tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31864996658560751842024-03-27T14:40:02.329-04:00A Bad Case of the DatesBad dates, good stories. Updated daily with bad date stories of the highest caliber. Send in your own bad dating stories, sketchy emails, peculiar profiles, and apocalyptic breakup tales.JMGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18362998962851574254noreply@blogger.comBlogger4641125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3186499665856075184.post-27585217400684708862017-12-31T03:06:00.000-05:002018-01-05T09:36:57.186-05:00My Worst Date Ever<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMYY0erKrdOVTAc0eyiKOddypwCO3H7QPd3jLEw80gkJZKVDtQ4FmiMpmt_8y-BkfC03LwZcdMzujBd99eHIOAlzNt6zDWghJasoD78WPJWTzjWLH-dA6z-I0YDVYNZN-cKj-nVctu8Tg/s1600/image2.JPG" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Original art by the amazing Craig Boldman (<a href="http://www.craigboldman.com/">craigboldman.com</a>)</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Willa liked blues dancing, playing her guitar, and had a great sense of humor. Most of our time together thus far had been pleasant. When that early February came around, Willa and I had been together for about two and a half months. We thought it would be nice to take a weekend trip up to New Hampshire and Vermont. We'd visit small towns, maybe stay at a B&B, maybe go on a winter hike, and simply enjoy New England winter. Willa parked her car at where I was living in a Boston suburb and we took off together in my car. <br />
<br />
Something you ought to know about Willa was that she had previously told me that she had assaulted a police officer (and had been to court as a result), so perhaps I should have heeded that screamingly stentorian warning bell.<br />
<br />
But I didn't!<br />
<br />
That first day we stopped at Walden Pond, then drove up to Brattleboro, Vermont. We enjoyed the town, visited a coffee shop, and the local art museum. Then we headed north.<br />
<br />
We stayed overnight in a cozy hotel and the next day we planned to explore northern Vermont. We picked out a park and made for it, thinking that it would be fun to go on a hike for as long as we could, then find a little mom 'n pop cafe to warm ourselves by a fire.<br />
<br />
My car had plenty of gas and heat, so we made for the park in good spirits. But we couldn't find the park entrance. Up and down the road we drove, but the park entrance simply eluded us. It had to be somewhere, so I kept exploring around the local roads.<br />
<br />
As for Willa, she became increasingly agitated. "Where is it?" she asked, "How come we haven't found it, yet?"<br />
<br />
Those questions didn't help me find it any faster, so I kept driving. Willa sighed and said, "You know, if I was driving, we would've found it by now. How come we haven't found it? Where is it? This is ridiculous."<br />
<br />
I turned to her and said, "You know, you're stressing me out a bit, here. We'll find it."<br />
<br />
Then she gave me the iciest stare in the storied, freezing history of icy stares. "I'm 'stressing you out'? Are you–are you fucking serious? I'm <i>stressing you out?</i>"<br />
<br />
I replied, "A little, yeah. But I'm sure we'll find the place. We'll–"<br />
<br />
"Who the <i>fuck</i> do you think you are? I'm stressing–I'm stressing you out? <i>I'm stressing you out?</i> Who the <i>fuck</i> do you think you are? How <i>dare</i> you fucking say that to me, you fucking piece of shit."<br />
<br />
Hmm. Now she was stressing me out a bit more, but I opted to not say anything about that. I just wanted to find the park and hopefully go on our hike and enjoy what I could of my time with the increasingly psychotic basketcase.<br />
<br />
She continued, "How dare you fucking say I'm stressing you out. You're a fucking asshole. No wonder you run a bad date site! They're probably all about you! Fucking garbage. Fuck you, asshole. Fuck you."<br />
<br />
Surprise! We found the park! I pulled into the parking lot. We were the only car there. I parked and asked Willa, "Would you like to go for a hike?"<br />
<br />
She pulled out a book and said, "Fuck you. I'm gonna stay here and read. Fucking asshole. I'm 'stressing you out.' Piece of shit. Go fuck yourself."<br />
<br />
Should I turn the car off and allow her to sit in the cold or should I leave it on so she could stay warm? Seeing as leaving it on would require me leaving the key with a psychologically deteriorating nutjob, I opted to turn the car off and take the key with me. I went on a brief hike, maybe 15 minutes tops. It was my hope that when I returned to the car, Willa would have clicked her temper down from 11 to anything less than 11. But that didn't happen. No, indeed. In fact, Willa had clicked it up to 12.<br />
<br />
She greeted me with, "Drop me off at a gas station. I don't even want to fucking be with you anymore. I'm fucking stressing you out? We'll fucking see who stresses who out!"<br />
<br />
This was Vermont in the middle of the winter. We were three hours north of Massachusetts. There was no way I was leaving her up there. I essentially resolved to drive us back to my place, where her car was, and if she wanted to throw bitter vitriol at me the entire time, I could take it. At this point, I really wanted her out of my car and out of my life.<br />
<br />
"Pull over at a gas station. I'm fucking serious. I don't even want to spend one more fucking minute with you. Fucking piece of shit asshole. Who the fuck do you think you are, you piece of fucking shit? Bring me to a gas station, goddamn it. I don't want to spend another minute with you, you fucking disgusting thing."<br />
<br />
"Let me just take you back to your car. Then we can just–"<br />
<br />
"Fuck you. Drop me off at a fucking gas station right now!"<br />
<br />
By this time we were driving through a small town. There was a red light before me so I had to stop. When I did, Willa opened her door, grabbed her bag, and took off down the sidewalk. When the light turned green I pulled over in the first parking spot I found, turned the car off, and searched for her up and down the street.<br />
<br />
I didn't find her so I hopped back in my car and called her phone.<br />
<br />
Ring. Ring.<br />
<br />
On the seat next to me, her phone rang. In her haste to leave, Willa's phone had fallen out of her pocket. I had no way to reach her or find out where she was. I scrolled through her phone contacts, found her father's number (I had met her father before. He was a good guy) and I called him up to explain the situation to him and let him know that I was likely going to have to leave his daughter stuck in the middle of Vermont in the winter with no plausible way to make it home.<br />
<br />
"Please, please, please don't leave her there," he implored, "She has to eventually figure out that the only way she's going to get home is with you. Just stay with your car and wait for her to come back and try to get her to see reason. Please."<br />
<br />
I liked her father, and he had always been nice to me. He lived a couple of states away so I really was Willa's one and only shot at making it home. I took his advice and waited for her to return.<br />
<br />
Sure enough, Willa came back. I asked her, "Will you ride back to Boston with me? We'll just go straight there and I'll bring you to your car–"<br />
<br />
"Give me my fucking phone, you fucking piece of shit," was Willa's response.<br />
<br />
I gave her her phone and she stormed down to an Amtrak station that was close by. The whole time I tried to introduce some reason into her life. "Willa, please come back down with me. We'll go straight to your car. We won't stop. Let's just go."<br />
<br />
"Go fuck yourself," was her reply.<br />
<br />
A train came by shortly thereafter and Willa jumped onto it with her bag. She asked the conductor, "Is this train going to Boston?"<br />
<br />
The conductor replied, "It's going through Springfield," which is not at all near Boston.<br />
<br />
Willa stepped off the train and the train chugged on. She then took out her phone, called a couple of friends, and commanded them to come pick her up in Vermont. From what I could hear, they said, "Why don't you just ride back down to Boston with Jared?" She hung up on them and called her father. "Dad, come pick me up in Vermont."<br />
