Story Sent in by E.G.:

A mutual friend from my college set up Tracy and I on a date. She lived with her parents in a quiet neighborhood, not far from campus. We spoke for a little over a week, and I asked her out. She asked if I could meet her at her place, and from there, we'd walk together to dinner or whatever we decided to do.

When I made it to her house, I rang the bell, and her father answered the door. He called for Tracy, but she didn't answer. He suggested to me to look around the back of the house.

Look around the back I did, and I found Tracy on her knees in the middle of the yard, yanking up handfuls of grass and discarding the torn blades back onto the ground.

"Tracy?" I asked, approaching her.

"I've gotta find it," she replied.

Thinking that she had lost a contact lens or something similar, I knelt down and asked her, "What did you lose?"

She yanked up more grass, then shifted to a sitting position. "The grass must be shortened."

I asked, "You can probably mow it... tomorrow." It was evening. Not a good hour for cutting grass.

She said, "By the time I shorten all the grass, it'll be long again. Too long since the rains, and now that I'm seated, I won't stand."

I watched her continue the grass-tearing for about a minute. Then, she looked at me and threw two handfuls of grass in my face.

I sputtered, stood up, brushed myself off, and said, "Bye."

As I left, she shouted, "I'd stop you but I'm stuck! I'm stuck! My ass is stuck on the ground! They've come for me at last! Oh God! Oh God!"

I hurried away from her and left. The next time I spoke to my friend (the one who had set us up), I didn't mention a thing about the "date," and my friend didn't ask anything about it.

Profile Sent in by Len:

About me:

Oomf! I just fell down off a cloud where the dancers sing and the singers dance! If you ask me out you have to be okay-dokay with monkeys. I want to own one SO BAD. SO MAD I will be if I don't end up owning one ever. It's legal but they are expensive! I might want our monkey and child to sleep together. Yes, you guessed it, I studied mammal biology and I studied kids who interact with monkeys. Kids and monkeys love kids. I imagine them sleeping together in bed, a kid with a real monkey next to him but also with a stuffed monkey and a monkey with a stuffed person or action figure/doll next to him too. Eat your heart out, hallmark!

Story Sent in by Emanuelle:

On my way to my date with Jeff, he sent a text: "u like surprises???"

"Good ones," I typed back.

He replied, "OK. I better get there early then. For ur birthday ;)" My birthday was the following week.

When I arrived at the Indian restaurant where our date was to be, he was already seated in a booth. He greeted me but didn't stand up, and he also wore a long coat. As I sat down, I asked him, with a careful grin, "You're not going to flash me, are you?"

He opened his coat, and he had a nice dress shirt on. Relieved, I asked him about the surprise, and he said that I'd find out about it soon enough. He rushed us through dinner, he paid, and we went outside. He had wrapped himself tightly in his coat, as if he didn't want me to see something he had going on underneath it.

Once we were outside, he walked us quickly down the sidewalk. There weren't many people around. He turned to me, smiled, and opened his coat.

His lower abdomen, waist, and upper legs were... wrapped in a tight sort of wrapping paper skirt, complete with a big red bow, right between his legs.

"Happy early birthday!" he said as I stepped back, and back, and back.

"Thanks," I replied, "You can put that away, now." I glanced around, at once hoping and not-hoping that other people would be seeing this.

He said, "I did something special with my dick for you, too. I'll completely understand if you don't want to see it on a first date."

"I don't."

"Why not?"

I moved back a bit more. "It's just moving a bit too fast for me."

"But your birthday is only once a year, and–"

"I said no. No. No, no, no, no, no."

He turned away, said, "Bye, then," and shuffled off. As he did, he tore away at the wrapping paper, crumpled it up, and threw it, in a ball, onto the sidewalk.


*
(From Jared: Update! Comments issue fixed. You can now comment to your heart's content. Check out this article about the zany places you'll find your picture if you're a stock photo model. Have a nice day.)

Email Sent in by Tabitha:

I hae seen you on thi site for a long time. Why are no men taking you? I will perhaps be that man. I am Pierre and I am a programmer for a famous app company. You have probably used my apps. If you have used my apps then you should do something for me to pay me back for the app that has brought you so much pleasure. You can start by cooking me a nice meal and then becoming assnaked for me and you and I will have some good fun together.

Send pics (with or without assnaked) plz. It will help me decide how to take you to dinner?

Pierre

Story Sent in by Chris:

Samantha and I had a kind of good-natured tease-fest going on before meeting in person. Taking place online and over the phone, it went from G-rated to flirty to downright innuendo-packed in the days leading up to our date. I was pretty hot for her, to be frank.

Many of the jokes revolved around muffins. Yes, muffins. Specifically, things that could be done with them.

On the night of the date, we met at a train station that was an easy walk from a row of stores and restaurants. She had a box of muffins with her and gave them to me. I thanked her for them, and we had a good date. I brought the muffins home and, over the course of a week or so, ate them.

Over a month after we had started seeing each other, we were over at my place. All had been going well. We talked together on my couch, and she asked me if I still had the box of muffins from our first date.

I said, "I ate the muffins."

Wow. It was like I had slapped her. Her mouth dropped open and veins bulged... everywhere. "You... ate... the... muffins...?" she asked.

"Yes. We can go grab some if you want. They wouldn't have kept this long, anyway." There was a bakery an easy walk from my apartment.

Her face hardened even more. "You... ate... the... muffins...?"

I said, "They were delicious," hoping (but knowing otherwise) that it would help to diffuse things.

She let out a rueful laugh, looked around, and asked, "Did you at least keep the box?"

"No."

"Oh my God," she said, standing up, wobbling as if drunk, steadying herself, and making for the door.

I followed her. "Wait, wait, wait, Samantha. I'm sorry if I did something wrong. I didn't know that it would mean something to you if I kept it."

She whirled around and screamed, "How could you not know? Are you that stupid?"

I said the first thing that came into mind: "It was a box of muffins."

She gasped and said, "Goodbye forever," and slammed the door on her way out.

Muffins haven't tasted as great since then.

Story Sent in by Madeline:

By day, James did administrative work for a theater company. By night, he was an artist who rented out a studio space for his creations. On our date, he took me out to a nice restaurant and regaled me with stories of his art, himself, and even showed me some photos of an exhibition he was in. The conversation was good, although he was a bit full of himself.

Around the midpoint of dinner, he excused himself to go to the bathroom. When he returned, he said, "I made you something. A portrait."

Intrigued, I asked him for details. He then showed me a cell phone picture of a filled toilet, thankfully stuffed (mostly) with toilet paper.

"Ugh!" I leaned away from the picture.

He glanced at the image and held it up for me to see again. "It was supposed to be you. I meant to crap out a picture of your face, but it's always unpredictable. That's where the toilet paper comes in. It's a little esoteric, but I think–"

"Check please," I said to the waiter, who mercifully appeared at that moment to check on us. James appeared to be so stunned that he didn't say a word as I reached into my purse, pulled out an amount I thought fair for my meal, slammed it on the table, and left him alone with a cell phone picture of a filled toilet bowl.

