Slumdog Millionaire

Profile Sent in by Hannah:

What I'm doing with my life:

NOTHING, BITCHES!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! I'm milking the system for all it's worth!!! I got welfare, unemployment, and government grants packed so far up my ass that I shit 25 CARROT GOLD. One date with me and you'll be hooked on me like a crackhead on big white crackrock. I have statues in my house made of cocaine. Break them open and you will FIND THE COCAINE. THEN we can go to the bedroom surrounded by famous paintings! AND ALL INSIDE A TRAILER!!!!

Unfair Conditioning

Story Sent in by Adam:

In college, I was friends with Kayla, who lived in an off-campus sublet with Eileen, on whom I had a major crush. Kayla knew this, and so she conspired to help me into Eileen's good graces.

We had an unseasonable heatwave in late March of that year. It was so unseasonable that people were breaking out the shorts and air conditioners. That was my in. I'd "happen" to be there while Eileen would need help installing her air conditioner. She'd be amazed at my mechanical prowess and be all over me in no time. At least, that's how I had imagined it.

Sure enough, I was in the living room, talking to Kayla, when Eileen arrived back from class. She commented on the heat, and I offered, "I can help you install your air conditioner."

She agreed to let me. Paydirt!

I carried her AC up from the basement and into her room. I opened her window and started in on the job. She watched, and I made an awkward attempt at smalltalk. "So… how's college life treating you?" and so on.

Once the window was ready for AC installation, I picked it up and pivoted it on the windowsill, then asked her, "Would you like to grab dinner tonight?"

She gave me a funny look and asked, "What are you doing?"

I glanced at my handiwork and said, "Installing the AC. About dinner?"

She said, "You're doing it backwards. It goes the other way."

I might have been awkward with women, but I did know a thing or two about installing air conditioners. I guarantee, 100%, that I had it oriented correctly. Fans blowing in.

I said, "It definitely goes the other way. Turn it around."

I replied, "If I do, then it'll suck air out of your room and cool down the neighborhood. And anyway, it will only fit into your window one way. Trust me."

She stepped over, grabbed the unit, and shouldered me out of the way. She struggled to turn it around.

"What are you doing?" I asked, "You're going to hurt yourself. I promise I can do it."

She said, "You were doing it wrong. I'll take it from here."

"But–"

"I'll take it from here. You can't even install an air conditioner. The heavy end hangs into the room. I've got it."

She was making a complete ass out of herself and had no idea. She grunted as she turned it around and shoved it into the space. I watched, unable to move. She turned to me, her eyes flashed, and she yelled, "I said you can go! I don't want to have dinner with you! Maybe once you learn how to do things right!"

I left, reported the incident to Kayla, and ended up having dinner with her, instead. When we returned to the house, we found Eileen downstairs in the living room, which was unusual, as she apparently spent most of her time in her room.

She said, "That stupid air conditioner's broken. It's cooler down here even if it's running."

I asked, "Do you have it set to high?"

She gave me a blank look. I went on, "Because if you'll want to set it to high, you'll probably have to reach out the window to do it, since the controls are on the outside."

Without a word, she stood up and walked upstairs. Kayla and I hung out for a little while longer, but Eileen didn't come back down.

There was a scream and a loud bang. Kayla and I bolted upstairs to find Eileen in her bedroom, hanging halfway out the window, holding on to the air conditioner, which had fallen out, by its power cord. I jumped to the window to try and salvage it. Eileen screamed, "I don't want your help! I don't want your help! I don't–" and then she let the air conditioner go. I hadn't lain a finger on it or on her.

It smashed against the ground and was very clearly broken. She spun to me and screamed, "Look what you did! You owe me a new air conditioner!"

I yelled back, "You dropped it, you idiot! You didn't even have it in the right way!"

Before I could hear anything more from her, I stormed out of the room and out of the house. Kayla followed me out, blabbering apologies for her roommate, how Eileen had had a bad week, how she was having family problems, and so on. It was clear to me, though, that all Eileen wanted was to pick a fight.

Whenever I visited Kayla again, and I encountered Eileen, she didn't say a word to me and acted as though I wasn't even there. Kayla later told me that Eileen had bought a new air conditioner, and for some reason, with the controls facing the inside, it actually worked.

Hall 'o Ween

Email Sent in by Sara:

Good day to you. I'm Craig. I'm a dentist-in-training and I love what I do.

Your profile says that you're into skiing. I've only gone twice, but I'd love to go again. Have you ever competed? Also, speaking of being computer tech support for your family and friends, I hear you. I'm the same exact way, for better or worse! I know next to nothing about computers, but next to nothing is more than nothing, as far as my circles are concerned!

Figure I should bring this up now since it inevitably does. I'm also an amateur art collector, and I collect art related to the male phallus. I have some older pieces (of archaeological interest) and some by modern artists. I'm not obsessed or weird or crazy, and I probably have one of the most extensive penis-based art collections in the country, if not beyond!

My prize possession, in case you want to know, is a helmet from India that's clearly meant to be a phallus. If I had a nickel for every time that I chased a girlfriend around while wearing it… and nothing else….

Oh, I digress. Yes, my penis collection is a sacred part of my home. If that doesn't frighten you away, then perhaps we can talk? Or at least let me chase you around a bit in my phallus helmet? I promise to remain fully clothed.

Craig

There Goes the Bride

Story Sent in by Samantha:

Dinner with Gene was one of the most awkward things that I'd ever had to sit through. For one thing, he didn't blink. At least, if he did, then I never caught him doing it. His profile pictures, in retrospect, were all shots of him either in sunglasses or squinting into the sun, so I didn't realize how much his eyes bugged out until we met in person, but let me tell you that he made Don Knotts look like Leonardo DiCaprio. I wouldn't even have minded, but his eyes were trained on me from dinner's start to finish.

Even physical curiosities aside, I could have forgiven that if not for his probing questions about my last relationship. He asked, "How soon after you started dating did you start oral?" right after he asked, "How did the two of you meet?" for crying out loud.

After dinner, we walked in relative silence to a nearby mall. We passed a few stores and made it to a bridal boutique. He stopped and stared at a pale yellow dress in the front display.

He said, "That's the dress I'd want my wife to wear. Something not white. Everyone gets married in white. My wife's dress will be different."

Before I could respond, he asked, "Would you try it on?"

I replied, "No. Of course not. I don't think we're getting married."

It was an unfortunate choice of words, and I should have added, "anytime soon," but at least I was honest. He did not like honesty, and he asked, "You seriously won't just try it on?"

"No."

He smiled and said, "If you won't, I will."

I laughed out loud and said, "Go right ahead!"

"You dare me?"

"No. I'd like to just move on."

He looked into the store, then at me, then back into the store. He walked into the store, up to the front counter. I thought that leaving him there would be extreme and childish, but he was being extreme and childish, and I wasn't having a good time, so I entered the store and told him, "I'm leaving. It was nice meeting you."

He turned to me and asked, "You're not going to stay to see me try it on? It's just for fun."

"I think it's pointless. If it'll make you happy, then go for it."

"It'll make me happy. You dared me, after all. If you leave, I'll send you pictures."

"Bye."

I left. He sent me very badly edited photos of model brides in various dresses with his own head superimposed over their own. It creeped me out beyond belief, and I'm so very glad that it was our only date.

FTW

Profile Sent in by James:

About me:

Time for a man. I've had what feels like high school relationship after high school relationship. Is it me or are most men really infants who just won't ever grow up? ?pu worg reve t'now tsuj ohw stnafni yllaer nem tsom era ro em ti sI .pihsnoitaler loochs hgih… tihs s'ti gnineppah niaga t'now pots eb elba ot litnu yadseuT esalp tisiv emoc kcab eliforp ot ym retfa taht …!yrroS

A Man, Down by the River

Story Sent in by Sadie:

Tim and I were out on our second date, taking a walk by a river. It was chilly out, and he took my arm in his to warm me up. I thought it was a nice gesture, and I didn't see an issue with it.

It was close to lunch time. After we walked on a little bit more, I suggested, "Maybe we could find a nice place to sit down and warm up?"

He stopped short, looked down at our arms, linked together, and he pulled his away. He said, "I think that we're moving a bit too fast."

That was unexpected. "I'm… sorry?"

"Walking all connected like that… too quick for me."

I said, "You were the one who took my arm! Did I say or do something to make you uncomfortable?"

"'Going someplace warm…' I know what that means."

It took me a moment to follow his train of thought. Then, I said, "Eww! That's not what I meant at all! I meant a place to go sit down for hot chocolate or cider or something!"

"Yeah… okay. I…" he struggled for words to say, although I was pretty sure that there was nothing he could say that would regain the quiet magic of a few minutes prior.

He stumbled on, "I… uh… wait right here!" He paused, then said, "Nyuuuh!" and tore away, running pell-mell  away from me, the river, and any chance we had at any sort of relationship.

I ended up at a coffee place by myself, where I tried to forget about him over some steaming cider. When I made it back home, an email from him was waiting for me.

"Dear Sadie: Thanks for understanding. What say we go out next weekend? I'll probably be ready for sex by then. Let me know! I can't wait!"

After reading it a few times to make sure I had read it correctly the first time, I closed it up and moved on with my life.

Me and Uvula

Email Sent in by Ronald:

Thank you Ronald.

Good on you for being honest. I do have to confess that I don't like it when men go down on me. It's a personal thing, but I've never liked how it felt. If possible, a man would never put his mouth on me for kisses or otherwise. I realize that it's considered a necessary evil (by most women I know), but if it's something that you could minimize then I could be most grateful. No mouth on me. Ever, if possible. That's all I want, right? A drippy uvula hanging down onto me. Blecch!

If you agree with the above statement then we can discuss our plans. We have many to make.

Talia


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(Ronald says: "Not sure where this came from. I wrote her one message over the site, and I'm pretty sure that I mentioned nothing sexual at all.")