<br />
Her father said, "Jared called to tell me what's going on. You need to stop behaving this way right now and get back in the car with him."<br />
<br />
Willa laughed and said, "Jared called you? Of course he did! Of course Jared fucking called you!" she hung up on her father, turned to me, and said, "You need to get the fuck out of here before I call the police and tell them you're stalking me."<br />
<br />
At that I returned to my car, called her father and said, "I'm done, here. She's clearly unhinged and I don't really want to be a part of this, anymore."<br />
<br />
Her father said, "Please don't leave her up there. I know she can be difficult. But please don't leave her up there. She'll have to eventually figure out that you're her only way out of this situation. Just go somewhere and grab a bite to eat and she'll eventually come around. She'll have to. Please."<br />
<br />
Ugh. Again, her dad was a nice guy who had always been hospitable to me. Plus, I knew he was right. I went to a pizza place for an hour and relaxed a bit. <br />
<br />
Then, her text came: "All right. You win."<br />
<br />
Hooray! I win! I went out to my car and there she was. She said, "I'll ride back with you, but you have to understand that you can't go telling people that they stress you out. That's not cool, and I won't take that sort of shit."<br />
<br />
It dawned on me that she was completely remorseless. Indeed, in her mind, <i>I</i> and I alone was apparently to blame for the day's unfortunate festivities. It occurred to me in the same instant that if I wanted to finish things as neatly as possible, it would be necessary for me to placate her and acquiesce completely.<br />
<br />
"You're right," I lied, "I'm sorry. It was a stupid thing for me to say in the first place."<br />
<br />
She nodded. "Good. Now we can go."<br />
<br />
I was pretty sure that if I did anything on the way back to raise her ire even in the slightest, she'd jump out of my car, even if I was going 70 on the highway. Placate, placate, placate. Just get her back to her car and–<br />
<br />
She said, "I forgive you for talking to me like that. Even though you tried to ruin our day, I think we should still go for a hike."<br />
<br />
I replied, "Nah, that's okay. Let me just bring you back to your car and–"<br />
<br />
"I really want to go on a hike."<br />
<br />
"No, we really don't–"<br />
<br />
"I want to go."<br />
<br />
"Okay."<br />
<br />
We went southeast and crossed into New Hampshire. We found a snowy mountain and went on a little hike. The whole time, I pretended that everything was okay and that I was truly sorry for the horrible way I had purportedly treated her. <br />
<br />
We finally arrived back in Boston and I parked. "Have a safe drive back home," I told her.<br />
<br />
She said, "I want to spend the night. I'm exhausted."<br />
<br />
Ugh. Fine. We went right to bed and in the morning I walked her to her car. She said, "I'll see you soon, right?"<br />
<br />
"Of course you will."<br />
<br />
She drove back to her home and I blocked her on Facebook. She likely was quick to realize that I was cutting her out of my life and she wrote me a final email in which she actually apologized for her behavior. That was nice. I didn't respond.<br />
<br />
There are those who say I should've left her in Vermont. There are those who say I should've stuck it to her more firmly. To them, I'd say that a life without me is verily the very worst nightmare I can inflict upon anyone.<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
This is the last story I plan to post on the site (<a href="http://www.abadcaseofthedates.com/2017/12/closing-up-shop.html"><u>why?</u></a>). The site will remain up for the foreseeable future and I'll be around to check out any posted comments. If you have a bad date story you'd love to share, feel free to comment on this post and share away (content policy still applies). <a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/1775597839413750/"><u>You can also join this Facebook group</u></a> to commiserate with me and fellow fans. If you're actually interested, you can keep up with my zany adventures at <a href="http://jaredmgordon.net/"><u>jaredmgordon.net</u></a>.<br />
<br />
Thank you so much for being a fan of A Bad Case of the Dates! Now and always, I hope you find love and laughter. And hopefully, someday, a good date.<br />
<br />
-JMG<br />
12/31/2017JMGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18362998962851574254noreply@blogger.com35tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3186499665856075184.post-52739071390242104342017-12-29T03:04:00.000-05:002017-12-29T03:04:26.617-05:00Go Loud and Go HomeStory Sent in by Sara:<br />
<br />
Cal wrote to me over a dating site. I read his profile and it was full of humorous ramblings, so that was kind of refreshing from how seriously a lot of guys took themselves. In one section he had written that he had "volume dissociation syndrome." When I wrote him back I asked him about it and he said that it simply meant that he sometimes had trouble controlling the volume at which he spoke, as if he'd be chatting and he just couldn't tell how loud he was talking. Was it a joke? Maybe. I decided it would be fun to meet him.<br />
<br />
We met in a public park and at first everything went great. He kept me laughing and he was pretty charming and he spoke at a regular volume. It was nice. We took a walk and he was quiet for a minute or so and then he turned to me just as a kid was riding by on a bicycle and yelled, "EVER HAVE <i>SEX?</i>"<br />
<br />
I nearly jumped out of my skin. "Uh... yes," I said, but quietly, in an attempt to hopefully bring his volume down somewhat.<br />
<br />
"WHAT WAS THE SEX LIKE?" he yelled, loud enough for the people down the path to hear.<br />
<br />
They turned toward us and I became a bit embarrassed. I replied, "Uh, it was fine. Can we talk about something else?"<br />
<br />
"Okay, sure," he said in a normal voice, "We can talk about <i>SEX!</i>"<br />
<br />
"How about we don't?" I asked, desperate to talk about anything but.<br />
<br />
He apologized. "I'm sorry. It's my volume dissociation. I seriously sometimes can't hear myself talk so I overcompensate."<br />
<br />
I told him that it was okay and I changed the subject to asking him about work. He was some sort of editor for an eBook company and we talked about that for a while.<br />
<br />
I asked him, "Which was your favorite book to edit?" and he replied, "Probably a science one. I learned a lot. WHAT WAS THE SEX LIKE?"<br />
<br />
I said, "I already told you. It was fine."<br />
<br />
"HOW MANY TIMES HAVE YOU DONE IT?"<br />
<br />
"Like four or five, all right?"<br />
<br />
"I HAVE DONE IT NO LESS THAN SIXTY TIMES."<br />
<br />
"Great. Okay."<br />
<br />
"AND BY 'DONE IT' I MEAN ACTS THAT ARE SEXUAL."<br />
<br />
"Thanks, Cal. I got it. Thank you." I then glanced at my phone and said, "Oh, crap. I'm late for a... thing. I have to go. Right now."<br />
<br />
"IS THE 'THING' SEX?"<br />
<br />
"No. I just have to go. Bye!" and I practically ran my way back to my car in the parking lot and drove home. I didn't hear from Cal ever again.<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
<font color="red">The next post will be on Sunday.</font>JMGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18362998962851574254noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3186499665856075184.post-10907193549872597842017-12-26T03:08:00.000-05:002017-12-26T09:13:25.055-05:00My Favorite PostsGreetings!<br />
<br />
Happy holidays! A Bad Case of the Dates is closing on Sunday, December 31st (<a href="http://www.abadcaseofthedates.com/2017/12/closing-up-shop.html">Why? Click here</a>). On that day, I'll post my worst date ever. Since we started up, we've had over 4,600 posts. Some stand out for me. In no particular order, here are some of my favorites. Share yours in the comments!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.abadcaseofthedates.com/2011/01/welcome-to-guys.html"><u>Welcome to Guys</u></a><br />
A wedding. A strange aroma. Hilarity ensues.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.abadcaseofthedates.com/2012/09/sounds-better-than-whats-at-box-office.html"><u>Sounds Better Than What's at the Box Office</u></a><br />