Email Sent in by Giselle:

Hello:

I am looking for my queen of sorts. Perhaps she is on this site right now. How to tewll if she is a queen? Queens are told of in three ways:

1. Lineage.
2. Deeds.
3. Blood.

You should tell me a bit about your family then. Who are they? Is it a big family? Do you have brothers and sisters? What do your parents do? Are they noble people in your family?

Second you should list me the deeds you have done in order. What have you done to help the poor? What have you done to hurt the rich? Are you generous or are you like tyrannosaur?

For blood I can just snap you in half and check inside to make sure you have it and that it it royal. Ha I won't really so don't be scared.

Jack

Story Sent in by Justin:

Amy was into drag racing, so I took her to a drag race for our first date. I had been to one once before, with my family, and I remembered it being fun. We both had a great time.

Afterward, on our way back to the parking lot, she asked me, "You want to make grape juice?"

Was that a euphemism? I asked, to clarify, "You mean, out of grapes?"

She squeezed my shoulder hard and said, "Follow me to the grocery store."

We had taken separate cars, and so I followed her to the local market. We parked and fast-walked inside. She was clearly very excited, and she led me to the grapes. She grabbed a bag, paid for it, and led me back out to the parking lot. Once there, she turned to me and said, "I used to spend time hand-crushing each grape, but that took forever. My brother gave me this idea."

She nested the bag of grapes inside of a plastic shopping bag, then set it right behind her front, driver-side tire. She entered her car, turned it on, and reversed it over the bag, squashing it. She jumped out of her car, squealed, scooped up the bag, shook it, squeezed it, and pulled the grape bag out of the plastic shopping bag. The plastic bag, then, contained juice from most of the flattened grapes.

She took a whiff of the juice, smiled, then spit into the juice-filled plastic bag, over and over. She held the bag out to me. "Spit," she said, "It'll taste better. Trust me. The saliva enzymes do something to the juice."

I asked, "We're going to drink it? After spitting in it?"

"You're not going to get hurt by a little bit of spit," she said, then spat in it a few more times. She asked, "You sure you don't want to spit in it? It'll taste even better, the more people you have spitting into it."

"No thanks."

"All right. But you're drinking some. You'll see."

She upended the bag into her mouth and poured some of the juice in. "Ahhh," she said, "Yummy." She handed the bag to me. I didn't take it. "Drink," she said.

I replied, "I'd rather not."

She said, "If you don't drink it, I'll splash you with it. I swear to God."

I took it, held it up to my mouth, then threw it clear across the parking lot, ran for my car, and drove away. Unsurprisingly, I didn't hear from her again.

Email Sent in by Reggie:

I had a plumber come the other day to fix my sink. He made the job worse and made toilet water bubble up into the sink and then he threw his hammer at the window (it didn't break!)! I refused to pay him and he got angry but that's the kind of girl I am I stand my ground.

No regrets is my motto. I see on your prof. that you're into local history. That's cool. Have you discovered anything I've heard about? Also you say you like doing art for posters. What posters did you make that I've seen?

It's been nice to poop in my sink since that's closer to the comfy zone but still I don't know how much longer my sink will be broken. Haha.

Christina

Story Sent in by Alicia:

Not long after we sat down to dinner on our very first date, Barry slid an index card across the table to me. I flipped it over, and printed in black ink was the number 312.

Thinking it was some sort of game, I asked him, "What does this mean? What are the rules?"

He shook his head and handed me another card, one with the number 200. I said, "I don't know what this means."

He sighed, but not in a teasing sort of way. He seemed genuinely exasperated. He handed me another card, this one with the number 166. At that point, I put all cards in front of me and tried to catch a pattern, but aside from each of the numbers being even, I couldn't figure out anything else about them.

Ultimately, I shrugged, thinking that he'd slide me another card that perhaps would make things a bit clearer. Instead, he grabbed the cards and said, "I should give you a board book instead. Here." He pulled out one of those See Spot Run board books.

I said, "I'm not illiterate, just–"

"You just suck ass at numbers."

I laughed and said, "Okay. So how was your day?"

"I'd rather think of what else you suck, other than ass. Can you help me figure it out?"

I stopped laughing. He was mad. What had I done? If anything, I ought to be the one losing patience. I said, "Would you rather not be here, Barry? We can call it an evening if you don't really want to be here with me, because you obviously–"

He shot his hand across the table and made to grab my arm, but I moved back and he couldn't reach. He sat back and said, "Come on, I didn't mean it. You didn't even try with the numbers, and that bothered me more than anything else."

I said, "I'd rather talk about you. About us. Can we play the numbers game later?"

He said, "We play it now or I make you suck my ass all night. Hard to talk about us when your mouth is full of ass, isn't it?"

I agreed. "You're right. Have a good night."

I stood and left, but he followed me out to the sidewalk, brandishing a stack of index cards in his hand. He said, "Don't be like this. You can pick out any number you want. I'll let you take one. Go ahead." He held the cards out to me.

I didn't bite. "Barry, forget about it. Seriously, have a good night and go away."

As I walked off, he shouted, "I'll take one out for you. You don't even have to do it yourself! There! I pulled out 90! Do you know what that means? Do you? Do you?"

As far as I was concerned, it meant that he would have a lonely, lonely night.

Story Sent in by Arnold:

Laurie texted me a few hours before our first date: "Twisted foot COMPLETELY around. Need to go to hospital lol. Talk later."

I called her immediately and left a message, then texted her, "Let me know how you're doing."

I didn't hear from her for several days, and aside from that first time, I didn't call or text her again. After a week, I wrote her a short email: "I hope that your foot's okay."

She wrote back an email, about seven paragraphs long. Favorite passages included (verbatim):

"You have been contacting me non stop. This will not be stood for and I have already contacted a lawyer and an attorney. They firmly believe I have a case against you for contacting me non stop."

"I have twisted my foot around completely. I am not sure how many times you need to be told this. Perhpas you would like a note from my doctors! I will send you a note if you want and prove it."

"If you write me again I will twist my other foot around in protest. Around completely 100%. Knowing that you will afflict pain upon me should be enough to stop you from writing and reconsider what you have already done."

I wrote her to ask for the doctor's note, as she had offered it up. She didn't write me back until two years (yes, two years) later. She wrote, "I have just now been able to learn to walk again. I hope that you are satisfied!"

I suppose I am.

Story Sent in by Jenni:

Neil and I had been seeing each other for two weeks and we were on a mid-morning hike in a park where we were the only two people. It was a beautiful, early-spring day, and the sunlight and smells made me feel great.

Plenty of birds were chirping, squirrels were chasing each other about, and a river flowed alongside the path. All was well...

Something shuffled around in the underbrush, just beyond a clump of trees, off the trail. It sounded big. Neil and I froze. I asked him, "A deer?"

He said, "Or a bear, maybe."

Neil took a tentative step forward, and I reached out to grab him back. The whatever-it-was off the path gave a noise that sounded like a grunt, but I still had no idea what it could have been.

