet your ass you are," and we went on our separate ways. A hug was as far as I got, but I still felt great, and I couldn't wait to see her again.
A day later, I called her and left her a message that was something like, "Hey Elena, I had a great time with you. I have some ideas for what we can do next week, if you're around."
About a week passed from when I left that message, and there was no response from her. Guessing that she didn't have as good a time as I thought she did, I wrote her an email that essentially said, "Hi Elena. I hope that you're well. If you ever want to meet again, then let me know."
No response for a day, and then I received the following message:
"Barry: Do NOT keep contacting me. My boyfriend was able to tell that there was something wrong, and I told him that you tried to make me cheat on him. What you were thinking, I'll never know, but it was all I could do to not tell him where you live. Because you contacted me again, I'm giving him your email address. I hope that he's merciful to you."
A day later, the following arrived from an email address I didn't recognize:
"How about if I find you and bend you in half for taking my girlfriend out you piece of shit?"
I didn't respond and hoped that it would all blow over. It's been a year since then, and no one has so far come to bend me in half.
Labels:
Stories,
Written by a Guy
1/20/2012
Bring the Toxic. Bring it On.
Profile Sent in by Arthur:
Who I'm looking for:
Honest to god, the men on this site are like savages. Do any of those stupid come ons actually ever work? Of course they don't! A real man wouldn't have to resort to such idiocy. You're all just a bunch of dicks.
How about I wash you down with oil and soap and then we will see who the harder laugher is. It will be me I promise have any of you ever actually been out on a date I feel as if I'm surrounded on a site by guys who have no experience at all with knowing how to interact with other humans let alone women or me.
What does it take to find a nice guy on here? Am I screaming into my pillow by myself or are the women of this site going to come together to own their own destiny and take down the savages once and for all? We are women and we don't care if you men are here: we will bring the toxic to you and there is nothing you will be able to do to relate to us
I think we must be of different species than you not only a different gender maybe you should suck down some oxygen instead of stupid tobacco that makes you think you are god's present to all of us because guess what *deep breath* YOU'RE NOT!!!!!
Who I'm looking for:
Honest to god, the men on this site are like savages. Do any of those stupid come ons actually ever work? Of course they don't! A real man wouldn't have to resort to such idiocy. You're all just a bunch of dicks.
How about I wash you down with oil and soap and then we will see who the harder laugher is. It will be me I promise have any of you ever actually been out on a date I feel as if I'm surrounded on a site by guys who have no experience at all with knowing how to interact with other humans let alone women or me.
What does it take to find a nice guy on here? Am I screaming into my pillow by myself or are the women of this site going to come together to own their own destiny and take down the savages once and for all? We are women and we don't care if you men are here: we will bring the toxic to you and there is nothing you will be able to do to relate to us
I think we must be of different species than you not only a different gender maybe you should suck down some oxygen instead of stupid tobacco that makes you think you are god's present to all of us because guess what *deep breath* YOU'RE NOT!!!!!
Labels:
Peculiar Profiles
But She Certainly Made it to Crazytown
Story Sent in by Alistair:
Mia appeared a bit nervous during our first date dinner. She would glance away whenever we made eye contact, and she seemed jittery. I had a good feeling that she was nervous, and I went back and forth on bringing it up until I finally asked, "Are you okay?"
She shuddered and said, "Not really."
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
She replied, "No. I took five Tylenol and now I'm feeling a bit loopy."
I said, "Five Tylenol? That's really dangerous." She nodded. I went on, "I think I should take you to a hospital."
"No, you don't understand," she said, "It's not a bad loopy. I'm not in pain, now. Not anymore." She gave a funny little smile and looked up at the ceiling. "Not anymore…"
"Uh, are you all right?"
She rocked back and forth in her seat a few times, hummed a song, then said, "Now I want alcohol. Will you get me some?"
"No. Are you… what the hell is wrong with you? Let me take you home or to the–"
"No? No?!" she raised her voice to a sharp crescendo, then stood up, bent herself backwards in a funny angle, then said, "To the alcohol-mobile and alcohol-land!"
She fast-walked right out. I still had to pay the check, so I couldn't pursue immediately, but I slammed some cash on the table that more than covered it and ran outside to find her.
It was dark out, and it was also a crowded city sidewalk. She was nowhere to be seen, so I tried her phone. She picked up and croaked, "Hello from searching-for-alcohol-land!"
"Mia, where are you? Stay where you are. Let me–"
"I'm in alcohol-land, sucka!" she said, then hung up.
I stood there, bewildered for a few moments, and then she rang my phone. I picked up. "Hello?"
She said, "I'm still in alcohol-search-land, sucka!" and she hung up again.
I jogged a little up and down the sidewalk, looking for her, but I ultimately had to call it quits. I don't know if she ever made it to alcohol-land.
Mia appeared a bit nervous during our first date dinner. She would glance away whenever we made eye contact, and she seemed jittery. I had a good feeling that she was nervous, and I went back and forth on bringing it up until I finally asked, "Are you okay?"
She shuddered and said, "Not really."
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
She replied, "No. I took five Tylenol and now I'm feeling a bit loopy."
I said, "Five Tylenol? That's really dangerous." She nodded. I went on, "I think I should take you to a hospital."
"No, you don't understand," she said, "It's not a bad loopy. I'm not in pain, now. Not anymore." She gave a funny little smile and looked up at the ceiling. "Not anymore…"
"Uh, are you all right?"
She rocked back and forth in her seat a few times, hummed a song, then said, "Now I want alcohol. Will you get me some?"
"No. Are you… what the hell is wrong with you? Let me take you home or to the–"
"No? No?!" she raised her voice to a sharp crescendo, then stood up, bent herself backwards in a funny angle, then said, "To the alcohol-mobile and alcohol-land!"
She fast-walked right out. I still had to pay the check, so I couldn't pursue immediately, but I slammed some cash on the table that more than covered it and ran outside to find her.
It was dark out, and it was also a crowded city sidewalk. She was nowhere to be seen, so I tried her phone. She picked up and croaked, "Hello from searching-for-alcohol-land!"
"Mia, where are you? Stay where you are. Let me–"
"I'm in alcohol-land, sucka!" she said, then hung up.
I stood there, bewildered for a few moments, and then she rang my phone. I picked up. "Hello?"
She said, "I'm still in alcohol-search-land, sucka!" and she hung up again.
I jogged a little up and down the sidewalk, looking for her, but I ultimately had to call it quits. I don't know if she ever made it to alcohol-land.
Labels:
Stories,
Written by a Guy
I Want on That Guest List
Email Sent in by Alexa:
Whoa u look liek hamster with yur chubby cheeks!@ Will u let me invite friends over to yur hours 2 have a partey where we can pinch and store foods in yur cheeks? U can spin around and we cn all duck to avoid yur large floppy cheeks. "OMG YUR CHEEKS R ALL FLOPPY" we will say and then we will duck and a friend who is hit with a cheek will be knocked out and have to go to the hospital and then she will write a book about it. the title will be "I was hit by a floppy lizard cheek." I kno yur a hamster not a lizard just too lazt to change it sorry…..
Leo
Whoa u look liek hamster with yur chubby cheeks!@ Will u let me invite friends over to yur hours 2 have a partey where we can pinch and store foods in yur cheeks? U can spin around and we cn all duck to avoid yur large floppy cheeks. "OMG YUR CHEEKS R ALL FLOPPY" we will say and then we will duck and a friend who is hit with a cheek will be knocked out and have to go to the hospital and then she will write a book about it. the title will be "I was hit by a floppy lizard cheek." I kno yur a hamster not a lizard just too lazt to change it sorry…..
Leo
Labels:
Sketchy E-mails,
Written by a Girl
Some Days You Just Can't Get Rid of a Bomb
Story Sent in by Jordana:
My first date with Steve would have been pretty great if not for his shenanigans during the last one percent of the evening. He took me out to a nice meal, we sat in my car and talked for a while, went out for ice cream, sat in my car and talked a bit longer, and then, as it was late, I let him know that I was going to head home.
"I'd like to give you a hug," he said, "But outside of the car. It's awkward to try it in here."
Right he was, and so we stepped out of my car and he jogged around to my side to give me a hug. He then drew away and said, "I put a bomb in your house. It'll go off unless you kiss me right now."
I knew he was joking, of course, but his tone of voice, the fact that he didn't smile, and his close proximity to my face made me think that he meant it more as a threat than as a joke.
