Your Awful Story Olympics V

Posted on May 27, 2011 by B

As we embark on Memorial Day weekend, what better time to look back and remember the horrible dates of our past? Well, your past, actually. The horrible dates of my past are far too numerous to confine to one weekend.

Here, then, are the most painful emails I received this month. Everyone’s favorite…Awful Story Olympics!!!

The Bronze

Ok, so maybe this isn’t funny, but my friends laughed like hell about it, so I figured I’d write it in.

I went out with a guy who was legally blind. I knew that in advance, but he said it wasn’t a big deal. It just meant he wasn’t allowed to drive and stuff, but he said with glasses he could see fine.

Well, let me tell you right now, legally blind IS a big deal. It means you’re so blind it’s illegal for you to see, or something like that. (Ed. Note: Zing!) He showed up and literally the first thing he did was trip over the step that led into the restaurant, like a cartoon character. Then on the way to the table, he tripped again. I think he only had one eye that worked at all, because he kept turning this head to the side so he could see me through his right eye directly. And he held the menu up to it real close and off to the side. The worst thing was the hostess seated us in a section that was elevated and off to the side, so every time he had to leave the table he had to walk down a step. Then up a step to come back. Every single time he did it, he tripped. By the end, I could tell he wanted to go to the bathroom, but was too scared of the journey, so just sat there quietly.

He was really sweet though, and I went out with him again. It’s not nice to make fun of people with disabilities! -Sarah McMullen; Weston, CT

Wait a second, I didn’t make fun of disabilities, you did! I mean, you did it in the cute girlish way where it comes off as fun and good-hearted, but you included a picture of Mad Eye Moody from the Harry Potter movies. Clearly, that’s making fun. Wait, what’s that? I included the picture? Emailers obviously have no ability to post or not post pictures on my site? Hmmm.  You seem to have a point.

I hope you enjoyed your date with a Peter Sellars character. You made fun of him a little bit.

The Silver

I went out with a guy who lived in Hoboken a few times. I live in Manhattan, so it was a little off the beaten path for me, but I liked him and am always down to explore. 

One night we were out at a bar and start making out in a booth. Things got pretty hot and heavy, so he asked me if I wanted to go back to his place. I told him Hoboken was pretty far, but he said he’d get us a car, his treat. I said OK, and we hailed a town car. 

Hoboken

Twenty minutes later we pull over at a gas station in New Jersey so he can use the bathroom. I get out to get a soda, then when I come back to the car, he’s gone. Totally ditched me. I looked everywhere, but he just left me in the middle of nowhere. I had to pay a $40 cab ride home. He called the next day to say he got really sick and hoped I’d forgive him. I just deleted the voicemail. 

Wow. That one’s not even funny. That’s just really sad. I’m sorry that happened. Uh…at least you can look on the bright side! Which in this case is that…you’re still alive? I mean, you totally coulda ended up murdered, right? So…hooray for non-murder!

The Gold

Last week I was planning to meet this woman I had been chatting with on Nerve. She seemed really fun, and had cute pictures – though only of her face, and we both work in finance, so I thought we’d have plenty in common. 

Well, when I met her, I learned pretty quickly why all the pictures were just zoomed in close on her face; she was seriously overweight. I actually like big women, my first wife was heavy, but I really don’t like liars. I wanted to leave right then, but decided to stick it out. I thought we were meeting for a drink, but she said her dog needed a walk and would I be interested in just walking around the block a few times with her? Sounded faster than a drink, so I said sure.

Hidden camera footage

The walk was fine, kinda boring, and we didn’t really have a lot of chemistry. Her dog was one of those tiny longhairs who has hair that rubs along the ground, which is pretty gross when you’re walking on a dirty New York sidewalk, but whatever. And she totally adored the thing, which made even less interested. Anyway, after we walk for ten minutes or so, her dog stopped to poop. As it was going, I noticed this woman didn’t have a bag to pick it up, so I assumed she was just gonna leave it on the street, sealing the deal as someone I wanted nothing to do with. But then, she looked down and said, “shit, I forget to bring a bag.” Without thinking twice, she just scooped up the poop in her hand and tossed it in a nearby trash barrel. She picked up the poop in her hand!!!! Then afterwards she said, “I just hate leaving the street dirty.” I was like, yeah, I hate leaving the street dirty too, but now you’ve got dog crap all over your hands. And we’re supposed to be on a date!!!

I made up some excuse and got out of there fast. Before she could shake my hand goodbye!!! -Fred S., NYC, NY

First of all, if you’re ever thinking about a date, “well, if all else fails, we can talk about our mutual love of finance!”, then you’re probably in a bit of trouble to begin with.