Neil gasped, turned to me, grabbed me, shoved me in the direction of the grunting, and shouted, "Eat her! Eat her! Eat her! Eat her!" while running off pell-mell with his arms swinging wildly above his head. "Eat her! Eat her! Eat her! Not me! Eat her!"

I was quick on Neil's heels, but he was faster and he lost me. He had driven both of us to the park, and when I returned to the lot, his car, which had been the only one there, was gone. I called a friend who picked me up and took me out to lunch, and never again did I hear from Neil, my brave knight in shining armor.

Story Sent in by Yosef:

I had what I'd call a successful first two dates with Shelly. They went well enough for some kissing and the promise of a third date. I arranged for us to go apple picking, and she seemed very excited about it.

The picking of apples went well. However, I noticed that Shelly was... I guess the best way to say it would be that she was pretty clingy. At one point, she said, in a serious tone, "I don't want to turn away from you, because then you wouldn't be in my line of vision, and you'd disappear forever."

I smiled and replied, "I don't think that's how it works."

She said, "It does, today. Today will be the rest of my life."

That was strange, but then she took my arm and rested her head on my shoulder. I appreciated the affection, but it made it hard to walk, as she was leaning on me with most of her weight. I hugged her for several moments, then asked if she wanted to continue on, into the grove. She said that she did, and goodness knows that I tried, but she hung on me like a sack of potatoes.

I gingerly tried to lift her off of me, but that only inspired her to lean on me even more. Finally, I pulled away and said, "Is everything all right?"

She nodded and said, "I don't even want to blink. You might not be here when my eyes open again." She touched my face, and I felt a few goosebumps, but not the pleasant kind.

When we finally emerged from the trees, we paid for the apples and returned to my car. I put the apple bag in back, and Shelly walked to the front of my car, lay down on her back on the ground, in front of the wheels, and remained there.

Curious, I asked, "What are you doing?"

She said, "I never want to leave here. We'll disappear if we do. Let's just stay here."

Other visitors in the parking lot were giving us looks. I knelt next to Shelly and, for the following five minutes, tried everything I could to convince her to move. "Let's do lunch," "Let's go do something else together," "We have to leave here eventually," etc.

Finally, I had an idea. I stepped away from her and circled around to the back of the car and said, "I'm not in your line of vision anymore, am I?"

She gasped, stood up, and embraced me behind the car. A few tears were shed (on her part). We climbed into the car and I drove away from the orchard. On the road, she complained multiple times and loudly that she was tired. I suggested that I return her to her home so that she could take a nap, and that's what I did, although she promised about 100 times that she'd call me later on that day to arrange something for the evening.

She called me and left a voicemail: "I don't see you, so you're dead, I guess."

I guess.

Story Sent in by Sylvia:

Henry and I met at a book club. He spoke to me often, before and after group discussions. After one club meeting, he asked me out on a date for a forthcoming evening.

On the days leading up to our date, he'd call to chat and to repeatedly insist that I bring a copy of the latest book we were reading, so that we could have a "preliminary discussion" about it. The first time he requested that I bring the book, I told him I would. But he kept reminding me to do it, and something seemed off.

The evening of our date, he brought me to a restaurant and he whipped out his copy of the book. "Give me your copy," he said, "Let's trade."

With some trepidation, I took out my copy and handed it to him. He handed me his curiously thick copy. He hurriedly placed my book in his lap, but when I opened up his copy, he said, "No! Wait–!" but it was too late. I opened it and discovered painstakingly cut-and-pasted photos of nude men and women, apparently taken from magazines. On every page. Scores of them. Hundreds of them. All shapes and sizes.

After seeing about as much as I could handle, I closed it and handed it back to him. He said, "Really? You really want to give it back? Fine, I guess."

He handed me my book back and I passed his back to him. I didn't say a word to address it, and he didn't bring it up again, either. In fact, neither of us said much of anything through dinner, and from then on at the book club, he avoided me.

Story Sent in by Nate:

Liz and I met online, and I asked her out. Our first date was going to be a bit out of the ordinary: dinner first, then a short drive out of town, where a friend of mine owned a farm where he kept elephants and llamas to rent out for charity events, birthday parties, fairs, and so on. Liz loved the idea, so it was a go.

At dinner, however, she texted non-stop. She spent more time looking at her phone than she did paying any sort of attention to me. She laughed, gasped, and typed away.

"Hello?" I said, "Earth to Liz. You there?"

She ignored that. I pulled out my own phone and wrote her a text: "How's your date going?" and sent it.

When I looked up, she was staring at me. I gave her a pleasant smile. She said, "What gives you the right to do that?"

"What? Text? Like you've been doing for the past 10 minutes?"

Liz stood up so violently that I thought the table would tip. She said, "I'm just excited about the elephants, so I'm telling everybody. Not my fault you have a problem. Elephant poop is the size of a human head. Yours! Your head is elephant poop! Stupid poop!" She grabbed her bag and left.

I still got to go feed elephants. Without an imbalanced girl to ruin things, it was a great time.

Profile Sent in by Dave:

Who I'm looking for:

I like men who can dance. I've been dancing for years. Swing, contra, salsa, ballroom, blues, jazz, I love them all, and I go out for it whenever I can... mostly because I have been dancing for years, and cannot stop. Even when I come home and watch television I am still dancing I think that an evil witch placed a curse on me because I just can't stop oh my god can someone stop me when I sleep I can't stop because I am still dancing and I dance 24 hours a day and I haven't slept in years and I just keep dancing and adancayng s danfnfnvcosantnos dsdtop amhilem ma efogh god someohnes hlep me wplaese.

Story Sent in by Evelyn:

Wayne and I were set up together on a blind date by a friend we had in common. He and I met in a park. He was easy on the eyes and, initially, made great conversation.

We had walked for around 20 minutes when he knelt to tie his sneaker right next to me. A moment later, he tilted his head up and took a big whiff of my lower abdomen.

I stepped away, and he gave me a smile. "Just making sure you're not pregnant!" he said.

"I'm not," I replied, "Are you nuts?"

He stood up and said, "Depends. Can I sniff your ass?"

The date was over. I told him, "Bye," and left. He didn't follow me, and I haven't seen him ever since then.

Story Sent in by Eddie:

Diane and I were supposed to do dinner out together, but she had other ideas. When we met up at the restaurant we had arranged, she asked me to follow her to her car for a moment.

We climbed inside. She sat in the driver's seat, and I in the passenger. She reached into the back seat and handed me a big, plastic container that was cool to the touch. She told me to open it, and I did.

At some point during our introductory conversations, I had mentioned to her that I liked pork chops. She had gone on to say that she made killer pork chops, I half-joked that I wanted to try them sometime, and that had been that.

Back in the car, I opened the container, and discovered within something that can be described as an opaque, jiggly, gelatinous substrate that was a curious shade of greenish brownish reddish pink. Something dark was suspended in the mix, just under the surface. Was it a bone? Impossible to tell.

"Yum!" Diane said, "Dig in!"

The mix smelled like pizza. My instincts said no, and I followed them. "These are... these aren't your pork chops?" I asked.

