Today on MSNBC.com, there is a great slideshow of 22 of the Worst Dates Ever that women have submitted from around the country. Here are a couple of my personal faves:
2. The Baby Talker
I once went on a date with a guy I met online. He looked normal enough and I agreed to go on a date with him. We met for drinks and things were really going well. He was handsome, charming, seemingly normal so I agreed to go on another date with him.
We head to a really nice steakhouse and after appetizers and his third martini, he starts to speak baby talk to me, as in “Would you wike a wittle kissy-wissy?” Our steaks arrive and he reached across the table to cut my meat for me!
I’m completely freaked out, decide I’m going to the bathroom, and he asks if I “need help wiping”. (I wish I was making this up.) I make it to the ladies room where my waitress walks in after me as I’m planning my escape route and she says, “Um, I was just listening in on your date. Your guy has put a pacifier on your plate. Do you need to get out the back?” She winds up sneaking me through the kitchen and I slipped her a $20 tip.
— Kristin, NY
3. Crisis of Confidence
Though we had really hit it off on the phone, when we met in person, my blind date looked nothing like he said he did and spent our entire date talking about how unattractive he is and how women constantly reject him, asking me if I thought he was ugly. I cut the date short, declined a second date, and thought I was in the clear when I didn’t hear from him for a couple of days. Then, I got an e-mail from him: not a single word, just a photo of his genitals.
— Diana, NJ
12. Jekyll and Hyde
My friend Carrie met a guy named Robert on an online dating site, and the two went out on what started out as a normal, delightful date. Robert stretched the truth slightly, telling Carrie he lived on the Upper East Side. Turns out he lived in Harlem (at least another 1/2 hour from her place in New Jersey), so there was no way she was going to do the late night trip back to Hoboken. When they got to Robert’s apartment, they were having some wine and discussing regular topics while sitting on the couch, when suddenly Robert flipped out about his career. He got up, paced about the room, and muttered to himself about his career failures.
Carrie, creeped out by his sudden shift in behavior, decided to turn in for the night, went to bed, and pretended to sleep. Once Robert thought Carrie was asleep, he downed a handle of Jack Daniels, while his ranting grew more and more disturbing. Carrie tried to calm him down and urged him to come to bed and go to sleep, which he finally agreed to do. But he got up again and went back to his Jack Daniels, downing shots of it this time.
After things had finally quieted down, she noticed a strange sound coming from the corner of the bedroom. She got up and saw Robert in the corner of the room where all of her stuff was sitting on the floor, peeing on it. Finally, Carrie made her way home to Hoboken at 2 a.m., clutching her urine-stained belongings.
— Rich, NY
These dates are so bad that they make my “worst date ever” look like a cakewalk, but this is my blog, so I’m going to tell you my story anyway.
I met this guy, let’s call him “Steve,” at a happy hour back when I was working on Capitol Hill. He was relatively good-looking and smart, and I was single, so we chatted each other up. He told me he was from Los Angeles, so, just trying to make conversation, I told him I’d like to see what it was like to live in L.A. at some point in my life. I started to realize something was a little off about him when he gently cupped my chin and said, “You’re too pretty for L.A. L.A. would chew you up and spit you out.” What? What does that even mean?
Anyway, despite all of my internal signals telling me that this guy was not super cool, I accepted his invitation to dinner that week. He drove out to Arlington and parked outside my apartment building. I met him downstairs, and for some reason I don’t remember, he suggested that I drive to dinner.
We get in the car, I pop in a Taj Mahal CD, and he immediately says, “Oh, Taj Mahal! My band used to play that song.”
“Oh yea?” I replied, thinking that it was cool that he was in a band. Then he reached into my back seat, grabbed my tennis racket, and began strumming it like a guitar and singing along with the song. Problem is, he was dead serious– like, DEAD SERIOUS about singing that song, like he was on American Idol and the tone of his voice meant the difference between a lifetime of success and a lifetime of crack addiction and homelessness.
I smiled, thinking he was probably kidding and would surely stop at some point, but he sang loudly and played guitar on my tennis racket all the way to the restaurant.
Maybe he’s just quirky, I thought to myself. I shouldn’t write him off for this.
So we get to the restaurant, and he starts talking about himself. He tells me that his family has like four vacation houses all over the world, and then tells me in detail about the architecture and design and location of each one. He talks about his band some more, he tells me his undergraduate GPA and details his resumé, he tells me about all the girls at his job that “want” him, and on and on and on. So far, I haven’t gotten one word in. At one point, he gets a big piece of spinach wrapped around his tooth, and I briefly try to tell him, but then realize what a futile operation that would be because he is really, really disinterested in anything I have to say, even as it would pertain to him.
Here’s the worst part: we drive back to my apartment, and to both of our horror, his car has been towed. He had parked in an illegal spot, directly in front of a sign that said “You Will Be Towed,” and then insisted on leaving his car there for God knows what reason.
So I drive him to the tow place. We walk in, and the guy tells Steve it will be $100 to get his car back. Then Steve turns to me and says, “You know, I really wish you had told me I couldn’t park down there.”
“You parked directly in front of a ‘You Will Be Towed’ sign, Steve,” I said. “I’m not sure how I could have spelled it out for you further.”
“Well, regardless, I got towed from your apartment building, so I think it would be nice if you offered to pay for this,” he said.
I was fuming at this point. I think my face was actually about to explode. But I just wanted to get rid of this guy and never hear from him again, so I stomped over to the ATM, took out a hundred dollars, and basically threw it at him.
Then, get this. He says: “I hope this doesn’t ruin things between us, babe.”
Oh, man. What a comedian.
Worst. Date. Ever.
OK, your turn– ever been on a really terrible date? I would so enjoy hearing about it.