Some of the Worst Dates Ever!

A psychic once told me that my love line was incredibly long. When I asked her exactly what that meant, she quickly glanced into her crystal ball (okay, we all know it’s probably Plexiglas), flipped over a tarot card, and then asked me for $20 – cash only.

I may as well have gone to see some voodoo priestess and grabbed a stuffed doll and some gris-gris. You see, my love line is long… too long. In my short lifespan of 26 years, I’ve been on some of the worst dates in the history of dating.

Maybe I’m cursed; maybe the psychic put a dumb-blonde-from-town hex on me because I laughed at her as she supposedly channeled some English knight. Whatever. I’m over it.

If there’s life out there in other parts of the universe, I would be named the universal queen of bad dating. Whether it’s that time Mr. Faux Gretzky blacked my eye with a hockey puck, the time a guy tackled me in the street to “save me” from a swooping bird (a blue jay!), or the date where a bay-fishing trip came one Olympic escape dive short of on-yacht molestation, I’ve had more bad dates than Pauly Shore has had bad movies.

It very well could be that I just meet the wrong guy, but I think it’s more of the fact that I’m the kinda girl willing to try anything once. So fat, tall, huge, small – I’m your girl.

The definition of insanity is to do the same thing over and over while expecting different results, but I’m far from insane. You can’t call it the same thing if it’s a different guy every time. I’m just unlucky. My therapist thinks so, too, and she makes sure to book me three times a week to talk about it.

So, I’m talking about it! Here are a few of the horrific dates I’ve been on recently. Share in my pain and tell me exactly where I’m going wrong. Please. I can’t stand much more of this.

Oh, Aged One

A good friend of mine told me about this date that I just absolutely “had to go on,” despite my better judgment. I’ve met guys through online dating, at the beach, at the market, in clubs, etc, and my absolute worst experiences have come by way of friend-to-friend hookup.

Nevertheless, I put aside my noticeable biases and agreed to meet the guy after my friend railed on for hours about him being a doctor and handsome and rich and caring and rich…

It wasn’t exactly a blind date. We actually spoke on the phone and he even texted me his Facebook link with twenty “<3” symbols asking me to add him. Yeah, it wasn’t a blind date, to be sure, but I sure wish I was blind when he knocked on the door to pick me up.

His soft, pitiful knock barely made my dog bark, but my sense of smell, keen on picking up played-out scents like Hai Karate, caught the sucka right away.

I opened the door and my first thought was, “Wow. Bill sent his grandfather over to pick me up. How…sweet?”  Well, I guess I was hoping this was the case. Deep down, I knew that Susan had set me up with a geriatric.

Not that I have any old people bias. I don’t want to wind up on an episode of Penn & Teller: Bullshit! But we had nothing in common. He called me madam, instantly put his overcoat around my back in the 90-degree stairwell, and proceeded to walk in front of me, watching me over his shoulder like an overprotective bodyguard.

He was 70 if he was 12, and it took him literally two hours to drive three miles to a restaurant.

We had absolutely nothing in common other than the fact we’re both human and maybe we were both breathing. I can’t be too sure about him. He turned blue a few times. Is that normal? Anyway, I ended the date early with mock lady cramps and insisted I take a cab home.

Forgetting he was a doctor, he viewed my excuse as an opportunity to make a move. I was seriously grossed out and scoffed at him before running out onto the sidewalk.

I would say the old cliché about finding one another again if it was meant to be, but he’ll be dead by the time I’m 40 – that’s not any type of relationship you want to have; well, unless you’re Anna Nicole Smith.

The Cartoon Network

Before I met Peter, I can honestly say that I had absolutely no clue what a Bullwinkle was. I know Snoopy; Yogi Bear is okay – but Bullwinkle? And when it comes to Deputy Dog, just shoot me already. Who is into this stuff post potty training?

Peter was. He didn’t say so when we met via the Internet. For a guy using an online dating site, he was quite handsome, had a great job as an ad writer, was only 32 (about a third of the age of my last date), and he didn’t seem to have any baggage.

After he picked me up and we went to see a movie, however, I found out quickly that he has worse than baggage – he has the most annoying habit in history. He will say a sentence normally, as 99% of all humans and even about 80% of parrots do, and then he’ll squint his eyes, pucker his lips, and talk in a weird, high-pitched squeaky voice. Help!

The guy talks in cartoon character impression. You seriously cannot make this stuff up! And the worst part: they’re cartoon characters I’ve never even heard of. Can’t he do Master Shake or Meatwad? Even Cartman or Fat Albert would be understandable. But Foghorn Leghorn and a sexually-confused moose? You gotta be kidding me.

After every other line in the movie, he would sniffle quickly like a coke head, put his face about a centimeter away from mine, and repeat the movie’s dialog in cartoonese! The absolute worst part about the date: he did his Daffy Duck while trying to give me a goodnight kiss, blowing a million tiny spittle bombs all over my face.

If he had been a man, I woulda smacked him. Maybe Dilbert will get the clue next time that ubernerds are better seen and not heard. Peter, Peter and cartoon repeater – no thank you.

Ye of Little Faith

My most recent date, a seriously handsome guy named Darren, was just about everything I’ve ever hoped for on the surface. There are cute guys, there are handsome guys, and then there are gorgeous guys. Darren was the latter – great hair, baby blue eyes, three-day stubble, chiseled looks, and an athletic body suited for bedtime activities.

I actually met him at a fruit stand of all places. He was sniffing bananas from what I could tell, and I couldn’t help but laugh as I pictured him squeezing my fruit. I did just about everything a girl could do to draw his attention. I smiled, brushed up against him, initiated conversation, twirled my hair – everything but disrobe and jump his bones in front of the Arabian immigrant overcharging for imported produce.

Despite my efforts, he was too clueless to jump aboard the Wendy train (yeah, it’s what I nicknamed my caboose. So what?).

He did accept a dinner invitation after I asked him out, saving me the trouble of going back to the online dating site and chasing a chubby around, so I was fairly excited at the time.

He stopped in to pick me up, which is customary on a date with me, and I immediately pulled him inside and made a great sales pitch. With my eyelashes fluttering and my voice low and sultry, I said, “Why don’t we just stay in, order a pizza, have a little bit of wine, cuddle up and watch a movie, and then… who knows?”

After reluctantly saying yes and making me recheck my breast lifts, Darren sat down on the sofa and immediately began twiddling his thumbs.

I sat down beside him, basically draping my entire body over his, and I could smell the fear on this guy. Even when I tried to initiate conversation and ask him about his life, every answer he gave was more like an attempt to seek approval than casual convo.

This guy had zero confidence and practically begged to leave my apartment after a slice of pizza and three attempts to bend over in front of him. He had to work in the morning. His grandma was in the hospital. He was a Christian. On and on it went until I finally didn’t care anymore. I had new batteries for the rabbit anyway.

When a guy has a self-image that small, you have to wonder what else he has that small. I was probably much better off.

All in all, I’ve probably had about 30 dates that went absolutely horrible, and probably about 3 that have gone well. The rest, well, they were so-so, but certainly not anything to write a novel about.

I’ve been injured, assaulted and insulted on dates, all in the same week, but I keep coming back for more. In fact, I have a date planned for this Friday. I’ll be sure to hope for the best, but I’m certainly prepared to tell all about how bad it goes.