She laughed. "They are! I promise. Here." She reached in with her bare hand, grabbed a gloppy handful, and threw it into her mouth. "Mmm! Go for it!"

I didn't want to give insult, but take my word for it that these looked like just about anything but pork chops. As she had just eaten some, I figured that it wouldn't kill me, so I took a tiny bit and ate it. It tasted, well, like pork chops, but inexplicably liquefied and made into a paste.

"Have more!" she said.

"I couldn't," I replied, "I don't want to ruin my appetite for dinner. Thank you so much for making them, though."

She must not have liked my tone, because she said, "Whatever. You obviously don't like them." She grabbed the container out of my lap, tossed it into her back seat, turned her car on, and jolted it forward about a foot from where it had been parked.

"Uh..." I began.

"Get out," she said, "Or I'll kick you out while the car's moving, and that would kill you."

"If the pork chops don't kill me first," I said, then opened the door.

It was an unfortunate choice of words, because she blasted away as I stepped out of the car, nearly sending me to the pavement, and I stumbled out pretty badly. Still, I was in one piece, although dazed. Thankfully, I had escaped the evening nearly none the worse.

Story Sent in by Nicole:

Phil insisted on taking me to the beach at night for our first date. I insisted that it be during the day, while at least some other people were around. He assented, and so we went on a clear Saturday morning. There were a few people around, and that was good enough for me. We had a nice walk, about a half-mile up and down.

After a solid hour, I asked him what he wanted to do for lunch. He said, "Glad you asked," then sank to his knees and dug in the sand with his hands.

"Um, what are you doing?" I asked him.

He replied, "It was right around here. I just know it. I just... know it."

I said, "What are you looking for?"

He said, "You'll see."

After another minute of his digging down, I asked, "Maybe we can do lunch and then you can come back here to look for whatever it is you've lost? I mean, if it's already been buried for a little while, then another–"

"Shut the hell up!" he screamed, then redoubled his efforts, digging into the wet sand.

I'm not even sure if he noticed, or if he ever noticed, that I left.

Story Sent in by Mark:

Denise and I spoke online for about a week before she asked, "You want to meet up?" She was petite, cute, and we sent very long emails back and forth to each other, so it seemed like it was probably a good plan. She named the cuisine, I picked the restaurant, and plans were made.

I arrived there first and sat in the restaurant vestibule, waiting for her. A little after our meeting time, she called me and said, "Hey, meet me right in front of 650 Wyoming. There's a blue Camry parked there. Look in the back seat."

I asked, "Is that your car? Is everything okay?"

She hung up. Worried, I hurried out of the restaurant and down the two blocks to the address she mentioned. Sure enough, there was a blue Camry. I looked in the window, and across the back seat, I discovered a nude, inflatable woman, complete with an open mouth and a very surprised look in her eyes.

I stepped back from the car with a smile and looked around, expecting Denise to appear at any moment to take credit for the joke. However, Denise was nowhere to be seen. I called her, reached her voicemail, and told her, "You're looking a bit surprised, and while I appreciate the offer, maybe we should have dinner, first. I'll meet you at the restaurant." I hung up and walked back to the place.

She never showed. I called her twice more. Voicemail each time. I walked back out to the car, which hadn't moved. After waiting close to an hour, walking back and forth from the restaurant to the car a few times, I gave up and went home.

I didn't call her anymore, but I did send her an email. Never heard back.

Story Sent in by Leigh:

Eric and I had spoken over a dating site, on and off, for about two months. We finally arranged a date and met up in a public square on a Friday.

I arrived there first, and when he showed, he said, "Great to finally meet you."

I smiled. "You too."

He asked, "How was your day?"

I replied, "Busy. I had to stay a half hour later at work."

"Sounds stressful."

"It was, but now it's the weekend, so—"

"You know what's really good at relieving stress? Sex."

I laughed. "I've heard that."

He laughed, too. "Yeah! Sex. Want some?"

I said, "Not right now."

"But later?"

I took a small step back and did a mental calculation of how fast I could make it back to my car. "Not tonight, but—"

He said, "But you just said you were stressed. Now you're saying that you prefer stress to no stress. That's what I'm hearing."

"There are other ways to relieve stress."

"None better than sex. So, you in?" His hands slipped under the bottom of his shirt and fiddled with his belt and unzipped his pants, for all appearances as if he was ready to drop his slacks and do it right there.

I said, "Not tonight, but thanks for the… offer."

He removed his hands from his pants and shrugged. "Whatever. Your choice to be stressed. Me, though? I plan to have some sex."

I took another step back. "Yeah. I'm going to head home."

He said, "Maybe you should. I mean, to say you're stressed, then saying you like being stressed, talk about mixed messages!"

I fake-smiled. "I know, right?"

"I'm just a plain speaker. I like things that make sense."

"You seem that way. Goodnight."

I made it back to my car and drove home to take a bubble bath. For the rest of that night, every moment I spent away from Eric was better than sex.

Story Sent in by Donnie:

Suzanne liked horses. I knew that based on what I read on her profile, based on her profile photos, and based on what she wrote in her messages to me. Myself, I was only kind of into horses, but I was pretty into Suzanne, so for our first date, I invited her out to a nature center about a half-hour away. There were horses there, a food stand in an old barn, and plenty to keep us occupied. We drove there separately and met in the lot.

When we arrived, she made straight for the horses. "Look at them!" she said, looking over the railing, into their paddock, "They're beautiful! I love horses!"

She was particularly drawn to a large white one. Even by my standards of not knowing a damn thing about horses, this was a nice-looking one.

I whistled as it trotted by. "Wow. Could be a unicorn."

Suzanne said. "You wouldn't know, even if it was. Only women can see unicorns."

I teased, "That was in The Last Unicorn, but it's not the truth. In real life, it's men who can see unicorns. That's why there are so few. Men hunted them almost to extinction."

Suzanne cried out, glanced from the white horse to me, and then clenched her fists and pounded away. At first, I thought she was joking, but when she kept going, I jogged after her, to see if she was actually upset.

She was. She said, "I can't tell you how upset you just made me! Get lost, dick!"

I replied, "But Suzanne, unicorns aren't, you know, real. It was a joke."

She wasn't hearing it. She made it all the way to her car, and drove away in tears.

I was already out there, so I went to the food stand and ordered lunch. I can only hope that it was made from unicorn meat.

Email Sent in by Bobby:

ur profile sez u r a man but hav u thought about being a lady? i think u would make a pretty girl!

my friend just now said "oh hes hot for a girl!" LOL. if we went on a date i would make u wear a dress and curls and they would say "would u 2 ladies like to look at our wine list!" HAHAHAHAHAHA. Srsly im gunna think u the hottest woman i seen on this site. i don't like women (to date with) but i knw a lot of women who would love u. ur sister if u have a sister prob is like a supergirl if u look this much like a girl. she looks so much like a girl that she it mebbe 3th sex? HAHAHAHAHAHA.

Carol

Story Sent in by Melissa:

Dorian and I were out to dinner together on a first date, and the conversation was going well enough. He barely made any kind of eye contact with me, but I chalked it up to nervousness on his part.