Hapless children encounter a horse with a weight problem.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.abadcaseofthedates.com/2010/08/new-romance.html"><u>The New Romance</u></a><br />
Yum.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.abadcaseofthedates.com/2013/02/prepare-to-be-boarded.html"><u>Prepare to be Boarded</u></a><br />
Rated arrr.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.abadcaseofthedates.com/2015/07/dont-ask-what-she-called-her-entree.html"><u>Don't Ask What She Called Her Entree</u></a><br />
Yum. Again.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.abadcaseofthedates.com/2016/03/dick-dock.html"><u>Dick Dock</u></a><br />
Read it. But I'm not telling you what to do.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.abadcaseofthedates.com/2010/12/be-careful-whom-you-stalk.html"><u>Be Careful Whom You Stalk</u></a><br />
There are some people you shouldn't stalk. Namely everybody. But this guy in particular.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.abadcaseofthedates.com/2011/11/seems-like-catch-except-for-that-one.html"><u>Seems Like a Catch, Except for That One Detail</u></a><br />
What happens when you leave your profile up at the Apple Store.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.abadcaseofthedates.com/2011/03/splitsville.html"><u>Splitsville</u></a><br />
Ouch!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.abadcaseofthedates.com/2011/04/heroine.html"><u>Heroine</u></a><br />
Bring tissues.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.abadcaseofthedates.com/2013/03/welcome.html"><u>"Welcome"</u></a><br />
Bring more tissues.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.abadcaseofthedates.com/2012/11/the-ring-of-truth.html"><u>The Ring of Truth</u></a><br />
My real-life friend Chris actually used this actual site to actually propose to his now-actual wife!<br />
<br />
Which have been your favorites?<br />
<br />
-JMG<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
<font color="red">The next post will be on Friday.</font>JMGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18362998962851574254noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3186499665856075184.post-60585332633791918112017-12-22T08:46:00.001-05:002017-12-25T13:00:41.088-05:00Dog Day EveningStory Sent in by Teena:<br />
<br />
On a cold winter evening, Joel brought me to a local botanic garden that had holiday lights on display. Dragons and elves and Santa, it was all superb. Afterward we went to a coffee shop and he ordered us a couple of hot chocolates. <br />
<br />
We chatted for a while and talked about old friends and growing up and silly little things like that. Then he told me about his friend, Kyle. Kyle, Joel said, was eaten by dogs when they were very young. <br />
<br />
Joel said, “Someone in the neighborhood had these dogs and someone let them out one day. They went right to Kyle’s house where they caught him playing outside and they ate him.”<br />
<br />
I was horrified. Joel said, “They caught only one of the dogs afterward. The rest of them are still out there, somewhere.” He shuddered. <br />
<br />
I said, “They must be dead by now. How many years ago was this?”<br />
<br />
“It happened when I was six.” Joel then stood up and ordered himself another hot chocolate. He then sat back down next to me and said, “I’ll need another if I’m going to tell you the full tale.”<br />
<br />
He then went on about how he and Kyle were great friends and always slept over at each other’s houses and played video games and always hung out together and so on. He then said, “And I feel really guilty because <i>I’m</i> the one who let the dogs loose. I was just playing around but I had no idea that they’d kill him. I’m carrying that with me for the rest of my life.”<br />
<br />
He cried a little bit and I didn’t know what to think. I asked him, “Did you get in any kind of trouble?”<br />
<br />
Joel said, “You can’t prosecute a six-year-old. His parents tried to sue my parents but a judge threw it out.”<br />
<br />
I felt pretty ill at that point. I wasn’t sure if Joel was being honest or not. If he was, I was out on a date with a killer. If he had made the whole thing up, it was in very poor taste. <br />
<br />
After a little bit he said, “Come with me. There’s something I want to show you.”<br />
<br />
We walked for a little bit down some suburban streets and he stopped at a fenced-in, three-story house. He turned to me and said, “This is where is happened. Kyle died here. It’s said he died screaming my name.”<br />
<br />
“<i>JOEL!</i>”<br />
<br />
I nearly jumped out of my skin. A guy, all in black but with bloody-looking bandages, ran out at us from around the side of the house. <br />
<br />
I screamed as he ran right at me but I stood my ground and as he reached out to me I whacked him right in the face with my purse. <br />
<br />
The guy, whoever he was, stumbled back and yelled on about his face. Joel ran to his accomplice’s side and yelled at me, “What the hell? He was just joking! What’s your problem?”<br />
<br />
The guy grunted and groaned and I took that opportunity to walk away. I was shaken up but ultimately proud of myself for standing my ground. I even let myself laugh about it a bit. As for Joel and his weird friend, who might have been Kyle for all I know, I didn’t hear from them again. <br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
<font color="red">The next post will be on Tuesday.</font>JMGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18362998962851574254noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3186499665856075184.post-46680758891804871292017-12-19T08:29:00.000-05:002017-12-19T08:29:12.328-05:00But It Had Fist Germs on ItStory Sent in by George:<br />
<br />
I met Clara at a bakery. She worked there, making cookies and cakes. I had been in there a couple of times and thought she was cute and so I finally mustered up the courage to ask her out. <br />
<br />
On our first date she gave me a nicely wrapped box. I opened it and found that she had given me a little cake with my name on it, written in red icing. Or at least, I think it was supposed to be my name. In big block letters she had written "GERM."<br />
<br />
I told her how thoughtful it was and joked, "Dare I ask what's in it?"<br />
<br />
"What do you mean?" she asked.<br />
<br />
I said, "It says 'GERM.' Is the filling influenza or bubonic plague?"<br />
<br />
She looked at it and then looked back up at me. She said, "That's <i>not</i> how you spell your name?"<br />
<br />
I said, "G-e-o-r-g-e. It's really okay. I'm touched that you'd make me something."<br />
<br />
She punched the cake and shoved it back at me. "There now! Is it all fixed?" she shouted, then wrung out her hand, as it had cake bits all over it. "Now I've got cakey crap all over my hand! And red icing! Thank you!"<br />
<br />
I took her out for coffee to cool her down a bit but that was our only date. I actually did eat what was left of the cake afterward, as she had made it for me. It was great, even if she was completely off her rocker.<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
<font color="red">The next story will be posted on Friday.</font>JMGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18362998962851574254noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3186499665856075184.post-47652462232765782192017-12-15T03:05:00.000-05:002017-12-15T03:05:17.370-05:00And You Two Deserve Each OtherStory Sent in by Elle:<br />
<br />
Charlie and I had been together for several months. We'd frequently stay over at each other's places and had settled into a cozy, fun routine. Sometimes, he'd be away on business trips for a few days at a time and I'd stay over at his apartment. One time, when he returned, I surprised him with some play harnesses we could use to tie each other up. Charlie was into it immediately.<br />
<br />
That first night we had some fun. We started with him tying me up and then I tied him up. We enjoyed ourselves and we fell asleep, exhausted.<br />
<br />
The next day, I had to be out early for work so I hurried out of bed, threw on clothes, made enough breakfast for both of us, and left him sleeping.<br />