Scent of a Woman

Story Sent in by Josh:

Stephanie and I were out at a noisy, busy bar. We had to speak close to each other in order to be heard. Her breath smelled like old beef and month-old milk. At one point, apparently, I cringed at it.

She noticed. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I said, "I, uh, leg cramp."

"Oh," she said, breathing straight into my face.

I barely held it together and asked, "Want to take a walk?"

"You want to leave?" she asked, "It's 10 degrees outside."

I decided to breathe through my mouth for the rest of the evening. Could have been worse, I thought. But then I ended up telling her a story about a trick I played on one of my college professors, a decent story about switching lemonade in a thermos with beer.

She laughed at the end of the story, and I made the mistake of inhaling through my nose. The nose-ful of exhale from her mouth was so bad that I jutted away from her and hit into a guy who was standing behind me.

I apologized to the dude and turned back to Stephanie, who was no longer laughing. She asked, "What the hell's your problem? Is it my breath?"

She guessed it. Before I could answer, she breathed out at me, again, and again.

"Agh!" I cried, throwing my hands up in front of my face, "Stop!"

"Stop breathing?" she asked, "Are you a moron?"

"No! I–" My mind raced. Should I find her a mint? Should I dab something under my own nose to blunt her hellish mouth scent? There was no polite way out of this situation. I felt really awful, but you have to understand that it was the worst thing I had ever smelled, before or since. I've smelled men's restrooms that have more pleasant aromas.

I did the only thing I could think of that would possibly resolve the situation.

"I'm sorry," I said, "I really don't mean to be rude."

She said nothing, so I continued, "Let me buy you another drink. I'm really sorry. I don't want you to feel bad. I–"

She breathed on me again, cutting me off. At this point, I felt as though she was being the immature one, and so I gave her one last shot.

"Stephanie, let's just forget all about it. We can–"

She exhaled one last, giant breath at me, this one punctuated with bits of spit. I threw in the towel at that point, said a hasty, "Good night," and squirmed through the crowd for the exit. She didn't follow me. Even now, writing about it, I can still recall the scent, and it makes me shudder.


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Girlfriend catch you cheating? Here's a great way out of it. Thanks to Ellendra for sending in this gem!

That's No Job for a Talking Cat

Profile Sent in by Leah:

The most private thing I'm willing to admit:

I was in high school and had a really tough time studying for a calc exam for the next day and it was nighttime. I was tired and knew I would fail.

Then my cat jumped up on my lap and whispered to me all the secrets of calculus. I aced the test the next day. My teacher was so amazed. Cat never spoke to me again but I passed calc thank you cat.

Snowman's Revenge

Story Sent in by Priya:

After my first date dinner with Frank, he took me on a walk through our college's biology lab, where he was a work study student/lab assistant. He showed me various preserved specimens, both recent and not-so-recent.

"Want to see the pickled human heads?" he asked me.

I said, "There's no way you have pickled heads."

He nodded. "We do. People who've donated their bodies to science. We keep them locked up in refrigeration."

Of course I wanted to see, so I followed him to a different room, where there was a large metal door at one end. He typed a code on a keypad, opened the metal door up, and a blast of cold air shot out of the walk-in refrigerator. Dim blue light shone out from within.

"Go on in," he said.

I replied, "You first."

He said, "I'm just trying to be polite. It's not like I'm going to lock you in there."

I smiled. "Then you can be polite by going in, first."

He said, "No. This isn't a federal case. Just go inside."

"You first."

He sighed. My smile disappeared. He said, "Do you want to see the heads or don't you?"

I replied, "I do. I'll follow you in."

"This isn't a big deal. You go in, first. I'm not going to say it again."

"After you."

He shoved past me, walked in, and slammed the door shut behind him. I called, "Can you get out from inside? I don't know the code!"

No response. I yelled, "Can you hear me? Frank?"

He didn't answer. I knocked on the door. He didn't knock back. I left the lab, found a security guard, explained the situation, and the guard, who didn't know the keypad combination, called up one of the professors at home.

As the guards weren't allowed, apparently, to know the codes to such things, the professor would have had to come in and open the door. However, the professor told the guard over the phone that the door was always unlocked from within, just in case of such an event.

The guard and I walked back to the lab. The lights were out. They had been on when I had left it. It seemed as though Frank had exited the fridge and left. I apologized to the guard and left the bio labs. As far as I could tell, the date was over.

I made it back to my dorm, and hadn't planned on contacting Frank at all. I briefly discussed the date with my roommate, watched some TV, and went to bed.

At around 3am, loud banging at the door woke us up. The first thing I thought was, "It's the police. They found Frank frozen to death."

Instead, when we made it to the door, there was no one there. However, there was a pile of ice cubes and shaved ice, about waist-height, and it was wearing the same shirt and pants that Frank was wearing on the date.

We lived on the 10th floor of our dorm, so I have no idea how Frank had carted all of that ice upstairs (or past the downstairs guard, for that matter). A note stuck out of the ice, written in a silver marker: "You killed me. Murderer."

It freaked my roommate and I out at the time. The melting ice would have seeped into our room from under the door, so we took as much of it as we could and put it into a shower stall in the bathroom, where it would melt down the drain.

As for Frank's clothes, the next day, I brought them to the bio lab and stuffed them inside of his mailbox. I never saw or heard from him again.

Comedy Writers Rejoice. Your Jobs Are Not in Peril.

Email Sent in by Jessie:

Hello.

I read your profile and I really like that pic of you on the blanket. Could you spread your legs a little wider next time? Do do do do do do do… cameltoe!

I hope you have a good sense of humor! About me I'm an aspiring comedian who loves seeing people doing funny things. It looks like you've had a lot of fun times. Tell me about some of them. I promise to not steal them for my comedy! Other times when your legs were widespread would be a good place to start,

There was one time when I caught a woman stealing tight pants from a dollar store. I mean, come on! If you're going to be stealing something from a dollar store, at least steal something worth over a dollar!

Send me more pics and I'll write some jokes about them. All for free, no matter how many you send. In exchange, you take me out on a date! We're living in progressive times, right!

To happily ever after?

Trey

When Dead Grandma Ain't Happy, Ain't Nobody Happy

Story Sent in by David:

I arrived at the restaurant where I had planned to meet Louise for our first date. She called me to let me know that she'd be late. She said, "I lost one of my earrings, and it was a gift from my grandmother."

I replied, "Don't worry about it. Let me know when you leave your house."

"I'm not at home. I'm actually right around the corner from the restaurant."

I guessed that she had lost the earring in her car. I said, "Oh. Why don't I come by, then? I can help you find it."

"Thanks," she said, and told me precisely where to find her.

When I made it there, she was stooping over a curb. I joined her. "Hey," she said, "I had an itch behind my left ear and it just popped out. It matches this one," and she turned to show me the earring in her right ear, a short, dangling charm that looked like a tiny, round chandelier.

I scanned the gutter and curb with her, but there was no sign of it. About six feet away was a sewer grate. I pointed at it. "Could it have rolled in there?"

She shook her head. "No. My grandmother wouldn't let that happen."

"I'm sorry?"

"My grandmother is watching me." She pointed up at the sky. "She wouldn't let me lose one of her earrings. It's around here somewhere."

We looked and looked and looked for it, but after I had checked and rechecked everywhere in the vicinity, I had to surmise that it had somehow rolled into the sewer.

"No," Louise said when I brought it up again, "It's around here somewhere. I'll find it, but I can't really leave here without it. I'm sorry."

I was pretty sure that it had to have been in the sewer. It wasn't anywhere else. I said, "I don't see it anywhere. Maybe we could–"

Louise called up to the sky, "Grandma, where is it? Show me where you hid it! Quit playing."

"Louise, I really think it's in the sewer. We checked up and down the sidewalk, in the street, under the cars… are you sure you dropped it right here?"

"Positive. Don't worry, though. Grandma will show me where it is. You'll be sorry that you doubted her, then." She looked back up at the sky. "Come on, Grandma. Make him sorry."

I didn't like the idea of Louise suddenly invoking supernatural retribution upon me. I suggested, "Maybe we can go have dinner and then come back? It might still be light out when we return."

She crawled onto her stomach and peered beneath the same car under which we had looked about 30 times each. "Come on, Grandma," she whispered, "Show me where it is. Make him sorry, Grandma. Show me where it is."

"Louise, come on, please."

She spoke over me, "Come on, Grandma. Show it to me. Prove him wrong. We'll find it together. Come on. Come on." It sounded like she was going to cry. She went on, "It's not in the sewer, is it, Grandma? You wouldn't do that. You love me too much. Get it back for me, Grandma. Then, we'll laugh at him together." Louise laughed in a high pitch and flashed me a wide-eyed, insane look.

I left her there, searching. Once I made it back to my car and locked the door, I hurried away and was sure to never interact with her ever again.

Perhaps He Is. Desperation's a Funny Thing.

Email Sent in by Cal:

Hay buddie buddie!

We are perhaps good to meet together. I am Wilson. I have production engineering. Tell me some about you I am interested! Such a good lady pretty lady some lady empty lady. Is this right? Answer.

My from in accident where my younger brother was hurt very badly last year. He was on a bike and I built him a new body so he could survive. After studies I moved to this city to be further away to you.

You are a window into my heart and can see it blasted across the void. The stars are my wishes and the sun is my bedroom love. You know what I mean? I am sorry I am sorry if I am too much. Carpet matches the drapes? Some saying!

Wilson

******************************************
(Cal says: "Not sure why I got this. I'm a guy, and he's clearly not into guys.")

Grab 'n Go

Story Sent in by Carlene:

Jason was friends with my college roommate, and the more time I spent with him, the more I thought we'd potentially make a great match. However, Jason was already in a long-term relationship, and so I kept my mouth shut and figured that we'd remain friends.