I laughed awkwardly and pulled away from him. "You can go ahead and blow it up," I said, "That's not really the most romantic way to charm a kiss out of me."
"I'm serious," he persisted, "There's a bomb in your house. I put it there before we met up tonight. If you don't kiss me then I'm going to set it off. I promise you."
"Okay. Goodnight, Steve."
I opened my car door and as I stepped inside, he said, "I'm serious. Everything and everyone you care about. Blown sky high."
I closed my car door and turned the car on. Through the window, I heard him continue, "You obviously don't really care about anyone other than yourself. They're all going to be blown up! How can you be so selfish?"
I lurched the car forward. He backed away immediately and watched me go. I made it home to my very likely bomb-free house and readied for bed.
In the morning, I had a voicemail. It had been left at a little after four in the morning. It was Steve, and he said, "Hey Jordana, I'm sorry about the bomb threat. Turns out I forgot to leave it in your house. It's been in my trunk the whole time. I'm just trying to disarm it now and–oh my God! Ka-boom!" and that was it.
I hope that his remains were successfully recovered and treated with the dignity that they deserved.
My first date with Steve would have been pretty great if not for his shenanigans during the last one percent of the evening. He took me out to a nice meal, we sat in my car and talked for a while, went out for ice cream, sat in my car and talked a bit longer, and then, as it was late, I let him know that I was going to head home.
"I'd like to give you a hug," he said, "But outside of the car. It's awkward to try it in here."
Right he was, and so we stepped out of my car and he jogged around to my side to give me a hug. He then drew away and said, "I put a bomb in your house. It'll go off unless you kiss me right now."
I knew he was joking, of course, but his tone of voice, the fact that he didn't smile, and his close proximity to my face made me think that he meant it more as a threat than as a joke.
I laughed awkwardly and pulled away from him. "You can go ahead and blow it up," I said, "That's not really the most romantic way to charm a kiss out of me."
"I'm serious," he persisted, "There's a bomb in your house. I put it there before we met up tonight. If you don't kiss me then I'm going to set it off. I promise you."
"Okay. Goodnight, Steve."
I opened my car door and as I stepped inside, he said, "I'm serious. Everything and everyone you care about. Blown sky high."
I closed my car door and turned the car on. Through the window, I heard him continue, "You obviously don't really care about anyone other than yourself. They're all going to be blown up! How can you be so selfish?"
I lurched the car forward. He backed away immediately and watched me go. I made it home to my very likely bomb-free house and readied for bed.
In the morning, I had a voicemail. It had been left at a little after four in the morning. It was Steve, and he said, "Hey Jordana, I'm sorry about the bomb threat. Turns out I forgot to leave it in your house. It's been in my trunk the whole time. I'm just trying to disarm it now and–oh my God! Ka-boom!" and that was it.
I hope that his remains were successfully recovered and treated with the dignity that they deserved.
Labels:
Stories,
Written by a Girl
1/19/2012
My Evil Birthday
Profile Sent in by Gideon:
What I'm doing with my life:
On my birthday I want a man to drive me to every vineyard in 50 miles and I will taste all the wine and not spit it out. Then I will go home and the man (the same one who drove me) will get down on all fours and I will put my legs up on him and I will feast at the black banquet.
What I'm doing with my life:
On my birthday I want a man to drive me to every vineyard in 50 miles and I will taste all the wine and not spit it out. Then I will go home and the man (the same one who drove me) will get down on all fours and I will put my legs up on him and I will feast at the black banquet.
Labels:
Peculiar Profiles
无知是幸福
Story Sent in by Doug:
Ella and I were on a walk through a city park on our first date when a family of tourists asked us to take their photo. Ella took the camera and I asked them from where they were visiting.
"Tokyo," they said, "We're visiting family."
Ella took their photo and handed them back the camera. They looked at it then said, "Would you mind taking it again? It looks too bright. It was probably the camera's fault."
Ella groaned noticeably loud. I took the camera this time, said, "Sure," and took their photo again. This time, it came out just fine, they apologized for the trouble, thanked us a few more times, and then went on their merry way.
"I hate that," Ella said to me once they were out of earshot.
I said, "What's wrong? It wasn't any trouble."
"They interrupted the flow of my day," she said, "Those stupid Chinese tourists."
"They said they were from Tokyo," I reminded her, but she wasn't listening.
She laughed and launched into an impersonation of them: "Chang ching chango chang! Take picture! Chang ching ching chung! Take picture again!"
I didn't say anything, but I let her have her ignorant, racist fun. After a minute, I asked her if she wanted to go to lunch.
"Sure!" she said, "Let's go to a Chinese place and ask them to bring out the food, then ask them to bring it out again! Ching chang chung ching!"
"Are you really that upset about the photo? They said it was the camera's fault. The amount of time you're taking to be upset about it is longer than the amount of time the whole picture-taking process took."
"Chang ching ching ching! Chang chang? Chingo chango chungo ching!"
"Uh, let's not do Chinese food."
"Chang cheng!"
I didn't say much else to her on the way to lunch (we ended up at a pizza place). Whatever it was that was bugging her about those tourists must have really bugged her quite a bit. At lunch, she responded as herself some of the time, but took any opportunity to spout her stupid impersonation whenever she could.
"Good pizza! Like pizza in China but needs more General Tso chicken! Chang ching!"
"Italians better than Americans! They always take picture right, first time! Chengo cheng!"
I'm not Chinese or Japanese, but it didn't take at all long for me to find her offensive and to decide to not ask her out again.
Ella and I were on a walk through a city park on our first date when a family of tourists asked us to take their photo. Ella took the camera and I asked them from where they were visiting.
"Tokyo," they said, "We're visiting family."
Ella took their photo and handed them back the camera. They looked at it then said, "Would you mind taking it again? It looks too bright. It was probably the camera's fault."
Ella groaned noticeably loud. I took the camera this time, said, "Sure," and took their photo again. This time, it came out just fine, they apologized for the trouble, thanked us a few more times, and then went on their merry way.
"I hate that," Ella said to me once they were out of earshot.
I said, "What's wrong? It wasn't any trouble."
"They interrupted the flow of my day," she said, "Those stupid Chinese tourists."
"They said they were from Tokyo," I reminded her, but she wasn't listening.
She laughed and launched into an impersonation of them: "Chang ching chango chang! Take picture! Chang ching ching chung! Take picture again!"
I didn't say anything, but I let her have her ignorant, racist fun. After a minute, I asked her if she wanted to go to lunch.
"Sure!" she said, "Let's go to a Chinese place and ask them to bring out the food, then ask them to bring it out again! Ching chang chung ching!"
"Are you really that upset about the photo? They said it was the camera's fault. The amount of time you're taking to be upset about it is longer than the amount of time the whole picture-taking process took."
"Chang ching ching ching! Chang chang? Chingo chango chungo ching!"
"Uh, let's not do Chinese food."
"Chang cheng!"
I didn't say much else to her on the way to lunch (we ended up at a pizza place). Whatever it was that was bugging her about those tourists must have really bugged her quite a bit. At lunch, she responded as herself some of the time, but took any opportunity to spout her stupid impersonation whenever she could.
"Good pizza! Like pizza in China but needs more General Tso chicken! Chang ching!"
"Italians better than Americans! They always take picture right, first time! Chengo cheng!"
I'm not Chinese or Japanese, but it didn't take at all long for me to find her offensive and to decide to not ask her out again.
Labels:
Stories,
Written by a Guy
Never Mind the Rest of Us
Email Sent in by Kristen:
YO!!!!!!
How have you been???? It has been so long since I have seen you! Remember when I took you hands and we danced togather in that park after dinner and we spun? Oh……
Maybe there is something that you forgot to tell me that night since I have not heard of you from that day to this. That is okay. I love you with all my heart and soul and all of the souls of others I have collected and I would like to release them into you. Into your ear or with the sweet mouth! Together can anything stop us! We will join hands and grow larger than the earth and turn grey of color and all shall tremble before us as we hold hands and look down with booming voices upon the earth! It will be as a toy! We can throw it to each other like a beach ball across the starfield of the solar system. Oops! It fell into the sun! Do not worry or burn your hands. I will pick it out and wash it clean so that it will be just the two of us!
Write me……
Billy
YO!!!!!!