<br />
I sent him some flirty texts during the day and he didn't respond, which was a little unusual. But he was probably busy and I'd be seeing him that evening, so I wasn't really concerned.<br />
<br />
When I came home, I went into my bedroom. There he was, his arms and legs still tied up from the night before. In my morning haste, I had forgotten to free him. And he was dead.<br />
<br />
Kidding! He was really hungry and thirsty, though. And he had peed the bed. I freed him immediately and he ran for the bathroom. Then I made him a quick meal.<br />
<br />
He put on some clothes, ate what I made him, drank all the grape juice I had in the fridge, thanked me, and said, "I got my revenge on you. See you soon," and then left in a hurry.<br />
<br />
I wasn't sure what he was talking about until I stepped into my bathroom. A horrible odor almost knocked me off my feet. He hadn't used the toilet at all. He had used my <i>shower</i> as a toilet. Gross! That was going a bit overboard, but thankfully I never forgot to untie him again, he never crapped in my shower again, and now we're married.<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
<font color="red">The next story will be posted on Tuesday.</font>JMGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18362998962851574254noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3186499665856075184.post-55409229314276037972017-12-12T03:02:00.000-05:002017-12-12T03:02:10.263-05:00Closing Up ShopGreetings!<br />
<br />
A Bad Case of the Dates is closing. Ad rates have plummeted, I've become much busier with my own writing work (a comedy pilot script I wrote was recently optioned!), and it's no longer cost-effective to run the site. I'll keep posting twice a week until I close for good on December 31st of this year. BUT! I'll leave the site up for the foreseeable future so you can come back and revel in the archives. I'll also be around to read the comments.<br />
<br />
If you're a Patreon patron then big thanks to you. You kept us going these last few months. I've reverted the Patreon to patron-only, which means that the last payment that went through should be the last one you'll be charged. You might want to head over to patreon.com to make sure that you're no longer listed as a patron, anymore.<br />
<br />
Since I started ABCotD in August 2009, I'm thrilled to have seen this funny little site featured on Huffington Post's Seven Sites You Should Be Wasting Time on Right Now, the Washington Post (twice!), NBC, and even good 'ol AOL.com. Most importantly, I'm grateful to the regulars and especially the friends I've made off of the site. Making and maintaining such a wacky repository of bad date stories was worth it if it meant meeting you. Aww.<br />
<br />
The site's last post, on <b>December 31st,</b> will feature the very worst date I've ever had. I've been saving it for a special occasion.<br />
<br />
Of course, if you ever have a bad date story you simply MUST tell me, email me at abadcaseofthedates at gmail dot com. I'd love to read it! If you're actually interested in my further adventures, you can always visit jaredmgordon.net to see what hijinks I have in the pipeline.<br />
<br />
A hundred thousand thank-yous for the years of laughs and support. Thank you for being a fan. And if my site has brought a smile to your face, well, that's really the very best thing of all. <br />
<br />
Aside, perhaps, from a good date.<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
Jared<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
<font color="red">There's a new bad date post below! The next one will be posted on Friday.</font>JMGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18362998962851574254noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3186499665856075184.post-91791408204352613512017-12-12T03:01:00.000-05:002017-12-12T03:01:25.227-05:00Oven and Done WithStory Sent in by Jackson:<br />
<br />
Sasha and I were out on our very first date and we asked ourselves a string of questions about each other. It was very much like "truth or dare" without the dare part. Then Sasha upended things by saying, "Dare me to do something."<br />
<br />
I said, "Uh... what should I dare you to do?" It was a first date and I figured she wouldn't be comfortable doing something sexy.<br />
<br />
She said, "I dunno. Dare me to eat a whole pizza."<br />
<br />
She was a very slender girl and I didn't think she'd be able to eat two slices, let alone eight. I said, "I dare you to eat a whole pizza."<br />
<br />
She led me to a nearby pizzeria, ordered a large cheese pizza, and asked me to pay for it. She said, "If I'm eating the whole thing for you, you've gotta pay for this." <br />
<br />
I paid, the pizza came out, and she did indeed eat the entire thing, slice by slice. I couldn't believe it. Then she said, "Dare me to eat a dozen garlic rolls."<br />
<br />
"No," I said, fearing for her intestines. <br />
<br />
She said, "Then I get to dare <i>you</i> something: I dare you to go stick your head in that pizza oven." She pointed to the metal pizza oven behind the counter.<br />
<br />
I said, "I'm not going to do that."<br />
<br />
She yelled, "I just ate a <i>whole pizza</i> for you! And you won't do this for me?"<br />
<br />
I said, "One of those two things puts one of us in immediate life-or-death danger."<br />
<br />
She said, "I'm gonna be on the toilet all night, thanks to you! And you seriously won't do this for me? Even for a second?"<br />
<br />
"I'm sorry. No."<br />
<br />
Sasha clammed up after that. We walked out of the pizza place together but then she hurried off on her own, so I guess the date was over. Thankfully.JMGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18362998962851574254noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3186499665856075184.post-7942028656169037532017-12-08T03:01:00.000-05:002017-12-08T03:01:38.554-05:00Better Red Than DeadStory Sent in by Cora:<br />
<br />
Bart arrived on our first date in an old t-shirt and jeans, covered with bright red spatters. I knew that he was a painter, so that explained why, although that didn't necessarily excuse why he looked like a serial killer.<br />
<br />
"I was in the studio and lost track of time," he explained.<br />
<br />
Fair enough, but he attracted a lot of strange looks. We were out to lunch at a crowded cafe and he really did stick out. During our talk he'd blurt out, "I'm not a killer," loud enough for people nearby to hear. I think he did it because of how he looked. But if anything I think that made him stick out even more.<br />
<br />
After lunch he asked me if I wanted to go to a movie. There were films out we both wanted to see so we agreed on one and we went to the theater and he paid for the tickets. I thanked him and I waited for him at the concession stand as he went to the bathroom.<br />
<br />
He took a while and came back right around when our movie was starting. He told me, "These guys in the bathroom were bothering me so I told them I was a killer and they had better leave me alone. That's why I wore this, today. But anyway they said they'd call the cops so if we're thrown out of the movie I just want you to know that it's not my fault."<br />
<br />
I didn't know how to take that so we went into the theater and sat down with everyone else. Sure enough, about 10 minutes into the movie, a pair of ushers came in with flashlights and they looked down each row and when they came to us they asked Bart to go with them. He went calmly and I just stayed there and watched them take him away. But then I felt guilty and so I left the theater shortly afterward.<br />
<br />
Out in the lobby I didn't see Bart or the ushers who had taken him so I went to customer service and asked them where Bart was. They girl behind the desk said that she didn't know. I called Bart's phone and sent him a text but he didn't write back. So I went back into the theater to watch the rest of the movie.<br />
<br />
I called Bart again that night and he picked up. He told me that they had told him that he couldn't wear his red-spattered clothing inside the theater. He had then offered to take off his clothes and go nude, and they then told him to leave. He ranted about how no one understood artists and painters and asked me over to his place for that night. I turned him down and he didn't call me again.<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