I called him up one day and asked him if he wanted to hang out. Platonic, in a public place, and so on. We met at a local cafe and sandwich shop, spoke for a bit, and took a walk to nowhere in particular.

In the middle of our walk, talking about how annoying our respective siblings were, he blurted, "I'm thinking about breaking up with my girlfriend for you."

I liked him, it's true. However, I wasn't about to encourage him to break someone's heart. I replied, "I think you should only end things with her if things weren't working out, even if I wasn't in the picture."

"Yeah, I know," he said.

He didn't say anything else about it, and the rest of our time together passed without any further mention of it. We said goodbye, and parted ways.

A week or so later, he called me to tell me that he had broken up with his girlfriend and that he wanted to take me out on a date. He sounded downright celebratory. I was a little taken aback, but I agreed to meet up with him to see how things shook out.

He brought me to a nice place and insisted on treating me. I thanked him and asked how things had gone with his girlfriend.

He said, "Oh, it went fine. It was a lot easier than I thought it would be. Now I'm all yours!"

His level of excitement effectively blunted my own attraction to him. After all, supposing that he and I were to date, how long before someone else came along to excite him even more? I remained cautious.

"We can date now," he finished, "So we may as well start tonight."

I said, "This is all pretty quick. Let's just take it as it comes and see how it goes."

He shook his head. "Oh, no. I broke up with my girlfriend for this. We're together, you and me: we're an item."

I asked, "Do I get a say in this?"

He replied, "Well, we both know that you like me. You never said that you didn't, and I told you that I'd break up with my girlfriend for you."

I said, "Yes, but can you see how that would make me uncomfortable? I'd have wanted you to end things with her because things weren't working out between the two of you, not because you think that things would work out better with me."

He gave me a smile and said, "I've been looking forward to kissing you."

"We'll see, okay?"

"Not okay. I'm allowed to look forward to kissing you."

This sort of talk was making me more and more uneasy, and despite how nice he had been to me in the past, I realized more and more that I didn't want to be there with him.

I said, "This is all a little fast for me. Can we slow it down, just a bit?"

He gave me a dark look and clammed up. I really didn't want to be there anymore, so I said, "Maybe this was a mistake. I'm going to go."

He sprang at me from across the table, with both hands jetting toward my head. I ripped away from him, without a word, and left the restaurant as quickly as I could.

He called me up. Foolishly, I picked up my phone. He said, "I was just trying to kiss you. Am I really that repulsive?"

I knew that the truth wasn't what he'd want to hear. I said, "I have to go," and hung up.

He called me right back and I let it go to voicemail. It was the nastiest, most vitriolic message that I've ever heard, accusing me of conspiring to make him miserable, of manipulating him into doing things, and so on.

As if I needed any further convincing that I was right to leave him there, he ended the message with, "And your plan didn't work! I didn't ever break up with my girlfriend! We're still together, so I don't need you. I've still got someone! Ha ha ha!"

I had no idea if he was telling the truth, but just in case, I saved his message, recorded it onto my computer, and emailed it to his girlfriend.

Whether or not he wanted to be, by a couple of days later, he was definitely single.

Mix-a-Lot, M.D.

Profile Sent in by Mary:

What I'm doing with my life:

I like butts. There I said it, and in public. Nothing like a nice butt. I look at them every day. Sometimes I look at dozens of them. Nude. Some are small, some large. Some hairy, some smooth. Some black, some white. I don't judge. I love them all. I touch most of the ones I see. I look up in them. And most people don't mind. Sound strange? It shouldn't, once you understand that I'm a proctologist.

How to Make a Bad Week Worse

Story Sent in by Bruce:

Nicole and I had seen each other for three dates before she invited me over to her apartment to order in and watch a movie. I asked her what I could bring, and she said, "Something to drink." I brought a bottle of cabernet sauvignon.

We ordered in pizza, then set up a movie. About five minutes into it, she asked me, "Where's the wine?"

I had left it on her kitchen counter, so I stood up to open it and grab two wine glasses from her cupboard. When I brought the filled wine glasses over to the couch, she took one and said, "That's not exactly what I had in mind."

I asked, "What did you have in mind?"

She toasted my glass as I held it and she stood up, took the open bottle from the counter, and carried it over. She then drank down her wine from the glass and then brought the actual entire bottle to her lips and drank down more, straight up.

"Um… Nicole?" I asked, "What are you doing?"

She replied, "I've had a really rough week. I've been looking forward to this and all I want to do is relax."

She drank down more of the wine, right from the bottle, for what seemed like a solid minute. She then put the bottle down, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, sighed, and leaned back on the couch.

"Anything you want to talk about?" I asked.

"No," she said, and we watched the movie in silence for a while. That is, until a horrid gurgling noise came from the direction of her stomach.

"Whoa," she said, "Excuse me." She stood up and ran for the bathroom. I waited about two minutes before I left the couch t check on her.

I knocked on the bathroom door and asked her if she was okay. She said, "Yup! Just on the toilet!"

I thought it would be wise to wait outside the bathroom door, as I imagined that she would soon perhaps be a bit sicker than she was letting on.

I didn't have long to wait. A couple of loud, trumpet-like sounds emanated from the bathroom, and then I heard her say, Oh, God…" and then the unmistakable splatter of vomit followed. Then again.

"Nicole?" I asked, "What can I get you?"

"Oh God… I'm going to die! Oh God… my…" and more puking.

"I'm going to call an ambulance," I said, then to confirm, I added, "Okay?"

Soft shuffling noises, but no words. I tried the door. It was unlocked. I opened it and found her an awful shade of green and stooped over the toilet. There was a mess everywhere. She was shaking. I ran to grab a blanket, found one, threw it over her, sat her down on the edge of her bathtub, and said, "I'm calling an ambulance."

In response, she puked all over my feet. I left the bathroom, made the phone call, and waited with her as she shuddered violently until two paramedics arrived. I followed them outside as they helped her into their ambulance, and waited as they did whatever they were did.

After a while, one of them emerged and told me that she was going to be fine, although they wanted to drive her to the hospital all the same. They took off with her. I went back into the apartment, shut everything off, poured the rest of the wine down the drain, locked up, and drove to the hospital, myself. I really wanted to make sure that she was going to be okay.

She turned out fine. The incident proved to me that we wouldn't be a good match (she did the same thing and was readmitted to the hospital again months later - I wasn't there for that. She was at a party and puked into the host's fish tank), although we've remained casual acquaintances.

Well, Someone's Not Even Trying

Profile Sent in by Edward:

My self-summary:

Where to begin? I'll start at the end. I die someday. You should probably know that about me. No matter how much you say you love me, how much you try to stop it, I will die. We all have that in common. Death. Forever. You can't save me. You can't even save yourself. Don't even try.

That enough of a self-summary for you?

No? Here's a secret: one out of every five Americans use napkins as both napkins and tissues. It pisses me off. One is for noses. One is for food. Deal with it. Does anyone else have this problem?!>!

Twinkie, Twinkie, Little Star

Story Sent in by Misty:

On my way to meet Alvin for our first date, he texted me, "You like Twinkies?"

I wrote back, "When I was younger. Why?"

He didn't respond, but when I met him in front of the restaurant where we had planned to have dinner, he asked, "Can we make a quick pit stop?"

We went into a nearby gas station to look for Twinkies. They didn't have any. We then walked a few blocks further to a grocery store. They had Twinkies there. He bought a box.

"I want Twinkies tonight," he explained. That much was clear. As for myself, I wanted dinner, but we had already established online what I thought was a good enough rapport for me to indulge his junk food craving for a little bit before dinner.

He led me to his car, he opened the trunk, put the Twinkies inside, closed it, and we returned to the restaurant.

All seemed well until our drinks were served. I had a diet pop, he had a Sprite. He took a sip of his drink, then said, "Damn, I want a Twinkie now. Be right back."

He slipped out of the booth and left the restaurant, presumably, to grab a Twinkie from his trunk. My mood shifted from, "Oh, Alvin… so silly in his quest for Twinkies!" to "I hope that this doesn't significantly affect the quality of our date any more than it already has."

He returned and said, "That hit the spot. So, how was work today?"

I discussed my day with him, looked at the menu, and when the waitress came by again, we ordered. I then asked him, "What do you have planned for the weekend?"

"Excuse me," he said, then left the restaurant again.

When he came back, I asked him, "Did you seriously go and eat another Twinkie?"

"Yes," he confessed, "But only one."

I said, "You want to maybe wait until after dinner to eat any more?"

He sighed. "That depends on you."

"Me? How does it depend on me?"

He asked, "Do you have any plans for the summer?"

I persisted. "How does your eating of Twinkies relate back to me?"

He said, "Can we just move past it? The more we talk about them, the more I'll want another."

I said, "Fine," and we talked about our respective summer plans.

Our food arrived. He stood up and said, "You know what would go great with this?"

I frowned at him, and without waiting for my answer, he left again. I started on my dinner. When he returned, he had a smile.

"I got smart," he said, "I brought some in with me. A little crushed, though."

As I watched, he pulled one out and spread its crumby bits all over his dinner, which was a roasted half-chicken. He didn't glance up at me once as he dug in. It didn't make me lose my appetite, but it came close.

He finally looked up at me and said, "I'm sorry, I'm being rude." He then handed me another Twinkie from his pocket. "Try it on your wrap," he suggested.

"No thanks."

He stuffed it back in his pocket and we ate our dinners in relative silence. After dinner, we left the restaurant and he said, "Look, I'm sorry about the Twinkies. It must have seemed weird."

"It kind of was," I said, "You must really like them."

"Oh…" he said, then quivered slightly, reared his head back, and belched a mighty burp, right into my face. I cried out and jumped away. "That answer your question?" he asked with a smile.

"That you're a complete idiot, yes!" I yelled, and stormed back to my car.

"It was from Twinkies! It smelled sweet! Come on!" he called after me, but I was done with that loser.

When a Simple "No Thanks" Won't Suffice...