We had just finished talking about a job as a retail sales clerk that he had quit a year ago when he reached under the table, fiddled around, and put his brown shoe in between us, right on the table.

He looked up at me, as if for some sort of approval. I said, "That's kind of gross. Could you take it off the table?"

He said, "Would you rather I took my pants off and put them on the table? They're next." He winked.

I repeated, "Please take your shoe off the table."

He said, "You're saying that you want me to take my pants off and put them on the table, then? Woo hoo, that's two for two dates in which the girl's wanted me to take my pants off."

I replied, "I can't imagine anyone wanting you to remove any clothes on a first date, let alone at all. Take your shoe off the table, or I leave."

He smirked at me and sat back. His shoe remained on the table.

I wiped my mouth with my napkin, said, "Thanks for dinner," and left. No word from him since.

Email Sent in by Rochelle:

i live under your stairs and see you coming and going. sounds like a creep but i am really just the guy who lives a floor below you and i reocgnized you on here. i like it when you get your mail when you enter and leave. now i wonder if you would like to take our relationship to the next level. saying hi when you pass me next time in the hall wouldn't kill you. neither would a smile. as it stands right now you just walk past me as if i am nothing and that hurts. i always looks and smile at you. maybe you are sad and distracted but i can do a lot to cheer you up if only you would give me the chance. this sad chance. a hopeless chance? we'll find out soon when i take what it mine.

- the man from under your stairs

Story Sent in by Robert:

Joann and I had been dating for a little less than a month when she invited me to her apartment to hang out and then go out to dinner.

Se welcomed me inside her place. It was clean, but very hot. I sat down on her futon as she went to grab us a couple of drinks. I opened a window, just next to the futon, to let some air inside.

When she returned with two glasses, she saw the open window, let out a little yelp, then jetted to the window and slammed it shut. She then spun to me and said, "Not that window. Never, ever that window."

I glanced from her to the window and back again. "Why? Is it broken?"

She looked around several times, notably up at the ceiling, then leaned in close and whispered, "That's their favorite window. It's how the spirits come in."

I shifted a little away from her. "Spirits?"

She said, "Shh!" then went on, "The little girl with big white eyes. She comes in through that window and it's impossible to get her out. She stares at me when I sleep."

She looked terrified, but I wasn't sure what to say to that. She went to a nearby closet and pulled out, from a pile on the floor, a life-sized, floppy dummy, wearing a pink sweatsuit and with dark hair on its head, similar to Joann's own hair. She lay it down, next to me on the futon, and said, "We have to go. It'll take interest in the dummy, then leave once it sees it's not moving."

We left a few moments later, for a Starbucks on the block where she lived. I hadn't planned to quiz her more about her purported spirit visitors, but she told me enough on her own: "The visits started the day after my birthday, two years ago. There's a little girl and sometimes a tall woman. Only ever one or the other, never together, and they just climb in, stare at me for a few hours, then leave. It didn't matter if I left, then came back. They'd just be there, waiting for me. But since I've started using the dummy, that seems to trick them into leaving before I come back."

"Maybe you're just imagining them?"

"Uh, no. I'm not crazy."

I did my best to reassure her, and she did seem to feel better by the time she finished her drink. We went out to a short dinner, small-talked, I walked her back to her place, she asked me to help her look around for any non-corporeal house guests, and when the coast was clear, she dragged the dummy back into the closet and bid me a hasty goodnight.

I vanished from her life.

Email Sent in by Adam:

There are potential problems that I see with going out with your brother. First he is a Turkish pig farmer (you are also Turkish) but these are known as the worst of the pig farmers. Secondly there are the pigs to deal with and most pig farmers I know of are loath to part with their pigs who they come to see more and more as family. If your brother thinks that this wouldn't be a problem then I'm willing to give him a shot. We will see won't we?

Colleen


*
(Adam says: "I never wrote to this woman in the first place; I don't have a brother.")

Story Sent in by Amanda:

Brad and I had our first date at a coffee shop. He offered to pay for my drink, so I thanked him and asked for a white tea with honey. I then went to the bathroom and when I came out, he was seated with our drinks.

The coffee shop had a station next to a sink, where they kept sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, honey, and various other condiments. Brad told me, "I added the honey to your tea, but let me know if you need more." I thanked him, and we spoke for a bit while I waited for it to cool down.

When I did take a sip, it tasted horrible: bitter and not at all what I was expecting. He noticed and asked me, "Everything all right?"

I said, "This is not white tea, or if it is, they added something gross."

He took it from me and sniffed it. He recoiled, smelling it, too.

"It smells like..." he started, then glanced at the condiment area.

I asked him, "Are you sure you put honey in here?"

"Pretty... uh... sure..."

I stood and walked to the condiment table, where I saw that the honey had been placed right next to the honey-colored soap by the sink.

I had to laugh, and I spun to him and said, "Brad, you put dish soap in my tea."

He stood and walked over. "Are you sure?" he asked.

I replied, "Which of these did you put into my tea?"

He pointed to the honey, but hesitantly. I was about to playfully reprimand him, but he shouted right in my face, "It isn't my fault!"

Every head turned our way, and he bolted for the back door, nearly colliding with a couple who were walking in. I never saw him again.

Story Sent in by Sam:

I met Alison online. We spoke for a while and even became Facebook friends before meeting in person.

Our first date itself went pretty well, from my perspective. I picked her up at her house, brought her a small bouquet of flowers (she had casually mentioned her favorite kind in an email once before), took her out to dinner and dancing, and had what seemed to me to be a great time. I dropped her back off at home, she gave me a hug goodbye, and it seemed pretty safe to assume that I'd be seeing her again.

To bolster that belief, I checked her Facebook page when I made it home, hoping to see some clue as to how she felt it went. Her status update read, "Just came back from a FIRST date where the ugly moron gave me flowers... um... crazy/possessive??? Anyone??? lol."

I'm not sure if she thought that I couldn't see it, but I wrote her a quick message over Facebook, to the tune of, "Sorry for being ugly and crazy/possessive. Good luck out there." I unfriended her and had no further intention of contacting her again. That was that, as far as I guessed.

A few days later, she wrote an email to my main address. She wrote, "Hey Sam! Do you want to go out again?"

I hadn't expected anything like that, so I wrote back, "It seemed like your takeaways from our date were how ugly I am and how crazy/possessive I seemed for giving you flowers. You saw my profile photos and we Skyped before meeting in person, so you know what I looked like. And if I did something else nice for you, I wouldn't want it to again be misinterpreted and broadcast to the entire world, so I think we're better off seeing other people."

She wrote back, "What are you talking about? I liked the flowers that you gave me."

I replied, "You wrote a Facebook post about me being crazy/possessive for giving you flowers."

She wrote back, "You saw that? Ugghhhhhhhghhh..." and that was the last that I heard from her.

Story Sent in by Denise:

Rudy and I were out together on our first date on a Saturday night. He was a complete chauvinist, asking me several times if I was really an engineer. He said, "I've never met a female engineer before. It's like seeing a unicorn, or a male housewife, you know?"