<font color="red">The next post will be on Tuesday.</font>JMGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18362998962851574254noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3186499665856075184.post-83392099260332818672017-12-05T03:03:00.000-05:002017-12-05T03:03:13.778-05:00Lock 'n KnockStory Sent in by Rico:<br />
<br />
Kerri and I were together for around a month when she called me up on a Tuesday night in a panic: "I'm locked out of my apartment and I'm naked!"<br />
<br />
My first impulse was to ask her how it had happened but I understood that time is of the essence in such circumstances. She told me that she would wait for me in her building stairwell and so I grabbed a spare blanket and rushed over to her place, across town. <br />
<br />
When I arrived and made it to the stairwell, there was no sign of Kerri. I called for her and then went to her apartment. She wasn't there so I called her phone. She picked up and asked, "What's up?" as calm as calm could be.<br />
<br />
"What's <i>up?</i>" I repeated, "Last time we spoke you were naked and locked outside your apartment. Where are you?"<br />
<br />
She said, "Oh. I got one of my neighbors to open the door. He's here now and I made hot cocoa and we're sort of cuddling, I guess. Speaking of which, I have to go. Toodles!" and then hung up.<br />
<br />
I listened at her door for a bit and heard her laughing and talking inside with a guy. Not really content with the way things had worked out, I thought about knocking on her door but then had a better idea. I went back to my car and grabbed a paper clip that I had in my glove box. I bent off a straight piece from it, returned to her door, and slid it into her lock. Then I left.<br />
<br />
Less than a half hour later I received a text from her: "DID U DO THIS TO MY DOOR???" I didn't respond and then a couple of minutes later I received, "U R WORSE THAN EXPLOSIVE DIARRHEA! AND I'VE HAD EXPLOSIVE DIARRHEA!"<br />
<br />
I'll take her word for it. <br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
<font color="red">The next post will be Friday.</font>JMGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18362998962851574254noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3186499665856075184.post-76363269551866044952017-12-01T03:01:00.000-05:002017-12-11T16:49:13.513-05:00Date Number TwoStory Sent in by Madison:<br />
<br />
Roger took me out to lunch and then to a local museum that I hadn't been to since I was little. He was a nice guy who kept the conversation going and at the end of the date he asked me if he could see me again and I told him that he absolutely could.<br />
<br />
We chatted over email and over the phone over the next week and a half and arranged date number two. We agreed to meet at a nearby seasonal carnival and I looked forward to walking around it, going on rides, and eating lots of fried dough. Mostly, I looked forward to seeing Roger again.<br />
<br />
So you can imagine my surprise when a guy who had to have been almost twice my age (and twice my weight) lumbered over to me at the carnival where I waited and said, "Hey Madison. Good to see you again."<br />
<br />
I had never seen this guy before in my life. I asked him who he was.<br />
<br />
"I'm Roger," he said.<br />
<br />
This guy was definitely <i>not</i> Roger. He was a different person. He was older, taller, larger, and even had a different voice than the Roger I had previously seen. I said, "You're not Roger. Who are you?"<br />
<br />
He sighed and said, "This sometimes happens. I look one way some weeks and then look different other weeks. But I'm Roger. Go ahead and ask me anything about our first date or the emails we've written and I'll answer it."<br />
<br />
I couldn't even believe that I indulged this guy, but I asked him what my favorite show was (we had had a long conversation about it), my favorite books, and the first two things I tried majoring in when I was in college (we had also spoken about that at length).<br />
<br />
This guy, whoever he was, not only got everything right - he also volunteered extra details that I had discussed with Roger. I was totally losing it. The only explanation I could come up with was that Roger had told this guy everything about what we had talked about and was trying to gaslight me to some sort of extreme lengths. But I couldn't have it. I told the guy that I had to leave, and despite his claims that he was Roger (he definitely 100% wasn't - not even a little bit), I did indeed take off. I mean really. He looks different on different weeks? That was the best he could come up with?<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
<font color="red">The next post will be Tuesday.</font>JMGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18362998962851574254noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3186499665856075184.post-69048181315451289332017-11-28T03:07:00.000-05:002017-12-04T14:47:39.073-05:00Not OkayStory Sent in by Phillipe:<br />
<br />
Jo and I were out to dinner together on our first date. We were eating our pasta when she accidentally kicked my leg under the table. She apologized and I said it was okay.<br />
<br />
She then kicked me again, two more times. Hard. I must have shouted some expletive and she said, "You said it was okay! Why would you say it was okay if it wasn't okay?"<br />
<br />
"I was forgiving you for kicking me. Not giving you the green light to kick me again. Are you some stupid child?"<br />
<br />
"No!" she shouted, then slammed a fist into her own pasta. spattering it all over her hand, the table, and even her nice blouse. She then stood up and stormed to the restroom. I hoped that she wouldn't come back to cause a further scene, but she outdid my hopes and didn't come back at all. On the downside, when I returned to my truck after finishing dinner, she had covered the hood and the driver's side door with shaving cream.JMGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18362998962851574254noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3186499665856075184.post-77224799725639417302017-11-24T03:08:00.000-05:002017-12-04T14:47:27.626-05:00Blackest FridayStory Sent in by Cara:<br />
<br />
I went to high school with Henry and he and I had dated here and there and made out a few times. The summer after we had graduated high school we hung out a lot and promised to stay in touch when we went off to college, and we did. When Thanksgiving break rolled around, he asked me if I wanted to go to the local strip mall on Black Friday. I liked people watching and so I was all in.<br />
<br />
Our first stop was a pet store. Neither Henry nor I had any pets so I wasn't sure what he was doing in there. He led me down the chew toy aisle, grabbed a few stuffed toys, and shoved them down his pants.<br />
<br />
"What're you doing?" I hissed at him. The guy was shoplifting in plain sight.<br />
<br />
He said, "C'mere," and then grabbed me tight and kissed me. Then he said, "Next," and hurried out of the store.<br />
<br />
He then led me into a bookstore, went down the sci-fi aisle, grabbed some paperback books, and stuffed them down his pants. "I'm holiday shopping," he explained to me right before grabbing me and kissing me again.<br />
<br />
"You're shoplifting," I said.<br />
<br />
"Quiet! You want people to hear? The point is for them to not know I'm doing it. What do you want?"<br />
<br />
I said, "I want you to stop shoplifting."<br />
<br />
He replied, "No, I mean what do you want for Christmas? Let's go get it. Now."<br />
<br />
I said, "I want you to stop stealing from these stores."<br />
<br />
He said, "A big-screen TV? Some really nice book? An iPhone? Just pick something."<br />
<br />
I repeated, "I want you to stop stealing."<br />
<br />
He said, "That's it? That's all you want for Christmas?"<br />
<br />
"Yes."<br />
<br />
He shrugged, said, "Okay," and pulled all the stuffed things and books out of his pants and left them in a pile in the aisle. He then said, "Find your own way home," and hurried away from me.<br />
<br />