Email Sent in by Raymond:

Raylock,

I am in receipt of your message. I have looked at your profile. We cannot and shouldnot date. You are obviously a wizard who steals girls' souls. I can tell because of thecodes you have written into your profile as a marker to other wizards:

"I have an uncle who's a practicing hypnotherapist in Los Angeles. Whenever he hypnotizes me, I wonder if he's also hypnotized Tom Cruise, and if he can hypnotize us into switching places, even if only for a day. Just for novelty purposes."

This can be read as: "I AM A MonSTer/WIZard WHO StEaLS The CAGes (souls) OF WOMEN."

Another example: "I have friends in Louisiana and I went down there after Katrina to help build homes. Building a house, even for a group of people (and especially when most of those people have never built a house before) is surprisingly difficult."

This I can see through to mean: "POWer POWer I DrAW From The SOULs Of WOMAN. POWer POWer."

Thanks for your interest anyway.

Vicki

Faster Disaster

Story Sent in by Brendan:

Sheila and I had already met up for one date. During that date, she had mentioned her recent purchase of a new Toyota and of how proud she was of it. I'm into cars, so I expressed an interest in seeing it sometime.

My chance came soon enough. For our second date, she offered to pick me up in her car and take me out for a spin. I climbed in and off we went.

She drove around the block, then took off down some other local roads. It seemed to handle well. Then, I noticed that she was speeding, and increasingly so.

"You can slow it down," I said, "This is a windy road."

She said, "Speed limit's 85 here."

I said, "It's state route 85. Speed limit's 30."

"Nuh uh," she said, and pointed to a sign that said "85" on it. She sped up.

"Really, it's route 85. Speed limit's 30. Slow down, please."

She took a turn at 55 and kept going. Her tires squealed. "Speed limit's 85," she said.

"Stop the car," I said.

"Speed limit's 85," she repeated, as if she didn't hear me at all.

"Stop the car! Stop it!" I yelled.

She didn't reply and sped up to close to 70 on a straightaway. I did the one remaining thing I could think of. She had talked about how much she loved her new car, and so I hit my door repeatedly with my closed fist. Bang, bang, bang, over and over.

She screamed, "What are you doing? Cut it out!" and slowed the car down. I didn't stop banging, she yelled for me to stop, and hit my shoulder repeatedly. I didn't quit smashing on the door until she pulled over and stopped the car. I jumped out of it, without even closing the door behind me.

She reached over, slammed my door shut, and peeled off, leaving me there, over a mile away from my house. I walked back, dreading the idea that she was going to turn around and fly back down the road in my direction. She didn't come back, and when she didn't contact me again after that, I didn't mourn the loss.

Hey Babe, the Sky's on Fire

Profile Sent in by Dick:

Who I'm looking for:

Woo boy. I can make a list of who I'm NOT looking for:

1. Parents. If you already had a kid, then you obviously loved someone enough to make love to them, and then I'll always be wondering if you loved them (or your kid(s)) more than me. Not interested!

2. Unemployed. Economy's bad, I'll give you that. Still, you can find something if you look hard enough. Don't be lazy. You want fries with that? You know what I'm saying.

3. Don't be from the Carolinas. Long story. Short version: if you're from the Carolinas, then I'm sorry, but best of luck elsewhere. On second thought, you want a femur? I have two of them for you. Just kidding. Get lost.

"Wet but Satisfied"

Story Sent in by Cathy:

Paul and I sat in a coffee shop on our first date together. We were talking, and everything was going well. Then, as he reached for his hot coffee, he spilled it across the table and into my lap.

I cried out, stood, and mopped it up from my lap with a clump of napkins.

Paul stared, frozen. Then, he laughed hysterically and pointed. "Ahahahahahaha! You've got coffee crotch! Ha ha ha!"

"This isn't funny!" I yelled.

"Ha ha ha!" he laughed so much that he was shaking. "Oh my God, that's terrific! Stupid bitch! Ahahahaha… ah…"

I had an iced coffee, and it was within easy grabbing and splattering distance. I was so tempted. So very tempted. He was laughing so hard, he wouldn't see it coming. It would make me feel better. It would also sink me down to his level. His grinning, putrid, asshole level. Come on, Cathy, turn the other cheek, turn the other cheek, just walk away, just walk…

I grabbed my drink and splashed it all over his stomach and lap. His laughter stopped. He jumped up and yelled, "You stupid bitch! What was that for?"

He ran for the bathroom. Someone behind the coffee shop counter, who I guessed to be a manager, shouted, "Hey! What's going on here?"

Without even looking back, I walked out of there. Wet, but satisfied.

That First Statement Is a Metaphor for Something

Email Sent in by Stevie:

Ever eaten pizza straight from the garbage?

Now that I have your attention, hi! I'm Brent. I think that you dated a friend of mine who's also on this site. Larry Fritz. Remember him? If not then that was probably some other bitch. Anyway, how the hell are you?

Your profile indicates that you're fun and cool. That's fun. And cool. Together that makes cun. Or fool. LOL.

Let's play a game. I will share something personal about me. You can then share something personal about you. In the spirit of chivalry, I'll go first, trusting that you will not tell anyone. Seriously, DO NOT TELL ANYONE THIS I am sharing it only with you. I like watching women shit.

Can't believe I just wrote that!!! Your turn!

Brent


***********************************
(Stevie says: "I didn't respond, and I never dated anyone named Larry. Soon enough, a follow-up message arrived:")

Brent Writes:

Hi again. I couldn't help but notice that you're taking a while to respond. I will sweeten the deal by telling bitch TWO personal things about me if bitch tells me one about bitch. Please don't tell anyone that first thing I wrote. Thank you!


***********************************
Stevie Responds:

Brent,

I never dated a Larry Fritz. And if you ever write me again, I'm going to tell everyone your secret.

Stevie


**********************************
(Stevie says: "No response from Brent.")

Twincest

Story Sent in by Jay:

Mona and I talked online for a little while before we met in person. She told me that she was a twin, that she had gone to three different high schools (as her family had moved around) and that she had sold some paintings that she had done. I was impressed with her, and so it was that I asked her out.

Dinner with her was great. We had a nice time, a good walk to a playground, a fun swing on the swing set, and a pleasant goodnight kiss. Yes, everything went well with Mona.

Mona called me up less than an hour after the date was over. She asked me, "Are you stupid, or something?"

It was a surprising question, especially given how well our date had gone. I reviewed the entire experience in seconds, but came up at a loss as to what I might have done wrong, and I told her so.

She said, "Idiot, you weren't on a date with me! That was Nancy, my twin sister!"

Huh. Hmm. Well.

She went on, "I got cold feet, and Nancy said she'd introduce herself to you and get to know you a little bit for me, and of course she steals you! She's done this before, and I should have known that she'd do it again!"

"I'm sorry," I said. To be fair, I probably could have asked Nancy, who I thought was Mona, some more detailed, probing questions that would have proved that she wasn't Mona. However, that's assuming that I had gone into the date expecting Nancy to take Mona's place, which I hadn't.

"She says she's in love with you!" Mona cried over the phone, "I can't stand this! You seriously couldn't tell that she wasn't me?"

"I… no. Why would I have suspected such a thing? Why didn't you just tell me that you were having second thoughts? I would have understood."

"Both of you are on my shit list. Bye." She hung up, and never called me again. Nancy never contacted me either, and although I was disappointed, I wasn't about to throw rocks at that hornet's nest.

He Has a Point

Profile Sent in by Wanda:

About me:

Let's face it: the only way you'll really "get to know" me is by having sex. Let's cut the crap about "emotional fulfillment" and "emotional needs" and just get to know each other the way god intended. "Have sex," god said, not, "Go to couples therapy and try listening to your whiny spouse." Just saying.

Headcase Headshots

Story Sent in by Claudia:

Sergei and I met up for our first lunch date at an outdoor cafe. About five minutes into it, he produced a looseleaf portfolio and flipped it open on the table.

It was filled with various headshots of him, in different poses and with different expressions, some in black and white, some in color.

"Pick one out," he said.

I didn't really want any of them. What was I going to do with a headshot of a guy I had only just met? I picked one out. He said, "Not that one. I like that one too much. Pick another."

I picked another, and he pulled it out of its plastic protective sleeve. He pulled out a pen, autographed it, and handed it to me. "Thanks," I said, and slipped it into my purse.

He winked and said, "Usually I charge."

I asked him, "There's that much of a demand for your autograph?" I neglected to mention that Sergei worked as an assistant manager in an upscale men's clothing store.

He replied, "Some customers occasionally ask. I probably look like a movie star, and I might get discovered if I keep working there, so I figure it's smart to keep these around." He glanced at his headshot collection.

When the waitress came by, he gave one to her. He also gave a set of two out to a nearby dining couple. Once our food had been delivered, he took a bite and said, "This is delicious!" He flagged the waitress down, asked her to send the manager over to our table, and when the manager arrived, Sergei gave her high praise and yet another autographed photo.

When she ambled off, Sergei said to me, "Who knows who she knows, or who else dines here. You never know, right?"

"Right," I agreed.

The kicker came after the meal. Sergei and I were walking down the street, on what I promised myself would be a very short post-lunch stroll, when we passed a police officer. Sergei handed the officer a headshot, smiled, and quipped, "Maybe throw this up on a wanted sign."

The officer looked down at the photo, up at Sergei, and said, "I don't think that's wanted, sir. Have a good Saturday," and continued on. Sergei watched after him, frowned, and replaced the photo in his binder. I made some excuse and returned home to recycle the photo he had given me.

But She Can Just Buy Another Cosmo Subscription

Email Sent in by Jamie:

I don't believe we've been properly introduced. I am John. Maybe you have heard about me?

I'm the guy on this site who treats women the way they deserve to be treated. I can boast a relationship that lasted over seven years! That's more than most marriages! The trick is knowing when to fight and when to concede. If you really love a person then you'll make it work and no matter what.