How have you been???? It has been so long since I have seen you! Remember when I took you hands and we danced togather in that park after dinner and we spun? Oh……
Maybe there is something that you forgot to tell me that night since I have not heard of you from that day to this. That is okay. I love you with all my heart and soul and all of the souls of others I have collected and I would like to release them into you. Into your ear or with the sweet mouth! Together can anything stop us! We will join hands and grow larger than the earth and turn grey of color and all shall tremble before us as we hold hands and look down with booming voices upon the earth! It will be as a toy! We can throw it to each other like a beach ball across the starfield of the solar system. Oops! It fell into the sun! Do not worry or burn your hands. I will pick it out and wash it clean so that it will be just the two of us!
Write me……
Billy
Labels:
Sketchy E-mails,
Written by a Girl
Emotional Scarlet
Story Sent in by Nicole:
Ryan and I were out on an evening walk together on our first date. He asked me, "Have you ever cheated on a boyfriend?"
I replied, "Once. In high school. I still feel terrible about it, but I and the guy I cheated on are friends, now. It's really become more of a teasing thing between him and me, and I'm grateful for his friendship."
He asked, "Really?"
"Yep."
"Hoo boy. Well, there's something we need to do, then."
"What?"
"Up for an adventure?"
"I think. What are we doing, and what does it have to do with me cheating?"
"You'll see. Nothing bad. Come with me."
"All right."
I followed him to a 24-hour convenience store where he bought a pack of construction paper. We walked out together and he led me to his car. Once there, he broke open the construction paper pack, pulled out a red sheet of paper, and threw the rest of the stack into his back seat. He then tore the red sheet into the shape of a capital letter A and handed it to me.
I said, "Thanks. What's this for, now?"
"It's the scarlet letter. I'll thank you to wear it upon your person."
"Uh, I didn't commit adultery. I did something stupid in high school, but–"
He closed his eyes and held it out to me. "Please. Just wear it upon your person."
"You're kidding me. No. That's really why we went to the store? For construction paper for you to–"
"Wear it upon your person. Accept what you are."
"Ryan, I'm not going to–"
"This is non-negotiable, strumpet. Wear it upon your person or I walk."
I froze, still unsure if he was serious or else taking a joke way too far. He turned and carried the letter with him toward the driver's side of his car. I didn't say anything, but he said, "Stop trying to dissuade me. I walk, as promised." He climbed into his car and floored it away. I didn't hear from him ever again.
Ryan and I were out on an evening walk together on our first date. He asked me, "Have you ever cheated on a boyfriend?"
I replied, "Once. In high school. I still feel terrible about it, but I and the guy I cheated on are friends, now. It's really become more of a teasing thing between him and me, and I'm grateful for his friendship."
He asked, "Really?"
"Yep."
"Hoo boy. Well, there's something we need to do, then."
"What?"
"Up for an adventure?"
"I think. What are we doing, and what does it have to do with me cheating?"
"You'll see. Nothing bad. Come with me."
"All right."
I followed him to a 24-hour convenience store where he bought a pack of construction paper. We walked out together and he led me to his car. Once there, he broke open the construction paper pack, pulled out a red sheet of paper, and threw the rest of the stack into his back seat. He then tore the red sheet into the shape of a capital letter A and handed it to me.
I said, "Thanks. What's this for, now?"
"It's the scarlet letter. I'll thank you to wear it upon your person."
"Uh, I didn't commit adultery. I did something stupid in high school, but–"
He closed his eyes and held it out to me. "Please. Just wear it upon your person."
"You're kidding me. No. That's really why we went to the store? For construction paper for you to–"
"Wear it upon your person. Accept what you are."
"Ryan, I'm not going to–"
"This is non-negotiable, strumpet. Wear it upon your person or I walk."
I froze, still unsure if he was serious or else taking a joke way too far. He turned and carried the letter with him toward the driver's side of his car. I didn't say anything, but he said, "Stop trying to dissuade me. I walk, as promised." He climbed into his car and floored it away. I didn't hear from him ever again.
Labels:
Stories,
Written by a Girl
1/18/2012
Don't Step in the Theses
Profile Sent in by Zoe:
About me:
From where I sit I can see everything (on a clear day you can see forever what?) and I see people in pants but in their pants the butts are cut out of the pants so they're all walking around with their butts hanging out and all I can think of is "you know all of our butts look about the same. Maybe people are more alike than I ever thought" and then I write a thesis about it and am glad with lemonade and straw.
About me:
From where I sit I can see everything (on a clear day you can see forever what?) and I see people in pants but in their pants the butts are cut out of the pants so they're all walking around with their butts hanging out and all I can think of is "you know all of our butts look about the same. Maybe people are more alike than I ever thought" and then I write a thesis about it and am glad with lemonade and straw.
Labels:
Peculiar Profiles
Roll with Us into Oblivion
Story Sent in by Craig:
Melissa and I were on a second date together at a roller rink. Before we went out to it, she claimed that she wasn't any good at roller skating.
"I'm no good at roller skating," she had said, "But it'll be fun!"
It was her idea to go, after all, and I thought that two people who were both "no good" at roller skating would make for a comical second date.
Whoops. Turns out, as soon as we made it to the rink (I rented skates, she brought her own), she tore away from me and twirled, jumped, and spun her way into the center, performing trick after trick. After each successful leap, she'd applaud for herself. Soon enough, multiple people watched her and clapped their hands as she zoomed past everyone. It wasn't long before many (but not all) people stopped skating and watched her roller skate into their hearts.
She was very good at roller skating, admittedly, but she wasn't too good at remembering that she was on a date. I thought that after five minutes, she'd tire of showing off, but she didn't. She just kept going. I continued around the rink, with an eye on her and another on what was straight ahead of me. There was really no good time to approach her, as she kept up with the fast runs, the spins, and turns, and so on.
Finally, I approached as closely as I dared (she was doing a good bit of flailing) and I called out, "Hey there. Want to grab something to drink?"
"Never!" she said, and skated away. I skated closer again, with the intent of asking her if she wanted to skate together. As I approached, she booked it once more for the other side of the rink. I skated closer once more, and as soon as I was close, she skated away.
I left the rink to grab lunch from a nearby food court, from where I watched her continue to dance, skip, and self-applaud. Most of the folks there seemed to be uninterested in her at this point, but she kept pushing herself.
Outside of the rink, I made my way to the side closest to where she was performing and I called out to her, "Want to, I don't know, hang out?"
"We are!" she said triumphantly, then skated away from me again. Without moving from where I was, I yelled, "I'm going to head out!"
She spun and spun and spun! Truly, she was a blur. I left the rink and never heard from her again.
Melissa and I were on a second date together at a roller rink. Before we went out to it, she claimed that she wasn't any good at roller skating.
"I'm no good at roller skating," she had said, "But it'll be fun!"
It was her idea to go, after all, and I thought that two people who were both "no good" at roller skating would make for a comical second date.
Whoops. Turns out, as soon as we made it to the rink (I rented skates, she brought her own), she tore away from me and twirled, jumped, and spun her way into the center, performing trick after trick. After each successful leap, she'd applaud for herself. Soon enough, multiple people watched her and clapped their hands as she zoomed past everyone. It wasn't long before many (but not all) people stopped skating and watched her roller skate into their hearts.
She was very good at roller skating, admittedly, but she wasn't too good at remembering that she was on a date. I thought that after five minutes, she'd tire of showing off, but she didn't. She just kept going. I continued around the rink, with an eye on her and another on what was straight ahead of me. There was really no good time to approach her, as she kept up with the fast runs, the spins, and turns, and so on.
Finally, I approached as closely as I dared (she was doing a good bit of flailing) and I called out, "Hey there. Want to grab something to drink?"
"Never!" she said, and skated away. I skated closer again, with the intent of asking her if she wanted to skate together. As I approached, she booked it once more for the other side of the rink. I skated closer once more, and as soon as I was close, she skated away.
I left the rink to grab lunch from a nearby food court, from where I watched her continue to dance, skip, and self-applaud. Most of the folks there seemed to be uninterested in her at this point, but she kept pushing herself.
Outside of the rink, I made my way to the side closest to where she was performing and I called out to her, "Want to, I don't know, hang out?"
"We are!" she said triumphantly, then skated away from me again. Without moving from where I was, I yelled, "I'm going to head out!"
She spun and spun and spun! Truly, she was a blur. I left the rink and never heard from her again.
Labels:
Stories,
Written by a Guy
Change Your Profile. It Is God's Will.