"I drove here myself!" I called after him. I then put the books back on the shelves and brought the stuffed toys (with some explanation) back to the pet store. For all I know, Henry went right back to those places on his own and re-stole everything, but at least he wouldn't do it with me in tow.JMGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18362998962851574254noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3186499665856075184.post-18713550576799913822017-11-21T03:02:00.000-05:002017-12-04T14:47:17.469-05:00FranksgivingStory Sent in by Dino:<br />
<br />
I hadn't been dating Willa for too long when we invited each other to each other's family Thanksgivings. We stopped by her family's dinner and then went to mine. I had a long-time friend from grade school who always held a Thanksgiving cookout in his backyard with hot dogs later in the Thanksgiving evening, so I asked Willa if she wanted to join me for that. She said she did and so we went.<br />
<br />
We were already pretty full from our families' dinners but went mainly just to hang out with friends. Willa seemed to be just fine on our way there and even when we arrived. My friend greeted us with open arms and with hot dogs. I accepted mine gratefully. Willa, though...<br />
<br />
"What's <i>that</i>?" she asked.<br />
<br />
"A hot dog," my friend said.<br />
<br />
Willa said, "For <i>Thanksgiving</i>? Where's the turkey?"<br />
<br />
I had told Willa that this would be a hot dog cookout kind of thing. She knew what to expect and had seemed fine with it on the way over. But she apparently wasn't fine with it anymore. My friend said, "I have some turkey dogs I can cook up, or some veggie ones if you want."<br />
<br />
Willa said, "If there's no turkey, it's not Thanksgiving!" She then upended the plate that my friend held out for her, sending the hot dog to the ground. She then yelled at my friend, "You ruined Thanksgiving!" and stormed out of the backyard.<br />
<br />
I was left to embarrassingly run after her and ask her what was wrong. She said to me, "You bring me to a place on Thanksgiving that doesn't even have turkey? Are you insane?"<br />
<br />
Was I the crazy one, here? I had told her at least a couple of times that this was going to be a hot dog cookout. And I reminded her of that. She told me, "You sound insane. Listen to yourself! <i>Where's the goddamn turkey?</i>"<br />
<br />
I offered turkey dogs to her, but she wasn't having it. She demanded that I take her home and so I did. Then I went right back to my friend's place and enjoyed what I could of the time that I had. <br />
<br />
The next day, Willa emailed me a friendly message as if she hadn't gone nuts the day before. I decided to not write her back until she apologized to me for her behavior. It's been about eight years, so I'd say my chances of that apology are pretty low.JMGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18362998962851574254noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3186499665856075184.post-81830764926031515302017-11-17T03:07:00.000-05:002017-12-04T14:47:05.413-05:00Drone and GroanStory Sent in by Claire:<br />
<br />
Jeff asked me out on a date to a big park where he was going to show me his camera drone. He showed me the controls and I played around with it a lot, myself. <br />
<br />
He retook the controls and told me to stand still and spread my legs a little bit. I was in a dress that went down to my ankles and he controlled the drone to a hover above the ground and tried to sail it between my legs.<br />
<br />
I stopped him right there. "A camera drone between my legs? I don't think so." I laughed, trying to make his creepy request seem like a joke or whatever. I thought I was giving him an easy out. Perhaps even a way to recover.<br />
<br />
Instead he said, "It's a first date so I know we won't go all the way. So I should get just a little something, right?"<br />
<br />
I laughed, less with humor and more with pity. I told him, "I don't think so."<br />
<br />
He then rammed the drone into my right ankle. It hurt! I jumped back and kicked at the drone. It fell to the ground. Jeff cried out and ran for the drone and yelled, "You're paying for this, swine!"<br />
<br />
I said, "Make me. I'll say you tried to fly it up my skirt. Which you did." He then grabbed his drone and stormed away. Not long afterward, he emailed a "bill" to me for $7,000 for his drone plus "emotional suffering." I laughed a final time as I deleted the email and blocked any further messages from him.JMGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18362998962851574254noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3186499665856075184.post-66780954005831789702017-11-14T03:05:00.000-05:002017-12-04T14:46:51.722-05:00And That's How We Got Our Coffee Cup TreeStory Sent in by Nick:<br />
<br />
For a date, Mae invited me to help her plant some flowers in a nearby community garden. We had a good time and then went out for coffee. It was a nice day so we took our drinks to go and we walked around the neighborhood, back in the direction of the garden. <br />
<br />
We entered the garden and Mae picked up a spade, dug a hole, and put her coffee cup inside the hole. She then buried it. <br />
<br />
I asked her what she was doing and she said that she was planting coffee. I pressed her for more of an explanation and she said that she had read an article that said that if you buried a coffee cup with coffee grinds still within it, it would eventually sprout into a coffee plant.<br />
<br />
I laughed out loud at this but she was very serious. I told her that she was effectively littering and possibly hurting other plants in that area. She ignored me and we continued our walk. But I was seriously concerned for her mental state and so I ended the date as genially as possible.<br />
<br />
Later that day, just after sunset, I returned to the garden to dig up the coffee cup. I know it was just one cup, but it stuck in my mind and I just wanted to throw it away. Call me OCD. Whatever. It was litter and it was an otherwise nice community garden. I threw the cup away and put the dirt back the way it had been before.<br />
<br />
The next day Mae called me and asked, "Did you dig up the coffee cup I planted yesterday?"<br />
<br />
"No," I replied.<br />
<br />
She said, "Well someone did and now I have to go out and buy a whole other cup of coffee. But I don't understand why it was dug up and nothing else around it was dug up. It's like someone went there to dig up just that cup."<br />
<br />
I asked, "How do you know it's not there anymore? Did you actually go and dig up that area again?"<br />
<br />
She replied, "I wanted to see if it was sprouting, yet. It's supposed to take no time at all and when it didn't sprout this morning I got suspicious."<br />
<br />
I said, "You know that coffee doesn't grow from used coffee cups, right? That article you read was false."<br />
<br />
She paused on the line and asked, "What article?"<br />
<br />
I was done with her at that point, but I was sure to call and leave a message with the community organization that managed the garden. I gave them Mae's information and let them know that there was a good chance that she'd try to bury more garbage in the plots.JMGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18362998962851574254noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3186499665856075184.post-54205394667811826682017-11-10T07:20:00.002-05:002017-12-04T14:46:39.266-05:00FrozenStory Sent in by Lisa:<br />
<br />
Bob messaged me on a dating site and we chatted for a little while. He asked me if he could bring me to an awesome frozen yogurt place that he liked a lot. He was so excited about it that I had to indulge him. He gave me an address and told me to meet him there. I looked it up and was a bit confused. It seemed like the address was in some industrial area and according to Google Maps, at least, there was no ice cream or frozen yogurt place nearby. <br />
<br />
I double-checked with Bob to make sure he had given me the right address and he assured me that he had.<br />
<br />
I arrived in a parking lot for what seemed to be a warehouse and Bob showed up shortly thereafter. There was no frozen yogurt place in sight and so my curiosity (and trepidation) were at a height. Bob carried a small plastic grocery bag and he handed it to me.<br />
<br />
"Frozen yogurt," he said.<br />