When I informed him that most of the people who worked in my office were actually female engineers, he believed that even less. To be fair, it was a small branch office with only four people.

His words were ignorant and disrespectful, although they weren't constant, and we had a few other things in common. Give him a chance, I thought, It's just one date...

Things took a dramatic turn for the worse when our waitress took our orders and he made as if to slap her ass as she walked off. He didn't actually slap it, nor did she see it, but he turned back to me with a smile, which then turned into a reddened face, once he saw my reaction. "What?" he asked.

I replied, "You're probably the biggest pig that I've ever met." I said it with a smile to soften the blow, and it probably wasn't a smart thing to say in any case, but I was tired of keeping silent.

He said, "It's not my fault for things being the way they are. I was born a man. You a woman. The waitress also a woman. All the engineers in your office, women. I can't change that. Have a problem with it? Go back to the hospital where you were born and have them change it for you."

That stunned me into silence for a good, long while, which was probably just what he wanted. He told me all about his schooling, his jobs, and his past relationships. All through dinner, it was all about him.

I offered to pay, to be polite. He considered it for a moment, then said, "Okay." Hmm.

On our way out, he had second thoughts. He rummaged through his wallet. "Here, let me give you some of that back. I should've paid for everything."

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

We had stepped outside by that point, and his voice raised a bit. "No, you're the woman. I should've paid for it completely."

"I really don't care. How about–"

He said, "You weren't born a man," pulling out a few bills and jutting them in my direction, "Go back to the hospital you were born in if you don't like it. I mean it. Take the money."

I said, "It's really okay. I just want to–"

He grunted, threw the bills to the ground, flew past me, and opened up his car, parked just nearby. He reached into his glove box, which was stuffed with papers and brochures. He pulled out an envelope, a pen, and a stamp. He wrote, "HOSPITAL" in big capital letters on the envelope, held it up so I could see it, stuck the stamp to the middle of the envelope, slammed his car door shut, stomped over to a nearby mailbox, opened the envelope, put it on his head, like a hat, climbed on top of the mailbox, opened it, and jammed his leg inside as far as it would go, which wasn't very far at all.

"I'm doing it. I'm really doing it. I know what you're thinking," he began.

That you're insane? I thought.

He continued, "This isn't enough postage. Well, I'm loaded enough to mail myself, and so if the mailman comes on Monday and says I need more postage, then I'll pay him right there."

I replied, "What if the mailman's a mailwoman?"

"Shut up!" he screamed, then turned his attention to shoving his leg a bit more into the mailbox. I left him there, and to be honest, I don't even know if he realized that I had gone, and that I had, in fact, scooped up the bills from where he had tossed them.

Story Sent in by Sean:

Chelsea and I had sat down to dinner at a cafe on our second date. She had a stupendous sense of humor, and spent about as much time laughing as talking.

Not long before dinner was served, she was in the middle of telling me a story about an acting gig she had when she was five, when all of a sudden, her face froze: her eyes went wide and she stopped talking.

Thinking that it was another joke, or perhaps part of the story, I smiled at her, but she sat up, did a wiggle, muttered, "Oh..." then slowly stood and said, "Be right back."

She wasn't right back. While she was gone, our dinners were served. I became concerned for her and called her cell once or twice. No response. I told myself that I'd wait another five minutes before searching.

She returned to the table before then. Her hair was a bit of a mess, and in place of the black and beige skirt she had on before, she was wearing jogging pants.

"Sorry," was all the explanation that she gave me, and out of courtesy, I didn't ask her for any more details.

I might have forgotten the entire thing. However, we've since married each other, and just last week, we were at a small get-together with friends, trading embarrassing stories about ourselves.

Imagine my surprise when she told the tale of how, on our second date, she accidentally crapped in her pants.

Email Sent in by Spencer:

Hola I am Tiffany. I started my oewn business here in america and now am rich! I am serious you should see below:

Do you believe in GHOSTS? There are everywhere! If you order my GHOST elimination kit (©®†1995) then you will be safe from GHOSTS. It is only 19.99.99.99.99USD. NOT A JOKE.

I sell my GHOST elimination packets to only men because I have leanred that women can't defeat GHOSTS. Yes I am a woman but my GHOST elimination kit (©®†1995) was made from my idea by men and then I owned it. Other than that I love my family and pet cat and my nieces and nephew.

Remember that to eliminate GHOSTS you need my GHOST elimination kit (©®†1995) so what are you waiting for be rid of GHOSTS today.

Tiffany

Story Sent in by Marilyn:

The dating pool was pretty shallow, where I used to be from. During that time, I met Travis online. He and I liked a lot of the same music, and we both worked in two different hardware stores, a town or two apart.

After talking online for a while, he asked me out on a proper date, to a popular steakhouse (actually the only steakhouse) in the area.

When I arrived there, I found him seated at a booth with four other people: on one side was a large, red-faced woman next to a tall, thick-bearded man, and on the other side, two younger girls: one around 16, the other couldn't have been older than 10. Travis sat next to them, all the way inside the booth.

"Marilyn!" Travis shoved himself out of the booth and over to where I stood, "Great to meet you! This is my family," he turned back to the group at the table, "My mom, dad, and sisters: Bea and Alice."

"Your family?" I asked, as in, "You brought your family?"

"They sure are!" he replied, "Here, I'll get you an extra chair."

I wanted to be polite, but I certainly didn't want to stay for long. Travis set up a chair for me at the end of the booth and sat back down, all the way inside, again.

Travis's mother asked me, "Where are you from?"

I replied, "Willington."

Travis's mother giggled and said, "Not what town, honey. Where's your family from? Your roots?"

I replied, "Way back? I think Germany, England, somewhere in there."

Travis's mother frowned and sat back, as if she had hoped for a better answer. As if in agreement, Travis's father leaned forward and said, "Aw, don't be like that, Irene. She's prettier than a pop can full o'sugar!"

Alice, the youngest sister, asked, "Where are your parents?"

I said, "At work and at home. Not here."

"Why?" she asked.

Travis cut in, "Isn't this great? Our first big dinner as a family!"

The waitress chose that moment to take our drink orders. Travis's father ordered five plates of nachos for the table and was sure to watch the waitress's ass as she walked away.

He caught me looking and said, "Mmm, yeah."

It made me shudder. I said, "I appreciate meeting... all of you for dinner, but I can't stay too long."

Travis asked, "Why?"

I said, "My...cousin was in an accident over in Mt. Carmel, and I have to drive my aunt to the hospital. Nothing bad. She just hit a hydrant, but they're checking her out, anyway."

"Sorry to hear," Travis's mother said.

Travis's father said something to me that sounded like, "You're real pretty," but it was low, so I couldn't hear him too well. It dawned on me a moment later that he was very likely drunk.

I said, "Yeah, so I kind of have to go..." and I stood up.

Travis shoved out of the booth again and said to me, "I'll walk you out."

He did, and when we made it outside, he wished me and my family well, then went for a kiss. I pushed him away, he said, "Okay," and shuffled back inside the restaurant.

I felt bad for lying to him and his family, but I thought that it was a small price to pay to escape that mess.