Email Sent in by Andrew:
Hello yes I know I am a guy but I feel I should tell you that your profile is not really the best at picking up chicklets. I could list what is wrong with it but it would break my keyboard. Instead I will suggest that you remove your profile from the site until you address its suckyness.
The first big sucky thing is that you are a guy other than me. First mistake.
That out of the way you look like a stalk of wheat. Like a SNACK. Get out of the way of your betters!
Secondly and most importantly you appear to have forgotten that core belief of all guys… (Thessalonians 5:18 give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.) I mean I said it while walking to the merry go round of life over and over, but oh my god man!!!! You owuld've forgotten it completely! CHange it! I sure would….
Thirdly and most importantly all you have to do is write me for more tips and I can help you line by line but there are charges involved. If it's wrong and wrong again then I can help you bests I can…..
John
Hello yes I know I am a guy but I feel I should tell you that your profile is not really the best at picking up chicklets. I could list what is wrong with it but it would break my keyboard. Instead I will suggest that you remove your profile from the site until you address its suckyness.
The first big sucky thing is that you are a guy other than me. First mistake.
That out of the way you look like a stalk of wheat. Like a SNACK. Get out of the way of your betters!
Secondly and most importantly you appear to have forgotten that core belief of all guys… (Thessalonians 5:18 give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.) I mean I said it while walking to the merry go round of life over and over, but oh my god man!!!! You owuld've forgotten it completely! CHange it! I sure would….
Thirdly and most importantly all you have to do is write me for more tips and I can help you line by line but there are charges involved. If it's wrong and wrong again then I can help you bests I can…..
John
Labels:
Sketchy E-mails,
Written by a Guy
Plug it Up
Story Sent in by Mira:
Online, Noah was pretty cryptic about what he did for a living. He only said that he worked in small-time imports and sales. We traded messages for about two weeks and at our first date dinner, he asked me about what beauty products I used and to which catalogs I subscribed. I had a feeling that there was a sales pitch coming on, and it arrived soon enough:
He said, "So, have you ever been to the beach?"
"Yes."
"Great! Great place the beach, isn't it? Warm, lots of sand and whatnot. Have you ever built or destroyed a sand castle?"
"Um, both, probably?"
He clapped his hands together. Somehow, I was playing right into his trap. "Great! It feels good to create and it feels good to destroy. We like to dig holes and then seal them back up. Such is being human, am I wrong?"
"Uh…"
"Asphalt, for example, can be used to cover over potholes, but also used to build children's playgrounds."
"You're trying to sell me asphalt?"
He leaned in and said, "Not so loud. I sell butt plugs."
I had already had a beer, but I was positive that I had heard him right. "You're trying to sell me butt plugs?"
He smiled. "Well, I'd be honored if you bought more than one, but you can just try one if you want. A free trial, because I like you."
"A trial? So you want me to return it if I don't like it?"
He said, "Usually yes, as these are one of a kind and really top quality: not hollow, and with a finely, hand-sculpted flange."
I cracked up. I couldn't help it. He laughed a little bit, but pressed on with his pitch, "But I can totally let you keep it."
I replied, "So how can I be sure that the one you're giving me for the trial isn't one that someone else has used during another free trial?"
"They have to be retired from circulation after three months, and they're routinely cleaned in an alcohol and saline solution. Rest assured that they're as clean as they were when they were first made. We have to recycle them: custom-made ones typically sell for $499 each. They're hand-sculpted."
I laughed again. "I think I'm okay, but thanks for the offer."
"But this is free. No risk, no obligation."
"Uh, sounds like lots of risk. No thanks."
He said, "Well then, sorry to have taken up your time." He downed his beer in three mighty gulps, belched, put a $20 bill on the table, and left me without another word.
I had never been left on a date before, but in this case, I really didn't mind it.
Online, Noah was pretty cryptic about what he did for a living. He only said that he worked in small-time imports and sales. We traded messages for about two weeks and at our first date dinner, he asked me about what beauty products I used and to which catalogs I subscribed. I had a feeling that there was a sales pitch coming on, and it arrived soon enough:
He said, "So, have you ever been to the beach?"
"Yes."
"Great! Great place the beach, isn't it? Warm, lots of sand and whatnot. Have you ever built or destroyed a sand castle?"
"Um, both, probably?"
He clapped his hands together. Somehow, I was playing right into his trap. "Great! It feels good to create and it feels good to destroy. We like to dig holes and then seal them back up. Such is being human, am I wrong?"
"Uh…"
"Asphalt, for example, can be used to cover over potholes, but also used to build children's playgrounds."
"You're trying to sell me asphalt?"
He leaned in and said, "Not so loud. I sell butt plugs."
I had already had a beer, but I was positive that I had heard him right. "You're trying to sell me butt plugs?"
He smiled. "Well, I'd be honored if you bought more than one, but you can just try one if you want. A free trial, because I like you."
"A trial? So you want me to return it if I don't like it?"
He said, "Usually yes, as these are one of a kind and really top quality: not hollow, and with a finely, hand-sculpted flange."
I cracked up. I couldn't help it. He laughed a little bit, but pressed on with his pitch, "But I can totally let you keep it."
I replied, "So how can I be sure that the one you're giving me for the trial isn't one that someone else has used during another free trial?"
"They have to be retired from circulation after three months, and they're routinely cleaned in an alcohol and saline solution. Rest assured that they're as clean as they were when they were first made. We have to recycle them: custom-made ones typically sell for $499 each. They're hand-sculpted."
I laughed again. "I think I'm okay, but thanks for the offer."
"But this is free. No risk, no obligation."
"Uh, sounds like lots of risk. No thanks."
He said, "Well then, sorry to have taken up your time." He downed his beer in three mighty gulps, belched, put a $20 bill on the table, and left me without another word.
I had never been left on a date before, but in this case, I really didn't mind it.
Labels:
Stories,
Written by a Girl
1/17/2012
This Is the Best Our World Can Do
Profile Sent in by Shana:
About me:
I am not a felon. Jut a regular guyt trying to make his way in the worlds... there are more than 1. There are lots and I can be a felon in 1 and not more than 1. Maybe I am a rich gangsta rapper in one of them. You'd like that wouldn't you you gold digga. Yeah. Too bad you were porn into this universe where I am just moderately wealthy and have a good outlook instead of shooting people in the streets. Better than shooting people in the streets I mean.
Labels:
Peculiar Profiles
Peenot Grigio
Story Sent in by Dona:
It was early on my first date with online find Louis. We were at a nice neighborhood restaurant, and we both ordered glasses of wine. Once they were delivered to the table, he drank his down in under a minute, then stood up with his wine glass and excused himself.
He returned about two minutes later, his wine glass mysteriously full of white wine. He put it on the table with a grin and stared at it.
Confused, I asked, "What just happened?"
He pointed to his filled glass and said, "A science experiment."
I asked what I presumed to be the obvious. "You got more wine?"
He replied, "Not wine. Urine."
My face must have made a funny expression, because he looked at me and laughed hard. He then explained, "I filled the glass with urine. Looks like wine, I did it to see if I could stop myself from the habit of reaching for a drink put in front of me."
I asked, "Would you mind taking it off the table? I mean, it's urine."
He slid it away from me, closer to himself, but kept it on the table. He then asked, "You had a busy week, right? Tell me about it."
The rest of dinner went quickly, because I ensured that we ordered food fast, that I finished my meal in record time, and that we subsequently asked for the check as soon as possible. Once he had paid for both of us (I thanked him), we went our separate ways. Forever.
It was early on my first date with online find Louis. We were at a nice neighborhood restaurant, and we both ordered glasses of wine. Once they were delivered to the table, he drank his down in under a minute, then stood up with his wine glass and excused himself.
He returned about two minutes later, his wine glass mysteriously full of white wine. He put it on the table with a grin and stared at it.
Confused, I asked, "What just happened?"
He pointed to his filled glass and said, "A science experiment."
I asked what I presumed to be the obvious. "You got more wine?"
He replied, "Not wine. Urine."
My face must have made a funny expression, because he looked at me and laughed hard. He then explained, "I filled the glass with urine. Looks like wine, I did it to see if I could stop myself from the habit of reaching for a drink put in front of me."
I asked, "Would you mind taking it off the table? I mean, it's urine."
He slid it away from me, closer to himself, but kept it on the table. He then asked, "You had a busy week, right? Tell me about it."
The rest of dinner went quickly, because I ensured that we ordered food fast, that I finished my meal in record time, and that we subsequently asked for the check as soon as possible. Once he had paid for both of us (I thanked him), we went our separate ways. Forever.