<br />
I looked in the bag. It was a couple of plastic cups of grocery-store yogurt. Like Yoplait or something. And they were frozen rock solid. Frozen. Yogurt. Ha ha. Very funny.<br />
<br />
Bob then said, "They're your problem, now," and then hurried back to his car and drove off.JMGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18362998962851574254noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3186499665856075184.post-89934726868281532222017-11-07T03:02:00.000-05:002017-12-04T14:45:13.235-05:00Pretty UglyStory Sent in by John:<br />
<br />
Kelly brought her high school yearbook to our first date. Over dinner she flipped through it, opened it to the page with her senior photo, and asked me, "Was I prettier then or am I prettier now?"<br />
<br />
I told her, "You're prettier now."<br />
<br />
She liked that answer. She closed the yearbook, said, "Good," and put it away.<br />
<br />
About five minutes later she asked me, "Am I prettier <i>now</i> or was I prettier five minutes ago?"<br />
<br />
I said, "You're even prettier now."<br />
<br />
She gave me a nice smile and I hoped she'd thenceforth shut up with the prettiness questions.<br />
<br />
A little bit after that, she asked, "Am I prettier <i>now</i> or was I prettier the last time I asked you how pretty I was?"<br />
<br />
I replied, "Honestly, I think you're pretty now, five minutes ago, and even back in high school." I thought that was a pretty good answer.<br />
<br />
Apparently, it wasn't. She gave me a horrified look and opened up her yearbook and said, "I was an ugly, pock-marked mess in high school! You mean to tell me that you think <i>this</i> is pretty?" She pointed to her high school photo, which wasn't really at all ugly or pock-marked.<br />
<br />
I said, "I think you're pretty. Can we end the discussion?"<br />
<br />
She slammed the yearbook closed and said, "Never mind. You think I'm ugly. All there is to it."<br />
<br />
I said, "I don't," but I must not have been convincing, or else I was tired of the conversation. But she didn't take that well, either. <br />
<br />
She said, "No, I'm the ugliest girl you've ever seen. You might as well just come out and say it. You've said everything but."<br />
<br />
I said, "Okay. How's your soup?"<br />
<br />
She replied, "Perfect for an ugly girl."<br />
<br />
After dinner we took a brief walk and she asked, "Are you sure you're okay being seen with someone so ugly? I don't want to embarrass you or anything."<br />
<br />
I said, "I think you look fine. If anything about you will embarrass me, it'll be your personality."<br />
<br />
She totally flipped out at that. She said that she had a loving, good-natured, wonderful personality and that I'd do well to grow up. Yes, I'll be noting that. And that was our only date.JMGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18362998962851574254noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3186499665856075184.post-43031709033140855512017-11-03T03:03:00.000-04:002017-12-04T14:45:27.444-05:00Be Carefuller What You Wish ForStory Sent in by Sophia:<br />
<br />
At dinner on a first date with Jack, he asked me about my acting experience. I had acted in plays in high school, college, and for some local theatre productions. He said that he could guess which shows I had been in. He said, "<i>42nd Street, Joseph, Anything Goes,</i> and <i>Oklahoma</i>. Am I right?"<br />
<br />
He was. He said, "I looked you up online before the date. You went to Zion Hill Nursery School, Went to Burroughs Middle School until sixth grade, then went to another school I don't know, then went to Springfield High, then went to Washington University in St. Louis, studied writing... how am I doing, so far?"<br />
<br />
I was stunned. I mean, I have no idea how he even knew some of this stuff. Like my nursery school? How would that info even be online anywhere? But he wasn't done:<br />
<br />
"You dated a guy named Todd and a guy named Carl in college and maybe beyond. Long term relationships, though I don't know for how long. Your parents divorced in 2010 and you're closer with your mother. Want me to keep going?"<br />
<br />
He was right about everything. And it wasn't impressive - it was creepy! I asked him, "Where did you find all this?"<br />
<br />
He stood up and said, "Maybe from now on, you'll be carefuller online." He then left the restaurant, sticking me with the bill.JMGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18362998962851574254noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3186499665856075184.post-18107085002863667832017-10-31T03:05:00.000-04:002017-12-04T14:45:39.299-05:00Hottest Halloween on RecordStory Sent in by Dan:<br />
<br />
I had been with Frieda for around two months when we decided to do a couples costume for a Halloween party to which we had been invited. She would go as a Pokémon trainer and I would go as a Pokémon. Seemed simple enough to me. I went as the fiery Charmander and met her at the party.<br />
<br />
One of the first things she said to me was, "You look nothing like Charmander." That was incorrect. I had the orange skin, a full-head hat that was the spitting image of the beast (my face poked out through the mouth), and even the flaming tail. I was Charmander through and through. I looked like him. Hell, even people we passed by said, "Oh my god, it's Charmander." Rest assured that I looked like Charmander.<br />
<br />
Frieda, though, was in a rotten mood and nothing could change her opinion. She said that I "ruined Halloween" and "should just go home." I had no intent of doing either of those things and I urged her to enjoy the night.<br />
<br />
For my part, I had fun. There was punch, party games, and lots of fun people in creative costumes. I drank a bit and apparently, so did Frieda. The night culminated with her sidling up to me in what I thought was a late attempt at affection. But when she held a lit lighter up to my hat, I dodged away and demanded an explanation.<br />
<br />
She yelled, "You don't look like Charmander and now the only way you will is with actual fire! Hold still!" She chased me with the lighter and I had to run out of the party. Someone yelled, "Run, Charmander, run!" You didn't have to tell me twice. I ran down the street and lost sight of Frieda.<br />
<br />
Thinking myself safe, I wandered around a little bit before returning to the party. I was greeted warmly by the party attendees and there was no sign of Frieda. I went back to having a good, if guarded, time.<br />
<br />
About a half-hour after I had returned, however, Frieda showed up, darted right at me from across the room, and tried to light me on fire again. She said, "Hold still! Charmander is a fire Pokémon!"<br />
<br />
This time, I was able to grab her lighter away from her. She hit at me to get it back but I wasn't having it. As she hit at me she yelled, "You ruined this whole night! I should be able to kill you to get back at you for it! Give me the lighter!"<br />
<br />
She stumbled a bit and almost landed on the floor. A few people came over and guided her to a couch. She promptly threw up all over it and that's around when I stopped having fun. I went home on my own and when she reached out to me the next day, and the couple of days thereafter, I didn't respond.JMGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18362998962851574254noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3186499665856075184.post-89032925796315163382017-10-30T03:05:00.000-04:002017-12-04T14:45:54.167-05:00But Was It a Moon Unit?Story Sent in by Megan:<br />
<br />
I thought it was weird when I saw that Dave had the words, “I have an amazing storage unit” in his profile, and on its own line at that. I just chalked it up to him being weird and so we went out on a first date. <br />
<br />
He asked me if I wanted to see his storage unit that he rented out from a local storage place. He claimed that he had really decked it out and that it looked nicer than most people’s homes. I turned him down and so he took me to a bar instead. <br />
<br />
When we arrived at the bar he said, “And we’re right across the street from my storage unit! What a coincidence! Want to see it?”<br />
<br />