The next logical (and nosy) question that you will ask is "why did your relationship end, John?" She cheated on me with my cousins! Yes that's cousins in the plural. I dumped her and now I am free and yours! Remember though that if I catch you messing around on me then I will make you sorry. How did I make her sorry? Let's just say that something very important to her has been "misplaced" we'll just leave it at that.

John

Fly the Unfriendly Skies

Story Sent in by Max:

Suzanne and I had been dating for about six months when we wound up at an airport together with plans to fly out to San Francisco for Suzanne's parents' wedding anniversary party. A little less than an hour before our flight, we were at the gate and Suzanne left for the bathroom.

About 20 minutes later, she texted me, "Can you come here?"

I dragged our luggage to just outside the closest women's room, where I assumed that she was. I texted her, "I'm right outside the bathroom. Everything okay?"

She called me up and asked, "Where are you? I don't see you."

I replied, "Outside the women's room. Is that where you are?"

"Yes, but I don't see you anywhere."

It took us a minute to figure out that she was at a bathroom at the other side of the terminal. "What are you doing there?" I asked, "There's a bathroom within sight of the gate, and they're going to start boarding any second."

She replied, "I didn't see it. I clogged a toilet really bad here, and now none of the toilets in the entire bathroom are flushing."

I said, "You clogged one, so they're all not working? That doesn't make any sense, but flag down a maintenance worker and hurry back here. We can't miss the flight."

"Okay," she said, "See you soon."

We hung up. Sure enough, the gate agents soon invited all first-class passengers and active duty military to board. I scanned the approaching crowd for Suzanne, but there was no sign of her. The gate agents called for the back rows of the aircraft to board. I called Suzanne again.

She said, "I can't find a maintenance person. There's water all over the place, now. People are getting really angry."

I said, "Find anyone. A gate agent. A police officer. They'll alert whoever needs to know. You have to get back here right now, or we're going to miss this plane."

"Okay," she said, then hung up.

By the time the gate agents made it to, "All other passengers are welcome to board," Suzanne still hadn't shown up. I went up to the desk and explained that she was stuck in the bathroom.

The gate agent was sympathetic, but firm. "She has five minutes to get here, otherwise, we're closing the doors."

I asked the gate agent if she could watch my luggage while I ran to find Suzanne myself. The gate agent replied that under no circumstances could I leave baggage unattended.

Carrying all of our luggage down the hall as quickly as I could,  I ran for the far bathroom and arrived in miraculous time. Suzanne was nowhere to be seen. I called her.

"Hello?" she answered as if nothing at all was amiss.

I said, "They're closing the plane doors in a minute. I'm at the far bathroom. Where the hell are you?"

Silence from her end of the line, then, "I don't really like your tone. Where are you now?"

"I'm at the far bathroom!" I squawked, "We're going to miss the plane!"

She replied, "I could really do without that tone. I'll be there in just a second."

She hung up and strolled up to me a few moments later, holding a fountain drink. "Where were you?" I asked her.

She pointed to a small cafe nearby. "I couldn't really hear what you were saying over the phone," she said, "What's wrong?"

I said, "I think we might have just missed our flight."

She said, "What?! Oh my God!" and without grabbing any of her own luggage, she ran down to our plane's gate.

Sure enough, by the time I arrived, I saw Suzanne pleading with the same gate agent, who could offer nothing but later flying arrangements (with a substantial fee tacked on).

Suzanne then turned to me, holding all the bags, and she yelled, "It's because of you! If you kept up with me, we could've made it! They closed the doors less than a minute ago!"

I yelled back, "If you went to the closer bathroom and listened to me when I told you, more than once, that they were boarding, then we'd be on the plane!"

She said, "You had a nasty tone! And if I went to this bathroom then it probably would've clogged, too! Now we're going to miss the party!"

She grabbed her luggage and I let her take it. She said, "I'm getting on the next plane, and you're not coming with me!"

I tried for about a minute to convince Suzanne to see reason, but she wasn't into that, so I left with my bags. Her parents had paid for our tickets, so it would be no financial loss on my part. Still, I felt bad for them, so I called them to explain the situation. Her father insisted that I fly out with Suzanne, and said that they'd call her themselves to smooth things over.

"Find someplace to wait," he instructed me, "Either I'll call you back or she will once I'm done talking to her."

I stopped in the very same cafe Suzanne had shown me. I waited to hear back from either her or her parents.

Her father called me back shortly thereafter. He told me, "You should probably just head out. She was screaming over everything I said, and she kept saying how much she hates you. Sorry about all of this."

"I'm sorry, too," I said, and walked out of the airport and out of Suzanne's life.

The Dark Knight

Profile Sent in by Laura:

What I'm doing with my life:

I like to think of myself as a real life knight, one who goes on quests and real adventures! Just yesterday I staged a quest to steal my neighbor's lawn gnome! I will replace it this night! If you want to join me tonight then write me soon!!!

My quest-related prides and joys have been reuniting one of my friends with his missing cat and also stealing the virginity of three maidens! You should have seen them chase me for it back, but I will never give their sweet virginal chains back, you hear me? Never!

I have since mounted them on my bed's headboard, like a real knight.

The Hunger Games

Story Sent in by Belinda:

Carlo and I were walking around a mall on our first date. We had enjoyed lunch in a mall restaurant about a half-hour before when he turned to me and asked, "Where would you like to go for lunch?"

I said, "We just did lunch. Remember?"

He scrunched his face in what I guessed was thought, then said, "Oh yeah. Sorry."

I thought nothing much of it, and we continued on our walk. We talked about this and that, and not long before I planned to suggest that we go elsewhere, perhaps someplace outside, he asked, "Want to do lunch?"

I said, "Are you for real? You're still hungry?"

"For lunch."

"We had lunch!"

He nodded. I asked, "Are you okay?"

He said, "I just have to get out of this mall. It's making me crazy."

I was on board with that idea. We walked out together and around the entire building. I thought that he was walking us to a park or another location, but instead, once we were on the other side of the mall, he booked it for a set of doors that led back into it!

"Why are we going back into the mall?" I asked him.

He said, "It's lunch time. Aren't you hungry?"

I said, "What the hell is your problem? Is this your way of saying that you want me to get lost?"

He stared at me. "What are you talking about? It's after two in the afternoon. You don't want lunch? My treat."

"We had lunch already!"

"Fine!" he said, "Let's do an early dinner, then."

"I'm not hungry," I said, "Why don't we just go do something else?"

He said, "Now you're playing that? I had an ex who'd say she wasn't hungry whenever she was pissed at me. I never saw her eat in months! Don't punish yourself, Belinda."

"I'm not punishing myself! We had lunch and you know it."

He moaned and said, "I'll be right back, okay? Don't move."

I put a seven-minute time limit on this adventure, with every intention of leaving if he wasn't back in due time. Surprisingly, he did return, and he handed me a banana.

He said, "I hit up the free samples at the food court. Now I feel a little bit better. Enjoy the banana."

"Thanks," I said, slipping it into my purse.

"Eat it," he advised me, "Don't save it as a sex toy."

"Great. Look, I need to go," I said, then gave him a fast, awkward hug, and started on my way.

"Where are we going?" he asked, keeping pace right behind me.

I said, "I'm going home. You're going to stay here and eat lunch or whatever else you wanted to do."

He said, "Lunch! Want to have it with me? My treat."

"No thanks," I said, "Bye," and I took off at a pace that made it clear that I didn't want to be followed.

"At least tell me where you live," he called after me, "So I have a place to bring your food, drink, and straw."

I never saw him again, and my appetite was quite taken away from the whole experience.

What a Night

Email Sent in by Ryan:

i woke up this morning and all my vaseline was gone lol. u take it? i ask becuz i did a site search for vaseline and your profile came up…… only thing thats wierd is that i cant find vaseline written anywhere on ur profile…….???????

srsly, wheres my vaseline???? this is driving me crazy!!!!!

Brianna

Noble Grasses

Story Sent in by Allie:

Charles and I had a decent first date. He wasn't all that exciting, but what was of note occurred at the end of our time together. He walked me back to my car and asked me, "Want to see a neat trick?"

I said, "Sure," and he hugged me goodnight, then ran off for his own car.

It was a strange deed, but I just chalked it up to his eccentricity. The real shock came when I made it back home. He sat on my front stoop, waiting for me!

I stepped toward him, hesitantly. "What are you doing here?"

He smiled and stood. "Isn't this a neat trick?"

"How did you know where I live?"

He walked toward me and said, "That's the secret. I can't tell you."

I assumed that he had somehow found my address online. No matter, as long as his intentions were harmless. However, he walked up to me and said, "How about a kiss for me?"

I said, "Maybe next time," and slid past him.

"I just did an amazing trick!" he said as I fumbled with my keys, "I think I ought to have something to show for it!"

I made it inside and locked the door. When I woke up the next morning, there was a large black trash bag filled with torn grass right up against my front door. I checked my email and there was a message from him that read, "I spent the night filling a bag with your grass and left it at your door. Proof of the time I want to spend with you. Just come back to me."

I wrote him back: "Come to my house again and I'll call the police."

He wrote a rambling message in response, clearly upset, but also clearly insane. Most of his message, in fact, railed against public libraries, and how librarians were covert ops agents who kept meticulous records of what was checked out when and by whom.

The parts of the email that specifically referenced me were all to the effect of "come back to me" as if we had ever had a "thing" to come back to in the first place. I gave it the response it deserved: deletion.

Once I'm Done Doing Everything Other Than Helping You

Profile Sent in by Alistair:

About me:

Is it wrong that the vision of me taking advantage of a guy against his will turns me on? Hi I'm Cindy and I have a hell of a story for you:

When I was in 5th grade I brought a smart doll to school but my friends said that we were all too old for dolls and then they became my enemy and I spent more time making them suffer than give attention to my own studies and so I ended up in a special school. I came up with a good mascot for it - a bloody knife! But they didn't want to print those on jerseys and so I haven't been back to school since!