Profile Sent in by R.T.:

Email Sent in by Dara:

Well I am a man in my late 30's and you know what that means. I am peak fertile and want to find a woman to have my boys. To do this I need to make sure that she can still be relied on to have kids without too much looking after (I mean I will take care of her but I want her to still help me do shopping, cooking, cleaning, and all). Love is two way street after all!

Here's what I propose. I have so many willing friends with newborns. I want to try something in which the lady I am seeing with a clean hoo-ha consents to let me (and willing friends as I said) just try to fit a baby up into her hoo-ha to make sure that she can carry one late trimester term. This is not a full-grown baby we're talking about here. Just a less than one month old. I have so many friends now with babies and twins and triplets and quadruplets and so on and so many friends but they don't even have to know when I say willing I mean they are willing to let me look after their kid. I doubt they'd be willing to let me insert their kid up your hoo-ha.

Again this isn't a ploy to get into your hoo-ha just want to see if you can carry a child. I think that is innocent enough. I will understand if you don't want to, just want to get drinks, have some bed fun, whatever instead.

I run a lumber yard and am successful at what I do. Now to find a family!

Arthur

Story Sent in by Dan:

I found Nancy's profile online and wrote her. She wrote back a colossal, three-paragraph message in which she went over her life story, her spiritual beliefs, and her long-term goals. Her tone was friendly, and she asked me plenty of questions throughout. While it might have been a case of too much information, she made herself sound interesting. After messaging for a little bit, we exchanged numbers and set up a date.

The plan was to go on a walk, visit a gallery or outdoor art festival (that we knew to be taking place that day), do lunch, and then play things by ear. We lived in a big suburb with plenty to do.

I arrived at our meeting spot in the main town square and looked around to find her. It was a nice day and plenty of families were out.

"Dan!" someone screamed from what sounded like a distance.

I turned and looked. Across the street, Nancy wore a huge smile, pointed, waved her arms, screamed again, and ran for me. When she reached me, she nearly knocked me over with her hug, then held my shoulders tightly and said, "Oh my God," then looked around, turned back to me, and continued, "I love you. I love you! I love this day, this pavement," she stomped on the ground with a foot, "the sky, and just everything!"

She sure was happy. I said, "Great. I... it's good to see you, too."

She gave me another smile, then hugged me again. "You too!" she said, then stepped away from me and her eyes went so wide that I could almost see white all the way around her irises. "Oh my God!" she barked, "You've got to see this! Follow me!"

She ran down the street. I hurried to keep up, but she ran breakneck and I lost her. I called her up and left a message, asking her where she was, and telling her that I'd wait for her at a particular corner.

She called me back almost immediately. "Where are you?" she asked.

"I'm at Main and Shelton."

"That's not where I am!"

"Evidently. Where are you?"

"Hang on."

Within a minute, she had found me. I asked her, "Where are we going?"

She smiled, showing almost all of her teeth. "It's a surprise! Follow me!" She tore off again, so fast that she seemingly didn't want to be caught.

"Nancy!" I called after her, but she was oblivious, or else ignored me. I yelled, "We'll get there faster if we go together!" but she was gone.

I went to a bagel place, figuring that if she really wanted to hang out, she'd call me. She did, not long after I sat down to my bagel.

"Where are you?" she asked.

"At Porter Bagels. Come join me."

"What are you doing there?"

"Having a bagel."

"Wow. Not only are you an asshole... you're a complete asshole." She hung up. Complete asshole that I am, I didn't call her back.

Emails Sent in by William:

(William says: "I had a first date planned with Jess, and she stood me up. I wrote her an email to ask what happened, and a week later I received this:")

Dear John:

I'm sorry I stood you up. Something unavoidable happened (an emergency) and I could not be at our date. We can reschedule if you want (no guarantees that something bad won't happen again though) but I will understand if you do not want to.

Fondly,
Jess


William Responds:

Thanks for the apology, but you addressed it to John. My name's Will.


Jess Responds:

Sorry Will. I meant to send that to another guy I stood up. Same words apply though.

Story Sent in by Joan:

I was out on my first date with Drew, and something was clearly not quite right. He was twitchy, for one. Also, he kept looking up in the sky with his mouth slightly open, as if he was looking at a UFO battle overhead, or else just trying to catch bugs.

We had been walking around the same five-block area, looking for a restaurant. As we passed some, I'd say, "Let's look at the menu here" or "Let's check this place out," but Drew seemed to be on a mission.

He'd say, "Not that place. No. I'm looking for... there's one place I want to take you to, but... where..." and mumble off.

Not long after I promised to give him one more minute of indecisiveness before putting my foot down, he spun to me and held out a small metal tin. Breath mints.

"No thanks," I said.

He replied, "We'll do dinner, but then there's something I have to show you!"

He led me into an Italian restaurant, where we promptly sat and thankfully ate. He packed away pasta as if he was in an eating contest, and snorted with every bite.

Once dinner was done (in record time), we left. I said to him, "Well, it was very nice meeting you, and–"

He pulled out the metal mint box again. I told him, "No, thank you." He opened the tin and held its contents up, so that I could see them: kidney beans in sauce. I asked, "What are those for?"

He replied, "They're for planting. I mean to plant them in a public park tonight, and you will help me."

I shook my head. "I don't think so. I'm going home."

He looked aghast, swiveled his head around, and focused on a tree growing out of a patch of dirt on the sidewalk. The road was lined with such trees. He descended upon the dirt patch, knelt over it, and asked me, "Have a shovel?"

"No."

He nodded, then turned back to the dirt and dug away with his hands. He snorted as he dug. "Yes," he muttered, "Magic beans, magic beans, magic beans," and then he giggled.

"Goodnight," I said. He didn't look back at me, and I went home.

Email Sent in by Donna:

Hello if we meet we can scream together. I will scream at your baking in the cook room and you will scream at my enormous genitals.

Pete

Story Sent in by Ryan:

I went to college at a colossal school in an otherwise one-horse town, and so anyone who you met on a dating site in the area was likely affiliated with the university. Such was the case with Anna. I met her online, although we were both students at the same school. She was an English major, her profile essays were well-written, and her photos were terrific. We made plans to meet.

I almost didn't recognize her when we met in-person, as she was a bit... heavier. She gave me a bear hug and broached the topic, herself:

"So, forget that freshman 15: I'm packin' the freshman 50!"

I thought, Agreed that you're much heavier than your photos indicated, so bye, but there was no nice way to say it. As I stood there, trying to think of what to do, she gave me another big hug and asked, "Want to go dirt-sledding?"

Dirt-sledding consisted of taking a sled (or cafeteria tray) and sailing it down one of the hills around campus. I had done it twice before, neither of which were too enjoyable, as dirt and rocks are only fun to sled over when they're covered in snow.

I said, "Maybe we could grab a quick dinner, instead."

Anna replied, "Oh, come on. Let's do something fun."

"I'd rather not. Last time I did it, I almost broke... everything."

She groaned and said, "Fine, then you can watch me do it once or twice, then we can do dinner."