I turned him down yet again. When we went inside the bar, he asked the bartender if they had discounts for people who rented storage units across the street, and then Dave asked if the bartender could mix a drink called the “storage unit.” That was a big no on both counts. <br />
<br />
Dave then sucked down his drink and asked me if I wanted to go see his storage unit. I told him yet again that I didn’t. He then said that he’d meet me there after I was done with my drink and then he ran out and stuck me with the tab. I paid and gave the bartender Dave’s information so that he would hopefully be banned from there forever after. When I left, I was sure to avoid going anywhere near the storage place across the street. JMGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18362998962851574254noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3186499665856075184.post-399073012825412602017-10-27T03:01:00.000-04:002017-12-04T14:46:07.265-05:00The Scoop NaziStory Sent in by Evan:<br />
<br />
I took Micaela on a date to a deli that I thought she'd like. When it was our turn to order at the counter, I ordered a bialy with cream cheese, onions, and smoked salmon. At Micaela's turn, she asked for a scoop of cream cheese. That's it.<br />
<br />
"What do you want it on?" the deli guy asked.<br />
<br />
Micaela stuck out her hand, palm up, at him. It was as if she wanted him to just glop the cream cheese right on her hand.<br />
<br />
The guy shook his head. "Can't. Public health reasons. I can just put it on a plate for you."<br />
<br />
Micaela sighed the biggest sigh and said, "Fine." She turned to me and said, "I hate plates."<br />
<br />
We sat down. Me with my bialy and her with her... spread. She cut at her scoop of cream cheese with a knife and fork. I asked her how it was and she said, "Terrible. It's on a plate. My hands are clean. I don't know what the problem was."<br />
<br />
I suggested, "Maybe just transfer it from the plate to your hand?"<br />
<br />
She said, "Too late. It has that porcelain aftertaste," and made a disgusted face.<br />
<br />
That didn't stop her from finishing the cream cheese, though. Or from licking the plate clean. She then stood up and said, "I'm gonna get some more. Want anything?"<br />
<br />
I didn't. She went up to the counter, talked to the guy, and came back empty-handed. She sulked, "He said he wouldn't give it to me on my hand. I just paid for a scoop what I could've gotten at a grocery store for a whole container."<br />
<br />
I mused, "When you eat it out of a container, wouldn't it have a plastic aftertaste?"<br />
<br />
She gave me a look like I was a total moron and said, "No. Why would it?"<br />
<br />
I offered her some of my bialy but she turned me down. I asked her if she wanted to go to a nearby ice cream place afterward and she deadpan responded, "Not unless they'll serve me a scoop in my bare hand."<br />
<br />
I'm sorry. I HAD to see this happen. I took her to the ice cream shop and I asked them if they'd drop the scoop of ice cream right from the scoop into Micaela's hand. They said they wouldn't, echoing the deli guy's health department statement. Micaela turned to me and said, "See?"<br />
<br />
She watched me eat my ice cream while she just sat there with an empty cup. We then went our separate ways.JMGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18362998962851574254noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3186499665856075184.post-45728751421750342502017-10-25T03:08:00.000-04:002017-12-04T14:46:18.016-05:00Nobody Outruns the Leaf PeopleStory Sent in by Charlotte:<br />
<br />
I planned out a fun autumn day trip for my first date with John. We'd go to a farm just out of town to frolic in the pumpkin patch, eat apple cider donuts, and generally have a good autumnal time. <br />
<br />
From the beginning of the date, it was apparent that something was off. John was twitchy as if he constantly needed to be moving or pacing or whatever. Was he on drugs? I don't know. But as soon as we arrived at the place, he took off at a fast walk, leaving me behind. At first I thought he really had to use the bathroom and so I waited for him for a while. But when he didn't come back I went looking for him. <br />
<br />
I found him among some parents who were yelling at him. John had apparently hid in a leaf pile and jumped out at kids. He claimed to them that the farm had employed him to be a "living scarecrow." He then took off at a jog, leaped over a wooden fence, and ran into a cornfield, where I lost sight of him.<br />
<br />
I gave him up for lost and returned to enjoy the farm by myself. I was on my second or third cup of cider when he reappeared next to me and took my arm. He explained, "We have to leave. I've angered the leaf people."<br />
<br />
I was confused and I asked, "Did you jump out at kids again?"<br />
<br />
He said, "Worse. Much, much worse. Are you coming? You need to disguise yourself as leaves to survive." Without waiting for me he bolted for the parking lot. I can only assume that he drove away, because I didn't see him again. JMGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18362998962851574254noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3186499665856075184.post-63410115884357676442017-10-23T03:06:00.000-04:002017-12-04T14:44:46.497-05:00The Attic Claims AnotherStory Sent in by G.:<br />
<br />
Out at coffee with Dakota, we reminisced over our childhoods and got on the subject of stuff that scared us while we were growing up. She told me that the attic of her childhood home was haunted. She said that it had occult imagery and weird paintings of grotesque acts and demons and so on.<br />
<br />
I asked her if perhaps she was related to someone who had a death metal band. She then said that it was no laughing matter. She said that her father once went up to investigate and when he didn't return, her mother went up to check on him. Dakota then said with a straight face that she never saw either of them again.<br />
<br />
I laughed at her. She kept it going, though. She said, "I'm serious. The police have a missing persons report open on both of them. I was 10 at the time. You can look it up. Google 'Ted and Kelly Severino missing' and you'll see the whole thing."<br />
<br />
Dakota then excused herself to use the bathroom. I Googled the names she gave me and I found no information about her "missing" parents.<br />
<br />
After a long while, Dakota still hadn't returned from the bathroom. I went and waited by the door and saw other people going in and out. It seemed that Dakota had left. I texted her, "You could've said bye at least," and she texted me back an image of a gross-looking demon thing. JMGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18362998962851574254noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3186499665856075184.post-1809207391154959932017-10-20T03:01:00.000-04:002017-12-04T14:44:23.035-05:00Falling ShirtStory Sent in by Erin:<br />
<br />
Drew's favorite topic was himself and he didn't let me forget it. He took me out to a hotel bar and talked all about how amazing his life was as a telecom service tech. He then told me that he almost invented the iPhone but didn't because he didn't want to be remembered for something so stupid. He then offered to jailbreak my phone using only the power of his mind. I politely refused him.<br />
<br />
We had downed a couple of drinks each when he picked up his vodka tonic and said, "You know what's amazing? Liquid. Watch." He then poured most of his drink down the inside of his dress shirt.<br />
<br />
I had to laugh. "What are you doing?"<br />
<br />
He said, "Behold the power of liquid! In the wrong context it would look like I peed myself but since you know the truth, you now bear witness to the power of liquid." <br />
<br />
I laughed at him a bit more then he said, "It would be nice if you did it, too. So I'm not the only one sitting here with a drink down my shirt."<br />
<br />
I turned him down and then he said, "Maybe we can go to the bathroom here and have some fun. I know the bathrooms here well. No one ever goes in them."<br />
<br />
Again I turned him down. He opened his wallet, put a few bills on the bar, and said, "Call me when you're fun," and then left.<br />
<br />
I guess I'll never be fun.JMGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18362998962851574254noreply@blogger.com9