I wrote a lot of plays about my life that I'm trying to get published... maybe you can help.

The Law of Unattraction

Story Sent in by Gene:

I was out to dinner on my first date with Mae when the waitress came by to take our drink orders. Mae ordered a vodka tonic and I ordered a water. I wasn't in the mood to drink, and I had about a half-hour drive back home.

The waitress left and Mae asked me, "Just water?"

I said, "For now. I might order something stronger with dinner."

She replied, "I'm flattered."

"Flattered? Why?"

She said, "Apparently, you don't need anything to make me look more attractive."

I put two and two together pretty quickly. "Meaning to say that you ordered alcohol because you think I'm unattractive?"

She giggled and said, "You've found us out! That's the main reason why women ever order alcohol: so that the men swarming around them will look even slightly sexy."

I thought for a moment, then said, "I don't think that's true at all."

She said, "No woman would ever admit to it, but it's the God-honest truth."

"So you're saying that I'm unattractive?"

She replied, "Not more than most guys. It's nothing to get upset over. Just let me have my drink and everything will be okay."

"So in a hypothetical world, if we were to date or marry, you'd have to have a stiff drink before we did anything?"

She laughed harder and longer than I've ever heard anyone laugh before. "In an ideal world," she said, "I'd be out on a date with a handsome guy right now."

She laughed more. Our drinks arrived. I had a few sips of water, then stood up, said, "Have a good night, then," and left her, there and then.

Before I even made it back to my car, she texted, "WTF UR JUST GOING TO LEAVE ME HERE???"

I replied, "You don't want to waste your time with unattractive guys, I don't want to waste mine with nasty little princesses. We both win."

She replied, "I guess…"

No need to guess.

Deserves a Random Answer

Email Sent in by Greg:

I thank you a lot for the message, Greg. You seem pretty intriguing, yourself! I'm Anna. Do you own the dogs that are in your photos? I love them so much!

I work at an agency that finds affordable housing for homeless people. There's a lot of trips to local churches and other charities to coordinate housing, medical care, and other things. It's rewarding on a daily basis, and I really, really love it.

You say in your profile that you do carpentry as a hobby. Do you have any photos of your work that you could send me? I'd love to check it out!

Random question: ever use your dogs in looOOooOOOoOOOOvemaking??

Anna

Handyman

Story Sent in by Vivian:

I met Jordan at a house party that some mutual friends threw. He and I became acquainted, and I gave him my number. He was a little quiet, but he was very nice to me and a good listener. This was during the summer, so there were a lot of parties going on, and there happened to be another one that following week, to which both of us had again been invited.

He called me up a day after that first party to ask me if, the day of the next party, I wanted to meet up for dinner and go together to the gathering. I told him that I did.

Dinner was awkward beyond belief. The first thing he asked me (after, "Do you use hair extensions?" - I don't) was, "Do you have a boyfriend?"

"No," I asked, then teased him, "Do you?"

He didn't roll with it. "No. I'm straight, but no girlfriend. Do you want a boyfriend?"

I replied, "I'm playing it by ear, I suppose. No rush. Are you actively looking for someone?"

He picked up his spoon and looked at it. "You could be my girlfriend."

I laughed, "We haven't even had one complete date yet."

"Will you hold my hand at the party?"

"No."

And so on. It didn't seem like he meant me any harm, but I questioned whether or not he had ever been on a date before in his life, or at least when his last one was.

The party was a little less than a mile away from where we had dinner, and so we decided to walk there. He kept bumping his hand into mine as we walked and at one point actually interlaced his fingers with mine.

"Too fast," I said, moving my hand away, "Slow it down."

"Whatever," he said, a hint of anger in his voice.

We made it to the party, and as soon as we walked in, he grabbed my hand tight and swung our arms up together.

"I win!" he bellowed loudly to the room full of people, over the music, "Girlfriend!"

"Let go of me!" I yelled, and ripped my hand away. He went for my hand again, and I moved into the crowd.

A guy I didn't recognize stepped between Jordan and I and said to Jordan, "Let me get you a beer, man."

Jordan followed the guy to the kitchen, where presumably he drank beer. He didn't say another word to me for the rest of the night, although I didn't stay long. I was afraid that he'd have some other outburst.

He sent me a drunk text at 3am that read, "so drunk that I forgot to pinch your ass! where are u?"

I didn't respond. A week later, he texted, "be right there."

Thank goodness, I never saw him again.

Paper or Plastic?

Email Sent in by Christopher:

thanks for the message twerp/bag. I wonder what it takes to be a twerp/bag but now you have answered this.

The last twerp/bag sent me a message to ask me what I tasted like. Thing is we spoke for two whole weeks before he asked me this selfish questions. Now I wonder how long this new twerp/bag will take to ask me something foolish.

Not long. Go ahead. You get one question.

Myrna


********************************
Christopher Responds:

Hi Myrna. My question: what the hell is a twerp/bag?


********************************
Myrna Responds:

Your whole life has been twerp/bag. You just didn't know it. Welcome to the new life of death in that you have this for that twerp/bag, twerp/bag.

I taste like radishes.

Myrna

Study Habits

Story Sent in by Lydia:

Graham and I took a literature course together in college. He never seemed interested in me, but I always thought him attractive. About three-quarters into the semester, I approached him and asked him if he wanted to study together.

He saw right through me, though. He said, "Is 'study' a euphemism for 'date'?"

I said, "Not necessarily."

He replied, "Because I'd never, ever want to date you."

It was a mean thing to say, especially as he didn't even know me. I ended the conversation as politely and quickly as I could, and thought that any sort of relationship with him was, thankfully, out of the question.

Fast forward a year and I was performing in a college improv group, onstage. There was a part in the performance where I kissed another performer, a friend.

After the show, Graham came up to me. I hadn't spoken to him since our first and last conversation, mind. He said, "I saw you performing. Want to go out? Like right now?"

I laughed. "Thanks for coming, but I'm heading out with some friends."

"I'll join you."

"I'd prefer if you didn't."

He looked incredulous. "Why not?"

"You weren't very nice to me last year when I asked you to study with me."

He said, "I don't remember that. Let's go out, just you and me. Maybe we can kiss, too."

My turn to be incredulous. "What?!"

He said, "Like how you kissed that guy on stage. You guys dating?"

"Uh… no."

"All right, then. So let's go out."

I laughed again, said, "No thanks," then turned and left him there.

He dropped off a three-page letter to my residence, typed in eight-point font, which read like a proof regarding why I should go out with him and kiss him. He missed the biggest point of fact, however, the one regarding my unwillingness to kiss an asshole.

To Be Fair, it Was a Really "Bad" Snooze

Profile Sent in by Irene:

The most private thing I'm willing to admit:

In college in S. Africa I had a relationship that ended because I went to sleep. Seriously. My girlfriend came over and I told her that all I wanted to do was rest and sleep. She said that if I did that then she would not be there when I woke up. Next thing I remember, it was morning and she was gone.

Might have had something to do with the fact that she came over with tix to MJ's history concert in Durban for that night. I was just too tired!

Arts and Craftiness

Story Sent in by Harry:

I was on a double date with Nora, who I had been seeing for a few weeks, and her friend Alana and Alana's new boyfriend, Max. Not too long into the date, at a crafts fair, Nora took me aside and told me, "I don't think Max is good enough for Alana. He doesn't have anything going for him."

Max, it turned out, was in his M.D. residency, and came across, at least that day, as a gregarious, affable guy. In fact, he was hysterical, and spoke more than any of the rest of us. I liked him a lot in a short time, and Alana was also friendly.

After about two hours walking around, we all talked about what to do next, and I had a chance to speak to Nora alone again. I told her, "I think he's cool, and it sounds like he actually has a lot going for him." I then joked, "Are you sure that Alana is good enough for him?"

She sighed and said, "No. In fact… you're going to hate me for this."

"For what?"

She said, "I kind of want Max, now."

Just to clarify, I asked, "You mean, instead of me?"

"Yeah," she affirmed, "I said what I said before because I didn't think he'd do this much talking today. But I think he'd be a better match for me than you, you know?"

I nearly choked at her frankness, and she immediately became far less attractive to me than she had been. I said, "What do you think Alana will have to say about that?"

Nora said, "I'm a girl who goes after what she wants," and then she walked past me and right up to Max. She asked him, "Can we talk for a minute?" and drew him away from Alana and I.

Alana asked me, "What's that about?"

I lied, "I don't know." I didn't really want to be there anymore, as whatever was going to result from Nora's conversation with Max, I knew that it wouldn't possibly be good.

They spoke together for a little while, and during that time, I spoke to Alana. Soon enough, Max turned away from Nora, flashed us a grin, and said to Alana and I, "Nora wants to date me. You two cool with that?"

Alana and I looked at each other, then at Max, then at Nora, who turned a shade of pink and backed away. Max walked back to us and said, "She's been trying to convince me that we'd be better together. I've been telling her no, but she won't stop talking about it."

No one seemed to know what to say. Worst of all, we had all arrived together in the same car (Max's), which meant a very awkward ride back.

I suggested, "Let's get some ice cream," but Alana seemed to be in no mood for it.

"What the hell?" she asked Nora, and she advanced on her and even made it close enough to hit her (which, to be fair, I don't know if she would have done) when Max jumped in and held Alana back.

I ran over to Nora and said, "Let's just take a walk for a bit, burn off some steam. We can catch up with them later."

Nora said to Alana and Max, "I am so pissed off. I could kill both of you," and she tromped away. With a final glance at Alana and Max, I followed Nora, hoping to smooth things over and calm her down.

She made it to a glassblower's booth and looked at the various pieces. After a minute of silence, she turned to me and asked, "Can you take me home? I just want to go."

I replied, "We all came in the same car."