We went to the cafeteria, she grabbed a tray, and we walked out to the top of one of the hills. It was best to ride while seated on your rear, as that gave you the most cushioning. Anna, however, opted to kneel on the tray. I told her, "Try sitting on it, instead, it'll–"

She was off. Slide, bounce, bounce, scream, airtime, smash, roll, roll, roll... roll... stop.

I ran down the hill to where she lay, moaning and groaning. I asked her if she was okay, she said that she wasn't, and so I called campus safety. They took her away on a stretcher, and our date was over.

I visited her in the campus clinic before they moved her to a hospital. She ended up all right, but we never went on another date.

Story Sent in by Meredith:

Paul told me that he made reservations for the two of us at a very ritzy hotel restaurant for our first date. We met in the lobby, and he looked great.

He kissed me on the cheek, said, "You look beautiful," to me, and we walked to the restaurant.

The host gave us a smile as we approached. "Good evening," he said, "Do you have a reservation?"

Paul replied, "Yes. Should be under... John." He winked at me.

The host said, "John who?"

Paul frowned, became a bit flustered, and replied, "John... uh... John."

"John John?" the host said, "Let me see here..." He searched through his reservation book and said, "I don't have a reservation under that name, sir."

Paul said, "Try Jack."

"Jack who?"

"Jack... John." Paul flashed me a smile, but I didn't smile back.

"I'm sorry, sir. Nothing under Jack John. Are you sure you made a reservation with us?"

Paul said to the host, "I'm going to use fertilizer to blow you up!" then said to me, "Come on. We have a fertilizer errand to run."

He stormed away and I followed him. He muttered to me, "I called you beautiful, so you have to help me, now."

I asked, "Uh, what's your plan?"

He replied, "I'm going to blow up that place. With fertilizer."

I said, "Maybe we could have dinner, first? I'm sure we can find another place. I thought you made reservations there, though."

He replied, "I don't have to make reservations," then turned back around and headed for the restaurant again. I followed him once more, but a few extra steps behind.

This time, he said to the host, "I need no reservation."

The host said, "We're booked solid for tonight, sir. I'm afraid if you don't have a reservation, there's nothing I can do."

Paul once again said, "Fine. I will blow you up. With fertilizer."

He spun and walked past me, saying, "Come with me, Meredith. We'll go get fertilizer together."

I walked alongside him and said, "I think we should just do dinner somewhere else, but if you're planning to blow this place up, then you can go ahead and do that while I go get dinner, myself." I was disappointed that I had gone through the trouble to look nice for him, but in retrospect, I'm glad that he showed me who he really was so soon.

Paul stopped walking and said, "Okay. I'm going to Home Depot to get fertilizer. Once I'm done blowing this place up, I'll call you and you tell me where you're having dinner. I'll meet you there."

"Sounds good."

Paul and I went our separate ways. However, as we had met, spoken, and made all plans for the date online, he didn't have my number, so he never called. He also never wrote me, and as far as I know, never blew up that nice hotel restaurant.

Story Sent in by Gerald:

Christine and I had planned a nice dinner date together. She worked as a paralegal and we met thanks to some mutual friends. Her schedule at work prevented us from meeting up for about three weeks, but when she had an opening, she called to let me know, and we made it definite.

I took her to a nice Italian place with live music. Based on what I knew of her, I thought it would be a good time for everyone. That is, before she took out a set of nose hair clippers at the table and clipped at her nose hairs, right then and there.

"My nose hairs grow exceedingly long," she explained, as she clip-clip-clipped away.

I asked, "Do you have to do that here?"

She gave me a look as if I was an idiot and said, "Where else would I do it? When I'm sleeping? This is our first date. I'm almost done."

She kept at it up until dinner was served. Snip snip snip, right over the table. I finally snapped, "How many nose hairs do you have?"

She said, louder than she needed to, "None of your damn business!"

We both shut up for the rest of dinner, and thankfully, that was the last time that I ever saw her.

Story Sent in by Molly:

I was out to dinner with Ben, who had written to me online. He worked for the state with at-risk families, trying to help them find ways to afford, well, basically anything. Some of the stories he told me were heartbreaking, and I gave him lots of credit for jumping into those sorts of trenches on a daily basis.

At dinner, though, something was off. Not two minutes into our conversation, he asked me, "Do you respect me?"

I replied, "Yes. Of course, I do. I'm sorry, did I do something that made it seem like I don't?"

He said, "It's just something that's so important with my job. Mutual respect. I find that being direct about it is the best policy. Do you respect me?"

"Yes. I do."

"Okay."

I thought about asking him the same question, but I wanted off the topic more, so I changed it to the Huskers, as both Ben and I had gone to the University of Nebraska (at the same time, even, although we didn't know each other there), and were both admitted fans.

During our talk about athletics, a waitress came by and took our drink orders. After she went off, Ben turned to me and asked, "Do you still respect me?"

"Yes, Ben. Assume that I do and will continue to respect you."

"How can I assume that? Anything might happen. What if I threw this drink in your face? Would you still respect me, then?"

I rubbed at my temples. "Ben, let's say that for tonight, we both respect each other, okay?"

He said, "You're assuming that I respect you. You haven't even asked me if I do."

I sighed. "Ben, do you respect me?"

He looked up, as if in deep thought, then looked back at me and asked, "Do you respect me?"

"Yes."

"You didn't ask me if I respected you."

"Fine. Do you–"

He interrupted, "Do you respect me?"

So incensed I was at this point, that I raised my voice and replied, "No."

He leaned back in his chair, pulled a $10 bill from his pocket, slammed it on the table, stood, said, "You're all the same," and left me alone there.

Email Sent in by Camille:

Yo sup? I'm a decent guy looking for a good woman. Maybe it's time for me to find 1 instead of looking.

My ex and I use to play a game in which we both farted under the covers at the same time and then we tried to guess whose fart was whos. She was in an accident (she's okay) but I dumped her.

If you're smart and on the level then I want 2 hear from u!!!

From,
Phil

Story Sent in by Scott:

Vanessa and I were out on a walk after a first-date lunch when she turned to me and said, "I'm pregnant."

She didn't look pregnant, and I asked her, "For how long?"

She replied, "For just a few weeks."

I said, "I appreciate you letting me know. I probably wouldn't want to pursue a relationship with someone who's pregnant, though."

She stopped walking and asked, "Are you serious? I'm pregnant. It's not like I have AIDS. Just wait nine months and then I won't be pregnant anymore."

I said, "Right. Then you'll have a child."

She said, "And that makes me horrible?"

Before I could respond, she opened her mouth wide and made a loud sound, like the clearing of her throat. She did it over and over.

"What are you doing?" I asked her.

"Trying to puke on you," she replied, "I've been puking non-stop since I got pregnant."

I backed away from her and she went on, "It's only fair. You think I'm diseased or something, so I might as well play along, right?"

"Right. Bye." I hurried away from her, and didn't hear from her until over a month later, when she wrote me an email to let me know that she hadn't been pregnant: she had just ill with a stomach bug. She also called me all sorts of nasty names, but at that point, it didn't much matter to me.