Labels:
Stories,
Written by a Girl
Possibly. How Many Constitute a "Pile"?
Email Sent in by Phil:
GODDESS'S GIFT HERE. I WILL LET YOU TAKE ME OUT TO DINNER FOR A PILE OF TESTES. WHAT SAY YOU?
JENNIFER
GODDESS'S GIFT HERE. I WILL LET YOU TAKE ME OUT TO DINNER FOR A PILE OF TESTES. WHAT SAY YOU?
JENNIFER
Labels:
Sketchy E-mails,
Written by a Guy
Venti Awkward
Story Sent in by David:
In college, I worked part-time in a coffee shop, where another student at my college, Vanessa, worked. Vanessa and I were often scheduled together on shifts, and so we spent a lot of time with the same nasty customers, the same spills, and the same coffee shop hijinks. Bluntly, we bonded pretty quickly, and we hung out, sometimes, after we left the store for the day.
I was interested in her, but I couldn't tell if she liked me or not. The one time I tried to kiss her, she pulled away and said, "No. Too soon. I don't want to rush into anything." I took that to imply that there would come a time no longer "too soon," and so we kept hanging out and I kept opening my heart to her. She seemed to like the attention, or else I guess she wouldn't have kept spending as much time with me as she did.
One morning not long after, I was scheduled to open the store. A blizzard was socking the town, and so I arrived at the store extra-early, around 4am, just to make sure that I'd make it there in time to open.
I entered through the back entrance, took off my wet jacket, and sidled through the back room. I went to the bathroom and then made it into the store proper. It was dark inside, and I made for the lights, but silhouetted on the floor of the store, not far from the counter, looked like a pile of… rags? Clothing? It wasn't moving, whatever it was.
I leaned in closer. It was two people, sleeping on the floor. My heart pounded. Was there a break-in? Were they homeless? I thought about calling the police, but then, my mouth moved faster than my common sense.
"Police," I said, "Get up!"
They stirred. Half-dressed, a shape rose up from the floor. I hit the lights. It was Vanessa. Another, older co-worker, Andy, stood up next to her, even less-dressed than she was. He glanced over his shoulder at the store windows. He hissed, "You stupid asshole! Turn off the lights, now!"
I didn't. My attention was focused on Vanessa, who held a blanket around herself. I said, "You could've just told me that you were interested in someone else."
Andy stepped closer and said, "I said turn the lights off. You have three seconds to do it or I'm going to beat you into a–"
I flipped the lights off and said, "Lights are off. But the store security camera's been on all night."
Andy said, "It couldn't have seen us. It was too dark, and we didn't say anything." He glanced at Vanessa, I guess hoping for a confirmation.
I replied, "But it wasn't dark five seconds ago, when I had the lights on."
Andy didn't say anything else, but he scooped his clothes up from the floor and shoved past me into the back room. Vanessa didn't say anything, either, but she followed suit.
It was a little awkward when I discovered that Andy was on the schedule to open with me that day, but I was sure to tell the manager to review the security footage.
Both Vanessa and Andy were canned. Vanessa never spoke to me again, nor was I expecting her to. I hope it was worth it for her.
In college, I worked part-time in a coffee shop, where another student at my college, Vanessa, worked. Vanessa and I were often scheduled together on shifts, and so we spent a lot of time with the same nasty customers, the same spills, and the same coffee shop hijinks. Bluntly, we bonded pretty quickly, and we hung out, sometimes, after we left the store for the day.
I was interested in her, but I couldn't tell if she liked me or not. The one time I tried to kiss her, she pulled away and said, "No. Too soon. I don't want to rush into anything." I took that to imply that there would come a time no longer "too soon," and so we kept hanging out and I kept opening my heart to her. She seemed to like the attention, or else I guess she wouldn't have kept spending as much time with me as she did.
One morning not long after, I was scheduled to open the store. A blizzard was socking the town, and so I arrived at the store extra-early, around 4am, just to make sure that I'd make it there in time to open.
I entered through the back entrance, took off my wet jacket, and sidled through the back room. I went to the bathroom and then made it into the store proper. It was dark inside, and I made for the lights, but silhouetted on the floor of the store, not far from the counter, looked like a pile of… rags? Clothing? It wasn't moving, whatever it was.
I leaned in closer. It was two people, sleeping on the floor. My heart pounded. Was there a break-in? Were they homeless? I thought about calling the police, but then, my mouth moved faster than my common sense.
"Police," I said, "Get up!"
They stirred. Half-dressed, a shape rose up from the floor. I hit the lights. It was Vanessa. Another, older co-worker, Andy, stood up next to her, even less-dressed than she was. He glanced over his shoulder at the store windows. He hissed, "You stupid asshole! Turn off the lights, now!"
I didn't. My attention was focused on Vanessa, who held a blanket around herself. I said, "You could've just told me that you were interested in someone else."
Andy stepped closer and said, "I said turn the lights off. You have three seconds to do it or I'm going to beat you into a–"
I flipped the lights off and said, "Lights are off. But the store security camera's been on all night."
Andy said, "It couldn't have seen us. It was too dark, and we didn't say anything." He glanced at Vanessa, I guess hoping for a confirmation.
I replied, "But it wasn't dark five seconds ago, when I had the lights on."
Andy didn't say anything else, but he scooped his clothes up from the floor and shoved past me into the back room. Vanessa didn't say anything, either, but she followed suit.
It was a little awkward when I discovered that Andy was on the schedule to open with me that day, but I was sure to tell the manager to review the security footage.
Both Vanessa and Andy were canned. Vanessa never spoke to me again, nor was I expecting her to. I hope it was worth it for her.
Labels:
Stories,
Written by a Guy
1/16/2012
Artists Are Animals
Email Sent in by Julia:
Hey hot stuff. A banananananana is missing from your still lifes. Permit me to place it there lovingly between the melons. We can also place a ming vase there and a rumpleumpleumpleumpleumpled table cloth to drape because thats in all still lifes. We splash paint emphatically across the canvas upon the melons and the bacon sandwich that we have gently nestled vertictictictictictictically between the vase and the windowsill. I WIL EAT IT AT ONCE OMNOMNOMNOMNOMNOMNOMNOM!!!! like a cookie monster between your loaf thighloafs
Ron
Hey hot stuff. A banananananana is missing from your still lifes. Permit me to place it there lovingly between the melons. We can also place a ming vase there and a rumpleumpleumpleumpleumpled table cloth to drape because thats in all still lifes. We splash paint emphatically across the canvas upon the melons and the bacon sandwich that we have gently nestled vertictictictictictictically between the vase and the windowsill. I WIL EAT IT AT ONCE OMNOMNOMNOMNOMNOMNOMNOM!!!! like a cookie monster between your loaf thighloafs
Ron
Labels:
Sketchy E-mails,
Written by a Girl
The Warranty on Her Mouth Expired
Story Sent in by Roger:
I've never been too attracted to women with piercings, but Haylee's profile made her otherwise hard to resist: she had a master's degree in history, and was a fiercely attractive brunette with gorgeous brown eyes. She had multiple piercings in each ear, a stud in her nose, one in her tongue, one in an eyebrow, and (according to her profile) further piercings in other locations.
I wrote to her, she replied, and we kept up a correspondence until I asked her to meet for lunch at a Japanese place close to both of our homes.
Lunch was a let-down. Haylee was very, very, very into herself: "I have enough notes from my thesis to write five books. Once I set them in order I'm going to be the youngest, most famous writer the world has ever seen. I'm going to blow the lids off of everything: the presidency, the royals, the banks, everything," she said without a trace of levity.
Nothing seemed to derail her interest in herself, and she didn't ask a single question about me. I grew tired of her academic talk and so shifted the subject into something else: "I'm about to start a new job," I said, "I'm doing statistical analysis for–"
"Oh my God, my piercings," she said, "Let's talk about those. This was my first one," she said, pointing to her right ear, "and this one was my second," she pointed to her left ear.
I didn't miss a beat. "The analysis I'm going to be doing combines market research with actually going out to different cities to interview people on the street. I'll be traveling a lot, so that'll be exciting."
She said, "Then I couldn't stop after that. I got this whole ear done, then that one, then my eyebrow, then two studs in my ass–"
"I've taken up painting. I've already completed a couple of landscapes, but–"
"Then I got a few more things pierced, but that might be TMI."