"Then let's walk."

We were about five miles away from any sort of public transportation that could conceivably bring us back home. When I informed her of this, she said, "Good, let's start walking."

I replied, "I don't really feel like doing that. I think that Max and Alana would be willing to set things aside."

"But I said that I could kill them."

I smiled, "I'm sure they'll forgive you."

She replied, "No, I mean, I really can kill them. I don't think it's smart for me to see them again. Ever. They'd die. Now are you walking back with me or not?"

"Probably not."

She walked away from the glassblower's tent and disappeared into the crowd. As for myself, I found Max and Alana, explained the situation to them, and the three of us had a good rest of the day together. When we left the fair in Max's car, I thought that we'd encounter Nora walking on the road on the way back to town, and as such, we planned to offer her a ride. We didn't see her, though, and I didn't hear from her again.

I'm still in touch with Alana occasionally (last I checked, she's still with Max), but Nora never comes up in conversation. I guess it'll always be a mystery.

Praktis Mayks Purfekt

Profile Sent in by Erin:

My self-summary:

Random FYI:
If you can't spell the title of your SUPOSED favorite book it says A LOT.
1. You never reads the book, NOR bothered to looks it up
2. You can't spel
3. You don't know how to spell check
-------------------------------------

Now, shall we preceed :-)

This profile will always be under construction.

Since its safe to assume not to many people will read an whole profile:

I am sarcastic, motivated, opinionated, witful intellectual person. I am more then my profile will ever put acros.


I’m really good at:

I don't really know where to go with this question. Writting.


Favorite books, movies, shows, music, and food:

Far to many books to name, I am a avid readers.

The Lost World

Story Sent in by Inez:

Carl and I were on a walk through a city park on the evening of our first date. He said, "I used to come here all the time with my folks. I loved coming here." He described the old playground that used to be there, the games he used to play with his friends, and so on.

Then, his voice dropped and he spoke in a whisper. He said, "I'd go back to my hideout tonight, if not for you."

"What?" I asked, intrigued.

He said, "There was an area up that way," he pointed, "near where those trees are, that I used to call my hideout. I played there by myself all the time when I was younger, and even in high school, when I needed a place to be by myself."

Carl had grown up the second youngest of six, so I could definitely understand that. He walked us in that direction, and I followed willingly, hoping that he would share more happy times with me.

"I kept a bunch of journals early in high school," he said, "I buried three of them here before junior year. I wonder if they're still here…"

We had planned to go out to dinner, and I wasn't prepared for a dig. I suggested, "Want to see if they're still here some other time?"

"No. I want to see if they're still here now."

We walked into a grove, ducked into the hanging branches of a willow tree, and he stopped and looked around. "Yeah, it was right around here," he said, then walked around the tree several times, pacing over the ground.

He then looked up at me and asked, "You don't have, like, a shovel or a spade in your car, do you?"

"No. Let's just do dinner."

He frowned, then snapped his fingers. "Right," he said, and he led me out of the grove and back to the sidewalk. I thought that we were walking to dinner, but instead he walked us into a hardware store, where he picked up a little spade.

"Do you mind?" he asked me, "It won't take a minute. I've been meaning to do this literally for years."

"Then can't it wait another day?"

He replied, "No. Someone might find them between today and tomorrow, and I've taken a big enough risk as it is, leaving them there for as long as I have."

We left the hardware store and I said, "I'm going to grab dinner on my own, then."

He turned to me and said, "Okay. I'm really sorry about this, but I've really been meaning to do it for a while, and now that I'm here and I have a shovel, I really want to get it done."

"I understand," I said, "Good luck."

"Thanks. I'll be in touch!"

He wrote me a week later to ask me out again. I told him that I thought it best that we didn't try for another date, but I did ask him if he had found his journals.

He wrote back that he hadn't. Oh well.

Heading for Trouble

Email Sent in by Linda:

Hi.

I'm writing because I think you're cool. I liked a lot of what you had to say on your profile. What do you like to sing? And you dance. Is that fast dance or slow dance?

Maybe you will let me take you out dancing sometime!

What do you think when I say romance? I mean dancing and singing under that stars and moon and eating together and watching many melonheads bobbing up/down as they walk by. Sometimes I think that other people look at me that way but by the time I think this I already am where I need to be.

That or bobbleheads. How do you see other people. Heads on springs? Or what? I want to collect them sometimes but having to build new shelves makes me mad as hell.

Cameron

Red Robin, Fly Away

Story Sent in by Billy:

Maryann and I were at a movie together when she stood up, whispered, "I'll be back," and left. I figured that she had to use the bathroom.

When she didn't come back after a while, I texted her to see if everything was okay. I didn't hear back, and my next thought was to go out and look for her. I did. I looked up and down the lobby, and even asked a female attendant to check the bathrooms. No sign of her.

I then called her. She picked up. I asked, "Where are you? Are you okay?"

She said, "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm at Red Robin. Come join us."

There was a Red Robin in the shopping center where the theater was, so that explained her location. However, it didn't explain her disappearance. I asked her, "Who's us? And why didn't you tell me where you were going?"

She replied, "I bumped into some of my friends in the lobby, and I didn't want to interrupt you, since you were still watching the movie."

I tried to work through her logic, but I just wasn't understanding. "So you left me here to worry, instead?"

"What's there to worry about? I'm at Red Robin with my friends. Come on over."

"You left about 40 minutes ago! Without a word to say that you weren't coming back!"

"I didn't want to interrupt you!"

"But you didn't think I'd worry?"

She took a moment, then said, "You're coming across as really obsessed. You need to drop it. Come meet us at Red Robin."

"You don't see why I'd be worried if you said, 'I'll be back' and then you don't come back?"

She groaned, "Because I'm at Red Robin! Why can't you understand that? Are you really this stupid? Come to Red Robin or don't. I don't care."

"I'll be right there," I said.

I didn't go.

You the Monster

Email Sent in by Blaire:

Helloooooooooooooo blaire!

I was tyhinking that if a monster came and ate you then it would be good news for me. Lemme explain: i have a list on this site of women I would date (or do..lol) and you have the priveliege of being on it with three others. My problem is that i just can't choose! Ur all hot and I would have you all at once but women hate fun so I guess I won't be doing that! I can't choose! If a monster ate you at random then that would help me pick!!

Jeff

Pain in the Rear Ended

Story Sent in by Richard:

Brenda and I had been together for six weeks when she offered to pick me up from work one Saturday afternoon and go out afterward. Up until this point, she had struck me as very compassionate, kindhearted, and sensitive.

We were stopped at a red light in her SUV, talking about something I've since forgotten. A small sedan was in front of us. The light turned green, and the sedan didn't move.

Brenda honked, then honked again. "Come on!" she yelled, "Sometime today!"

Before the sedan had a chance to move, Brenda, I believe by accident, floored it into the sedan's trunk. There was a terrific crunch, I yelled in shock and the next thing I knew, Brenda was out of the SUV.

She ran to the driver's side of the sedan and banged on its window. She yelled, "Look what you did to my vehicle! If you went when the light turned green, like a normal person, then this wouldn't have happened!"

Brenda banged on the window again. From what I could see, the person inside the sedan didn't open her door, but she instead pulled out her phone.

I jumped out from my side and ran to the sedan. I yelled through the window to the middle-aged woman inside, "Are you okay?"

The woman looked at me. Brenda yelled, "Is she okay? What about me? Don't get on her side. She should have gone and she knows it!"

I said to Brenda, "You smashed into her trunk!"

Brenda shook with rage. She screamed, "If you tell the cops, we're done! You understand?"

The cops showed up shortly thereafter, took statements from everyone, and of course, I told the truth. Brenda's insurance likely skyrocketed, and she never spoke to me again.

I Have an Idiot Test of My Own

Profile Sent in by Scarlett:

About me:

I'm an honest guy looking for an honest woman. After two relationships in five years I'm ready for a woman who is serious. I never did anything wrong and yet I was always crucified (emotionally, spiritually) by the women I was seeing.

I have a patented (©®, etc.)) system for detecting whether or not we would be a good match. 1. We go out on a date. You can only know so much from speaking online. If you do not agree to a date first then I will assume you have something to hide and if you have something to hide than I am uninterested. See how easy?

2. I might ask you random factual questions to see if you pass the idiot test. No one yet has answered them all...

3. I want to meet your parents as soon as possible. It will help me get an idea of what our kids will look like. You'd be amazed at how accurate this is.

If interested, write me. Don't know what it is with women on this site not answering e-mails. You're on this site, you'll get messaged by males. Deal with it. Otherwise why are you here?

Paint Me a River

Story Sent in by Henrietta:

I was a senior in high school when Ian and I had arranged to meet at a library for our first date. Not because we were planning to read books, but because it was centrally located.

Not long after I arrived there, he called me up and said, "Hey, I'm going to be an hour or so late. Unless you want to stop by here and help me with something. It'll go faster, that way."

I offered, "What do you need help with?"

He replied, "Uh… a fun project I'm working on for you."

Young, dumb, and naive, I drove to his place, parked my car, and rang his doorbell.

He opened it, wearing a painter's jumpsuit and positively spattered with paint, from head to toe.

He said, "We're painting my mother's room."

I replied, "How is that a surprise for me?"

He thought for a moment, then said, "It isn't. Here," and he thrust a tiny paintbrush in my direction, "You do the detail work."

"No," I said.

He frowned, then slammed the door in my face. I waited around for a minute to give him way more of a chance than I should have, and when he didn't come back, I left.

He texted over an hour later, "So where r u?"

I didn't reply. He later followed it up with, "Mom's bedroom came out great even without ur help."

I replied, "She must be very proud of her little boy."

He wrote back, "wtf i'm not little. am moms big son."

I took his word for it. She must have been very proud.

Of Mice and Women

Story Sent in by Dave:

I was on a first date with Kim when she gave me a strange request. She handed me an index card and a black ink pad.

"What's this for?" I asked her.

She said, "It's a surprise. Just put a fingerprint on the card. It's nothing nefarious. Promise."

I did as she asked. She took the card, drew whiskers, a couple of ears, and a tail onto my fingerprint. Presto! She had changed it into a little fingerprint mouse. Awww.

Late the next day, she wrote me a message to tell me that she had a good time, and that she hoped to see me again. Of particular interest was her statement, "Now that I know you're not a convicted rapist ;)"

I wrote back and asked her, "What do you mean by that?"

She replied, "I gave your fingerprint to a cop friend of mine and he told me that you're not a felon or anything. So you pass the test! Congratulations!"

I wrote back and said, "You said it was for nothing nefarious. You lied."

She wrote back to say, "I'm protecting myself. If you have a problem with that, then get lost. Checking to make sure you're legit isn't nefarious: it's smart."

I replied, "Fine. On our next date, I want a blood sample. I want a scientist friend of mine to test your DNA for criminal records and STDs. You know, I have to protect myself."

No response. Weird.


********************************
In the news: date 'n dime 'n ditch - thanks, Nikki!

Down the Road, Up the Creek

Story Sent in by Daniel:

Back in the dark ages before GPS, Shelly and I were planning our second date when she told me, "I know a great dinner place that also has an arcade." As we were both into arcades, I went for it. I offered to pick her up at her house, and once she was in my car, off we went.

"It's in Larsondale," she said, "So jump onto route 11."

I did. We were on the road for about 20 minutes longer than I thought we would be when she asked, "Are we in Larsondale, yet?"

I replied, "We have to be. You don't remember the rest of the directions?"

"I do. Turn around up here."

I turned around and drove back down the road. "Okay, where to now?"

She said, "I'm sorry, I have the worst sense of direction in the world. Turn here."

"Which way?"

"What?"

"It's an intersection. Left or right?" A car behind us honked as I slowed down.

"Left," she said, and I turned left. "No!" she corrected herself, "What am I talking about? Right! Right! Right!"

I had already made my left turn, so I found a driveway, turned around, and headed back in the other direction. She said, "Sorry about this. I think I know where we are. Sort of."

We drove on for a ways, then she said, "Pull over. I don't recognize any of this."

I pulled over and let her think. I asked, "Have you been to this place before?"

She said, "Yes, but never while I was driving. I thought I knew how to get there. Tell you what, let's start back to my house. I think I know another way to make it there."

I turned around and we headed back towards her place. Not long into the ride, she said, "Oh! That's it! That's the turn! I remember it now! It was like, a really long way down that road."

"That road is a dead end."

"Then it's the next road! Turn right down there."

I did. We drove along for about another twenty minutes. During that time, I turned this way and that, in accordance with her directions, and soon enough we were very lost.

"I don't even know how to make it back to my house from here," she confessed, then groaned. It was already about an hour into the date, and we simply couldn't seem to make it somewhere 10 minutes away.

I suggested, "So what? Let's find somewhere else. We'll discover something new."

She said, "Let's do it."

We continued on, deciding to keep going until we found a place to eat. I also had to find a gas station rather soon. I pulled out of a residential area, went down the road about a half-mile, and then Shelly said, "Oh my God!"

There, on the right, was the place for which we had been looking. "That's it!" she said, "Oh my God! We found it!"

I put my turn signal on, but she said, "I kind of liked your idea of finding someplace new. Let's come back here some other time."

"Are you sure?" I joked, "We'll probably never find it again."

We found someplace new, and we've since been married for 15 years. Of course, it almost didn't happen because she was nearly an hour late to our own wedding due to bad directions.

Sinner and a Movie

Story Sent in by Lina:

When I first started online dating, I signed up for several dating sites, including a Christian singles dating site. I was a lot more religious when I was younger (back when I attended a school where you were essentially graded based upon the fervency of your belief) and now I had different life priorities, although I still sought people with common experiences.

Enter Chris. He found me, oddly enough, on one of the non-affiliated sites. However, he had also attended a private, religious junior high school and seemed, based upon his emails to me, to have a similar outlook on faith. I liked what he had to say, and he apparently felt the same about me, as he asked me out on a date a little less than a month after he had first contacted me.

Dinner at the restaurant went well enough. All seemed normal until our food arrived. He then asked me, "Would you mind if we said grace?"

I was taken aback, but I said, "No, not at all."

We folded our hands and he began, "Lord, thank you for this food and this drink, and for the good company in which we sit."

I could be on board with that. I thought he was done, but when I opened my eyes, I saw that he was still eyes-tight, hands-clasped. I closed my eyes a bit, but peeked out so that I would see when he was done.

After a minute, he was still silently praying. I whispered, "Chris? Um…"

He kept his eyes closed, but then murmured his words out loud, as if trying to drown me out, "…and for Malachi and for Joel, for Samuel and for David…"

He kept going. I waited another minute and said, "Chris? I think God's got it."

Again, he upped the volume of his silent words, "…for Paul and for John, for Peter and for Thomas…"

I said, "I'm just going to go ahead and start," and I did.

I was about done with dinner by the time Chris had finally finished. He looked at me, then at my plate, then back up at me with shock in his eyes. "You didn't wait for me?"

I replied, "Chris, I asked you multiple times if we could start. I've never seen someone say grace for that long, not even my priest."

"I thought you said you were Christian," he said, "Your priest is a lousy Christian, and so are you."

"So much for 'judge not,' Chris–"

"That doesn't count here and you know it! Someone who breaks a law can still be judged."

"It's not the law to say grace."

"Shut up! Now I have to rush through my meal because you just couldn't wait."

I sat in silence as he shoveled forkful after forkful into his mouth, like a dog with a fork. Finally, when he was done, he belched loud and declared, "That was delicious! So much more so after waiting for it."

I asked, "Isn't gluttony a sin?"

He belched again and said, "I wouldn't know."

I asked, "I take it this is your way of saying that you're not at all interested in me."

He looked shocked. That caught me off guard. "No, I–"

"Because that's fine. I agree."

"What are you talking about? One slip up doesn't mean that we're not a good match! How can you tell from just one date with someone?"

"Oh, I can tell."

"But what you just said, about not judging–"

"It's 'judge not lest ye be judged,' and I'm perfectly willing to hold myself to the same standards as you. I judge that you're not good for me, so let's just split dinner and call it a night, all right?"

He muttered to himself as he fumbled in his pocket for his wallet. I put down a few bills, then stood up and said, "Have a good night."

"Wait," he said, turning redder, "You wait for me, this isn't done. This is never done…"

I left as quickly as I could. He rang my phone nearly off the hook over the next day, and I never picked up. He finally wrote me a message with one line. It read: "I'm better off without you." He then followed it up, about three hours later, with a longer message that enumerated the reasons why he wasn't at all better without me.

I was better off without him, so it didn't really matter.

...Said the Spider to the Fly

Email Sent in by Robbie:

It was a summer long ago. My boyfriend and I drove out to a secluded park and we made love. My first time. My only time.

Now it is five years later. Would love to have my ex back but he went behind my back with three other women and now he has kids with two of them!

Now I'm stuck meeting dumbass after dumbass on this stupid site!  Life has been so unfair so now I will be unfair back to it. Next guy who messages me back I will flirt with, go out on a date with, and then mash his heart into pulpy yogurt. I will post pics and video for all to see!

On to you. I read your profile and liked it. Tell me more about it!

Sasha

Playing Solitaire 'Til Dawn

Story Sent in by Celia:

My second date with Alan was supposed to be a day trip to a craft village in the countryside, but a major winter storm kept us at our college. Instead, he invited me to his dorm room for lunch, movies, or whatever else we could do indoors (keeping in mind that it was only our second date).

Apparently, however, Alan forgot that we weren't quite up to "a-day-in-means-a-day-messing-around" phase, and from the moment he closed his dorm room door, he started kissing down my neck.

I pulled away from him and asked, "So, what did you have planned for today?"

He pulled out a couple of horror DVDs and asked, "Which would you rather watch?"

I replied, "Neither, if that's okay. I'm not into horror."

He scanned the backs of both DVDs, then put one of them into his DVD player, completely ignoring what I had just said. He sat down on his sofa and beckoned me over.

After the first 10 minutes, I had had enough and I asked him if we could turn it off. He muted it and asked me, "Want to play a card game?"

I was up for that, and so he took out a deck and dealt out a series of cards to me, almost half the deck. I asked him, "What are we playing?"

His response was to smile. He scooped up his own cards and placed three of them face up on the coffee table. I asked him, "What do I do? I don't recognize this game."

He put two more cards down, face up. Then, he flipped one of the first face up cards face down. He then stared at me. I said, "I'm sorry. I really don't know this game. Teach me?"

He didn't say anything, but he pointed to my hand of cards and tapped the cards already on the coffee table. I asked, "I put some cards down? Okay."

As I picked out two cards and placed them face up on the table, he slapped my hand. "Hey!" I yelled, "What was that for?"

He said, "Take all of those cards, the ones on the table. You did it wrong."

"Did what wrong?"

"Take them and I'll tell you."

I reached to grab the cards, and he again slapped my hand, this time so hard that it throbbed. I threw down my cards and said, "That's it! I'm leaving."

I stood and threw on my coat. He tossed his cards onto the floor and said, "But we're not done. I have to slap you again for throwing your cards down." He came at me with an open palm.

I backed toward his door and yelled, "You touch me, I'll slap you so hard, it'll make your head spin!"

"That's not how we play!" he said.

"That's how I play," I replied, then reached for the door, stomped out, and slammed it shut.

Months later, I bumped into him during a study group in the library. In front of everyone I was with, he asked, "I don't really get what happened between us. I was just playing a card game and you turned into the biggest sore loser I've ever seen."

I said, "Maybe if you didn't try to hit me every time I put a card down, I wouldn't have been so sore."

That shut him up.