"Are you into sports at all?"
"I wish I had more things to pierce. I'm almost out of room. I just like the way they make me feel, you know? They're easy to clean: I have a system that..."
She was beyond the point of even listening to me. I nodded along with her continued words about her piercings, then said, "Genitals."
She didn't hear me that first time, so after she paused to take a rare breath, I said, "Genitals, genitals."
She cut herself off, then asked, "What about them? Are you asking if mine are pierced? They are. Had it done five years ago in New Hampshire. There was this hot tattoo artist I was dating and he, well, I, he pierced, um, um, um, um, um…"
She started spouting gibberish. However, her face and motions betrayed no real change. She was actually saying, "Shhab ska nebbik shi babba na mimma na, chras chi kalas deh nib askki beb…"
"Haylee? What are you doing?"
She stopped talking, closed her eyes, and lowered her head. After several moments of unprecedented silence, I asked her, "Are you okay? I mean, what–?"
She looked up at me, noticeably paler. She asked, "Is it okay if we ask for the check? I forgot–yeah. Can we get the check? Do you mind?"
I beckoned a waiter over, Haylee and I split the check, I followed her as she hurried out, she gave me a clumsy hug goodbye, and that was the last I ever saw or heard from her.
I've never been too attracted to women with piercings, but Haylee's profile made her otherwise hard to resist: she had a master's degree in history, and was a fiercely attractive brunette with gorgeous brown eyes. She had multiple piercings in each ear, a stud in her nose, one in her tongue, one in an eyebrow, and (according to her profile) further piercings in other locations.
I wrote to her, she replied, and we kept up a correspondence until I asked her to meet for lunch at a Japanese place close to both of our homes.
Lunch was a let-down. Haylee was very, very, very into herself: "I have enough notes from my thesis to write five books. Once I set them in order I'm going to be the youngest, most famous writer the world has ever seen. I'm going to blow the lids off of everything: the presidency, the royals, the banks, everything," she said without a trace of levity.
Nothing seemed to derail her interest in herself, and she didn't ask a single question about me. I grew tired of her academic talk and so shifted the subject into something else: "I'm about to start a new job," I said, "I'm doing statistical analysis for–"
"Oh my God, my piercings," she said, "Let's talk about those. This was my first one," she said, pointing to her right ear, "and this one was my second," she pointed to her left ear.
I didn't miss a beat. "The analysis I'm going to be doing combines market research with actually going out to different cities to interview people on the street. I'll be traveling a lot, so that'll be exciting."
She said, "Then I couldn't stop after that. I got this whole ear done, then that one, then my eyebrow, then two studs in my ass–"
"I've taken up painting. I've already completed a couple of landscapes, but–"
"Then I got a few more things pierced, but that might be TMI."
"Are you into sports at all?"
"I wish I had more things to pierce. I'm almost out of room. I just like the way they make me feel, you know? They're easy to clean: I have a system that..."
She was beyond the point of even listening to me. I nodded along with her continued words about her piercings, then said, "Genitals."
She didn't hear me that first time, so after she paused to take a rare breath, I said, "Genitals, genitals."
She cut herself off, then asked, "What about them? Are you asking if mine are pierced? They are. Had it done five years ago in New Hampshire. There was this hot tattoo artist I was dating and he, well, I, he pierced, um, um, um, um, um…"
She started spouting gibberish. However, her face and motions betrayed no real change. She was actually saying, "Shhab ska nebbik shi babba na mimma na, chras chi kalas deh nib askki beb…"
"Haylee? What are you doing?"
She stopped talking, closed her eyes, and lowered her head. After several moments of unprecedented silence, I asked her, "Are you okay? I mean, what–?"
She looked up at me, noticeably paler. She asked, "Is it okay if we ask for the check? I forgot–yeah. Can we get the check? Do you mind?"
I beckoned a waiter over, Haylee and I split the check, I followed her as she hurried out, she gave me a clumsy hug goodbye, and that was the last I ever saw or heard from her.
Labels:
Stories,
Written by a Guy
1/15/2012
Not-So-Nice Cream
Story Sent in by Lori:
Ian wrote me online. One thing that intrigued me about his profile was that he claimed to make his own homemade ice cream. I asked him about it in our introductory messages, and he sounded very proud of it. At one point, I mentioned that I'd be interested in trying some, sometime. He replied that he'd be happy to make some for me, and then he asked me out on a date.
I met him in the parking lot of a restaurant, and after our hellos, he showed me over to his car, popped his trunk and opened a cooler within. There were, wrapped in aluminum foil, a few small bricks of his homemade ice cream.
"Wow," I said, "Thanks for making it."
He said, "My pleasure. Go ahead and take as much as you want. I have a whole vat left at home."
I replied, "Thanks, I will. After dinner."
He gave me a look and said, "Okay, if you don't want it, just say so." He slammed his trunk closed, making me jump, and then he stomped toward the restaurant. When he noticed that I wasn't following, he turned around and said, "What?"
I asked, "What was that about?"
He said, "If you don't want it, say so. I mean, I went through the trouble of making it, but it's easy for you to just blow me off. Okay, whatever."
"Ian, what are you talking about? I'm not about to put it in my bag or car right now. It'll melt. If I grab it after dinner, that'll give me enough time to make it home before it melts."
He said, "You knew I was bringing ice cream, and you didn't plan ahead to bring a cooler? I'm supposed to believe that you were really that stupid?"
"Maybe you should believe that I thought you'd be okay with me taking it after dinner, instead of behaving like a crazy person."
He stared at me, then looked up at the dark sky, then said, "You know what? I'm going to go home and eat it. Right now. Save me some money and from having to go out on a date with some idiot."
He shouldered past me and made for his car. I said, "You are absolutely senseless."
He spun and yelled, "Shut it, swine!" then jumped into his car, slammed the door, and pulled away.
I didn't feel physically threatened by him, but I was still shaken. It took a while for me to look at ice cream after that and not think of him each and every time.
Ian wrote me online. One thing that intrigued me about his profile was that he claimed to make his own homemade ice cream. I asked him about it in our introductory messages, and he sounded very proud of it. At one point, I mentioned that I'd be interested in trying some, sometime. He replied that he'd be happy to make some for me, and then he asked me out on a date.
I met him in the parking lot of a restaurant, and after our hellos, he showed me over to his car, popped his trunk and opened a cooler within. There were, wrapped in aluminum foil, a few small bricks of his homemade ice cream.
"Wow," I said, "Thanks for making it."
He said, "My pleasure. Go ahead and take as much as you want. I have a whole vat left at home."
I replied, "Thanks, I will. After dinner."
He gave me a look and said, "Okay, if you don't want it, just say so." He slammed his trunk closed, making me jump, and then he stomped toward the restaurant. When he noticed that I wasn't following, he turned around and said, "What?"
I asked, "What was that about?"
He said, "If you don't want it, say so. I mean, I went through the trouble of making it, but it's easy for you to just blow me off. Okay, whatever."
"Ian, what are you talking about? I'm not about to put it in my bag or car right now. It'll melt. If I grab it after dinner, that'll give me enough time to make it home before it melts."
He said, "You knew I was bringing ice cream, and you didn't plan ahead to bring a cooler? I'm supposed to believe that you were really that stupid?"
"Maybe you should believe that I thought you'd be okay with me taking it after dinner, instead of behaving like a crazy person."
He stared at me, then looked up at the dark sky, then said, "You know what? I'm going to go home and eat it. Right now. Save me some money and from having to go out on a date with some idiot."
He shouldered past me and made for his car. I said, "You are absolutely senseless."
He spun and yelled, "Shut it, swine!" then jumped into his car, slammed the door, and pulled away.
I didn't feel physically threatened by him, but I was still shaken. It took a while for me to look at ice cream after that and not think of him each and every time.
Labels:
Stories,
Written by a Girl
1/14/2012
Move Over, Drano
Email Sent in by Maureen:
Dearest Maureen:
I am sorry if I did something that upset you. You seemed so distant and distracted last night. I know just what will wake you out of that sour dream of yours: seeing me again. I know what we can do together: something. Anything. Doesn't matter what. Seeing me will be all your need and you will be right as rain. My humor will seep into your bitter cracks and let bloom the flowers of sunnyside hope and sunlight. Let sleep those demons of yours and douche your mind out with me.
Erik
Dearest Maureen:
I am sorry if I did something that upset you. You seemed so distant and distracted last night. I know just what will wake you out of that sour dream of yours: seeing me again. I know what we can do together: something. Anything. Doesn't matter what. Seeing me will be all your need and you will be right as rain. My humor will seep into your bitter cracks and let bloom the flowers of sunnyside hope and sunlight. Let sleep those demons of yours and douche your mind out with me.
Erik
Labels:
Sketchy E-mails,
Written by a Girl
Class Act at the Club
Story Sent in by Roberto:
Renee and I were at a club on our second date. She had left for the bathroom for about 20 minutes, and I wondered what had become of her. We had both drank a bit, but I didn't expect to find her where I did, pinned up against a wall, moaning loudly while two different guys took turns dry-humping her.
I tapped her shoulder and she opened her eyes. I asked, "Having fun?"
She asked, "Who the hell are you?"
The guy who was rubbing himself against her at that moment, a tall string bean in a black shirt, black overalls, and black baseball cap, leaned into me and said, "Get lost."
I asked Renee, just to be sure, "You okay?"
She said to me, "I have no idea who you are. Who are you?"
That was my cue to return to the crowd and do my best to have a good evening by myself. The bands were good and I had almost forgotten all about Renee until an hour and a half later, when she grabbed my shoulder from behind and shook from head to toe.
"Everything all right?" I asked her.
"I feel sick," she said, "Can you drive me home?"
I replied, "Who the hell are you?"
She said, "Renee. We came here together… I think. Didn't we?"
She looked an awful shade of green. Despite what a bitch she had been, I was moved to pity. Say what you will, but my pride wasn't worth abandoning someone who was ill. I swallowed my ego, put an arm around her, and drove her home.
After making sure that she made it into her house without incident, I went right back to the club for another 40 minutes and had a great time. Best of all, I never heard from Renee again.
Renee and I were at a club on our second date. She had left for the bathroom for about 20 minutes, and I wondered what had become of her. We had both drank a bit, but I didn't expect to find her where I did, pinned up against a wall, moaning loudly while two different guys took turns dry-humping her.
I tapped her shoulder and she opened her eyes. I asked, "Having fun?"
She asked, "Who the hell are you?"
The guy who was rubbing himself against her at that moment, a tall string bean in a black shirt, black overalls, and black baseball cap, leaned into me and said, "Get lost."
I asked Renee, just to be sure, "You okay?"
She said to me, "I have no idea who you are. Who are you?"
That was my cue to return to the crowd and do my best to have a good evening by myself. The bands were good and I had almost forgotten all about Renee until an hour and a half later, when she grabbed my shoulder from behind and shook from head to toe.
"Everything all right?" I asked her.
"I feel sick," she said, "Can you drive me home?"
I replied, "Who the hell are you?"
She said, "Renee. We came here together… I think. Didn't we?"
She looked an awful shade of green. Despite what a bitch she had been, I was moved to pity. Say what you will, but my pride wasn't worth abandoning someone who was ill. I swallowed my ego, put an arm around her, and drove her home.
After making sure that she made it into her house without incident, I went right back to the club for another 40 minutes and had a great time. Best of all, I never heard from Renee again.
Labels:
Stories,
Written by a Guy
1/13/2012
Holy Sheep
Emails Sent in by John:
BAAA BAAA I'm an online sheep! BAAA BAAAAAA. I put my profil up online like all other desperate guys BAA BAA. I want women to self-validate myself. BAAA BAAA BAAAAAAAA.
Kelli
PS: BAAAAAAA! BAA BAA BAAAA. BAAAA!
*******************************************
John Replies:
But Kelli, you have a profile up on here too.
Fellow sheep,
John
*******************************************
Kelli Responds:
Shut up asshole.
BAAA BAAA I'm an online sheep! BAAA BAAAAAA. I put my profil up online like all other desperate guys BAA BAA. I want women to self-validate myself. BAAA BAAA BAAAAAAAA.
Kelli
PS: BAAAAAAA! BAA BAA BAAAA. BAAAA!
*******************************************
John Replies:
But Kelli, you have a profile up on here too.
Fellow sheep,
John
*******************************************
Kelli Responds:
Shut up asshole.
Labels:
Sketchy E-mails,
Written by a Guy
Survey Says: Moron!
Story Sent in by Tamra:
Al and I met at a bar and sat together in a booth. About 40 minutes into the date, it was pretty clear that after a beer and a half, the guy could not hold himself together.
"Sssshho," he slurred, "Y-yoou evahr been raped?"
I replied, "No. You?"
He laughed and said, "Nobody rapes a man!"
"Tell that to some prisoners."
"I wasn't in prison!"
I said, "Surprising, given your manner."
He said, "I had a girlfrien' who said she wasssh raped!" He laughed.
I smiled and said, "I'm going to leave."
He sat up quickly and banged the back of his head against the booth's headboard. "Don't go! Ow, my head now hurtssss…"
I left him there and headed out of the bar. A few people were standing in groups outside. Not far from the door, I paused to call a friend to ask if I could meet her at her apartment.
It was a fatal mistake, as Al stumbled out of the bar and threw himself at me. "Oh, good," he said, "You're still here. We can talk about whatever we talk about."
"I'm going to my friend's house, Al." I pushed him off of me. "Good night."
A random guy who I had never seen before jumped over to Al, put his arm around him and said, "Hey buddy! How's it going?" The guy then looked at me and shooed me away with his hand. I smiled in gratitude and took off for my car. Behind me, I heard Al say to the guy, "I know you, you're on Family Feud!"
My friend and I had a good laugh about it, but it frightens me to think that he's still out there, dating around.
Al and I met at a bar and sat together in a booth. About 40 minutes into the date, it was pretty clear that after a beer and a half, the guy could not hold himself together.
"Sssshho," he slurred, "Y-yoou evahr been raped?"
I replied, "No. You?"
He laughed and said, "Nobody rapes a man!"
"Tell that to some prisoners."
"I wasn't in prison!"
I said, "Surprising, given your manner."
He said, "I had a girlfrien' who said she wasssh raped!" He laughed.
I smiled and said, "I'm going to leave."
He sat up quickly and banged the back of his head against the booth's headboard. "Don't go! Ow, my head now hurtssss…"
I left him there and headed out of the bar. A few people were standing in groups outside. Not far from the door, I paused to call a friend to ask if I could meet her at her apartment.
It was a fatal mistake, as Al stumbled out of the bar and threw himself at me. "Oh, good," he said, "You're still here. We can talk about whatever we talk about."
"I'm going to my friend's house, Al." I pushed him off of me. "Good night."
A random guy who I had never seen before jumped over to Al, put his arm around him and said, "Hey buddy! How's it going?" The guy then looked at me and shooed me away with his hand. I smiled in gratitude and took off for my car. Behind me, I heard Al say to the guy, "I know you, you're on Family Feud!"
My friend and I had a good laugh about it, but it frightens me to think that he's still out there, dating around.
Labels:
Stories,
Written by a Girl
Urine Luck
Profile Sent in by Murray:
Who I'm looking for:
I'd like a nice guy who realizes that respect workes both ways. I will treat you well and I expect to be treated well in exchange. I want us to be able to work out our problems. No screaming, yelling, or raised voices necessary. Just mature, open, and honest discussion. You, me, and the desire to resolve things both firmly entrenched in our hearts.
I want kids so I would like it if you also want them. I don't know how many I want but that I think is also up for open, frank, honest discussion. I like to think of myself as mature, although I do like to cut loose every now and again. If the situation presents itself, I will do what I feel is right.
Also not minding if I pee on you/your friends occasionally would be great. Well I guess that's it. I hope to hear from you!
Who I'm looking for:
I'd like a nice guy who realizes that respect workes both ways. I will treat you well and I expect to be treated well in exchange. I want us to be able to work out our problems. No screaming, yelling, or raised voices necessary. Just mature, open, and honest discussion. You, me, and the desire to resolve things both firmly entrenched in our hearts.
I want kids so I would like it if you also want them. I don't know how many I want but that I think is also up for open, frank, honest discussion. I like to think of myself as mature, although I do like to cut loose every now and again. If the situation presents itself, I will do what I feel is right.
Also not minding if I pee on you/your friends occasionally would be great. Well I guess that's it. I hope to hear from you!
Labels:
Peculiar Profiles
The Sad Thing Is, it May Have Been Custom-Made
Story Sent in by Quentin:
Going into my first date at a restaurant with Kimberly, I knew that she had a two-year-old daughter, so that was no surprise. That first date went well (she left her daughter at home), and I had a nice time with her. It was during our second date at a moderately-populated park, however, that things tumbled downhill.
She had said that she'd bring her daughter along, which wasn't a big deal in and of itself. The "I don't think this is going to work out" moment occurred early on, when Kimberly showed up with her daughter, Melanie, in a stroller. Melanie wore a little, light blue shirt with a monochrome graphic on it of two clearly defined breasts (stretched right over the child's chest) and below them, the phrase, "Little Woman."
"This is Melanie," Kimberly introduced her daughter to me, then unbuckled her from the stroller and let her loose to run around in the park.
"That's quite a shirt," I said.
Kimberly said, "Oh, great. You have a problem with it, too? My mother hates it."
"It's okay, I guess," I said.
Kimberly asked, "What the hell is that supposed to mean? She's a little woman. Women have breasts. Deal with it."
"I have no problem with breasts."
"It's important to me that she forges an independent gender identity early on. She may be little, but she's still a woman. She's my little woman."
Then, as Melanie ran after a squirrel, Kimberly shouted at her, "Watch your breasts, Melanie Rose!"
People on benches, parents with children, yes, many heads turned toward us in that moment. Kimberly seemed oblivious of them and said to me, "If she repeatedly falls on her chest, her breasts might develop irregularly."
I nodded. In fact, I was very polite for the rest of our time together (after the park we had a light lunch). However, I didn't see her again.
Going into my first date at a restaurant with Kimberly, I knew that she had a two-year-old daughter, so that was no surprise. That first date went well (she left her daughter at home), and I had a nice time with her. It was during our second date at a moderately-populated park, however, that things tumbled downhill.
She had said that she'd bring her daughter along, which wasn't a big deal in and of itself. The "I don't think this is going to work out" moment occurred early on, when Kimberly showed up with her daughter, Melanie, in a stroller. Melanie wore a little, light blue shirt with a monochrome graphic on it of two clearly defined breasts (stretched right over the child's chest) and below them, the phrase, "Little Woman."
"This is Melanie," Kimberly introduced her daughter to me, then unbuckled her from the stroller and let her loose to run around in the park.
"That's quite a shirt," I said.
Kimberly said, "Oh, great. You have a problem with it, too? My mother hates it."
"It's okay, I guess," I said.
Kimberly asked, "What the hell is that supposed to mean? She's a little woman. Women have breasts. Deal with it."
"I have no problem with breasts."
"It's important to me that she forges an independent gender identity early on. She may be little, but she's still a woman. She's my little woman."
Then, as Melanie ran after a squirrel, Kimberly shouted at her, "Watch your breasts, Melanie Rose!"
People on benches, parents with children, yes, many heads turned toward us in that moment. Kimberly seemed oblivious of them and said to me, "If she repeatedly falls on her chest, her breasts might develop irregularly."
I nodded. In fact, I was very polite for the rest of our time together (after the park we had a light lunch). However, I didn't see her again.
Labels:
Stories,
Written by a Guy
1/12/2012
Whatever Works
Story Sent in by Cynthia:
I was at a diner on my first date with Greg. One of those little booth jukeboxes was there in the booth with us, and he flipped through the various albums it contained. There was, however, a small out of order sign attached to the device.
"These things are always out of order," Greg said, "It's so homosexual."
I have gay friends and I asked him, "What do you mean by that?"
He replied, "It just doesn't work the way it's supposed to. You know."
Oh boy. I remained silent, but he pressed on, "You know what I mean, right? An answer would be great."
"I have gay friends," I said, "And they work just fine."
He laughed and said, "Okay, like if I insert quarters into the jukebox and it plays music, that's like inserting sperm into a vagina and getting a baby. But if I insert sperm into a guy, I can do it as often as I want, but there won't be a baby. Like putting quarters into an out of order jukebox. See?"
"I do."
He breathed faster and his voice rose by a hair. There was some sort of chip on the shoulder going on, here. "Are you just saying that, or do you mean it?"
"I mean it. I—"
"I fuckin' hate out of order jukeboxes!" he roared, and slammed at the jukebox with his fist.
A big man with a big mustache, who I guessed was the manager, ambled over and said, "I need you to leave. Right now."
Greg blew air out of his cheeks, stood up, and said, "Whatever. This diner is homosexual."
I replied, with a glance at the manager, "I think it works just fine."
Greg left. I was hoping that the manager would let me remain there and finish my drink, which he did. He didn't say a word to me. Greg didn't wait for me outside or try to contact me again, and that also worked out fine.
Labels:
Stories,
Written by a Girl
Why I Found a New Route
Email Sent in by Nika:
I can't believe that I found you on here. I see you every day. I work on the second floor in the office of a department store and you walk past on the sidewalk just outside. I like your beige coat. I like it more in the summer when you walk by and I can see your midriff.
My request is that you wear more midriff revealing clothes once the summer comes. It would be nice if we could meet. I will be very nice to you. I will.
Heath
Labels:
Sketchy E-mails,
Written by a Girl
A Shoulder to Cry On
Story Sent in by Sean:
One dusk, I had just arrived at a restaurant at which I had planned to meet Hannah for our first date when she called to tell me that her car was stuck on the side of the road. I asked her where she was, she told me, and I drove out to see if I could help her.
"I'm really sorry," she said when I arrived. It smelled like burning motor oil, and her car wouldn't start. "It just died."
"Don't worry about it," I said. I know a little bit about cars, but not enough to dig around inside her hood without the aid of a mechanic. I asked, "Do you have AAA?"
She raised an eyebrow at me and said, "Uh, why would I need to do that? You're here. Can't you fix it?"
I replied, "It could be anything. It's dark out. I'd call roadside assistance."
"That's why I called you. You're a guy. You're telling me that you can't fix this?"
"I don't think I can. I'll wait with you while you wait for a tow–"
"I'm not calling a tow truck!" she snapped, "That's humiliating. I'm calling another of my guy friends who actually knows how to be a man and fix things."
She dialed a number on her phone. I said, "Not every guy knows how to fix every car problem."
"This isn't 'every car problem.' This is my car problem, and you being here is not helping me at all."
I said, "Okay. Bye." I left.
Not a minute after I had rode away, she called me up. I picked up the phone. She yelled, "Okay, so you're just leaving me here, now? Are you a man at all?"
I said, "You said that me being there wasn't helpful."
"That doesn't mean that you just desert me! I'm alone on the side of the road in the dark! Do I have to tell you how to be a man from pissing standing up, onward?"
I said, "As long as I can teach you the womanly compassion and empathy that you seem to lack. We can have a trade."
She hung up on me, then called me again a moment later. I didn't pick up. I hope that she finally found a real man to help her out that night.
One dusk, I had just arrived at a restaurant at which I had planned to meet Hannah for our first date when she called to tell me that her car was stuck on the side of the road. I asked her where she was, she told me, and I drove out to see if I could help her.
"I'm really sorry," she said when I arrived. It smelled like burning motor oil, and her car wouldn't start. "It just died."
"Don't worry about it," I said. I know a little bit about cars, but not enough to dig around inside her hood without the aid of a mechanic. I asked, "Do you have AAA?"
She raised an eyebrow at me and said, "Uh, why would I need to do that? You're here. Can't you fix it?"
I replied, "It could be anything. It's dark out. I'd call roadside assistance."
"That's why I called you. You're a guy. You're telling me that you can't fix this?"
"I don't think I can. I'll wait with you while you wait for a tow–"
"I'm not calling a tow truck!" she snapped, "That's humiliating. I'm calling another of my guy friends who actually knows how to be a man and fix things."
She dialed a number on her phone. I said, "Not every guy knows how to fix every car problem."
"This isn't 'every car problem.' This is my car problem, and you being here is not helping me at all."
I said, "Okay. Bye." I left.
Not a minute after I had rode away, she called me up. I picked up the phone. She yelled, "Okay, so you're just leaving me here, now? Are you a man at all?"
I said, "You said that me being there wasn't helpful."
"That doesn't mean that you just desert me! I'm alone on the side of the road in the dark! Do I have to tell you how to be a man from pissing standing up, onward?"
I said, "As long as I can teach you the womanly compassion and empathy that you seem to lack. We can have a trade."
She hung up on me, then called me again a moment later. I didn't pick up. I hope that she finally found a real man to help her out that night.
Labels:
Stories,
Written by a Guy
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