I gotta say, as a cat owner, I get a fair amount of grief from the ladies about my pet situation. Apparently, male cat lovers are viewed universally as either weirdos, or, well, homosexuals. No idea where that comes from.

My most recent Christmas card

However, no cat owner would either 1) say “wanna just walk around with my cat for a while on our first date?” or 2) pick up their CAT’S CRAP IN THEIR HANDS UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. And hearing that a dog owner did either doesn’t shock me in the slightest. You people should be ashamed of yourselves.

If you’d like to be included in next month’s Awful Story Olympics, email me!

Posted in Your Awful Stories | 5 Comments

Internet Dating Etiquette: Who Should I Respond To?

Posted on May 25, 2011 by B

The other night, a friend presented a common Internet dating dilemma. He had gotten an email from a girl he liked OK, but wasn’t crazy about. She lived far away, had a mediocre profile, wasn’t particularly witty, but had written him a very nice email. He wanted to give her a chance, and see if maybe things might improve after a few emails. I already had my response ready. Frankly,  I had it about three sentences ago, but then he told me about “the problem.” The problem was, you see, she had two pictures that looked like this:

Except that instead of this professional hockey-playing gentleman sipping from the Stanley Cup, it was a girl. This girl. Who clearly felt that the key to finding her dream man lay in displaying her fondness for drinking out of silver bowls with sweaty Russian men. How it came to be that she either 1) drank from the Stanley Cup without actually being a hockey player or 2) found her way onto a professional, championship winning hockey team was unclear. But what was clear was that my friend didn’t really see her as his kind of lady. “Nothing personal,” he pointed out, “no judgements. I’m sure she’s very nice, she’s just not for me.” So I told him I thought he had his answer. What did he do? He felt bad, and wrote her back anyway. Sucker.

Look, we all hate it when people don’t write us back. You took the time to look through all the horrendous profiles and found their lone redemptive gem. Though the potential majesty of your union was obvious, you played it slow, relaxed, totally chill. You created an email that was funny and charming without looking like you put any effort into making it funny or charming. You’re just that good. You send off your message and wait. Ideally, she’ll write back tonight. No, you know what, she’s a busy woman. You wouldn’t have such a strong connection to some checking-her-email-all-night-long layabout — she’ll see your note, swoon, and write back tomorrow. Worst case, the day after. No need to worry, just think about where you might take her on the first date. Is Paris too over the top….? But then tomorrow comes and goes with no response. You’re a little concerned, but then another day passes, and another, and another, and suddenly it’s been a week since you’ve emailed. You’re officially pissed off at someone you’ve never met. When a second week passes without response, you write off any possible “she’s on vacation” or “she’s in a coma” explanations, and make a deal with yourself. You will not treat others the way you have been treated. Every reasonable email you receive gets a response! You will give people a chance to show their excellence before rejection. You will be better, you will raise the bar, you will treat people with respect! Also, you will waste an unbelievably large amount of your time!

Even she will not become more appealing.

There is one simple rule regarding dating email etiquette: respond to the people you want to go out with. Don’t try to be nice, don’t try to be forgiving, try to find someone you actually want to date. We’ve all been in the situation where we’ve somehow gotten into a conversation with someone we don’t actually want to date, and then have no idea what to do. You wanted to see if they’d become more appealing, then they didn’t, and you were totally screwed. (Spoiler alert: they never become more appealing.) Then you had to extricate yourself from the conversation in some sticky, confusing way. Did you give them a better chance by responding in the first place? I guess. But you did so at the expense of the chance you had to talk with someone you actually liked. Nice work.

The fact is, you’re not doing anyone any favors by continuing a conversation your heart isn’t really in. Ultimately, you’re just getting their hopes up and wasting their time. If you know someone, if you’re in a relationship with them, if you’ve seen a look in their eyes that you can’t help but explore — go for it. But we’re talking about someone you’ve never met. Someone you owe nothing to and have put no time in on. You have the ability to make an essential in or out vote on their presence in your life, and if they haven’t been able to convince you in a handful of pictures, a lengthy profile, and a carefully constructed email that they deserve to be in, why give them another shot?

Ultimately, it all comes down to a question of time. There is only so much time in the day to spend looking for a date online, unless, like me, you’ve trained your cat to search profiles for you. You can either spend that time looking for someone you might like or talking to someone you have a pretty good feeling you don’t. It’s up to you, but don’t blame me when you’re toasting the Stanley Cup on your wedding day. You knew what you were getting into…

Posted in Advice | 6 Comments

Hook Chas Up: A Wife for $10,000?

Posted on May 17, 2011 by B

There is a man named Chas who is offering $10,000 to anyone who can find him a wife.

That may be the douchiest sentence ever written about a human being, but, really, it’s true. Not just that there’s actually a person named Chas, but that he’s willing to pay ten grand to whoever introduces him to his future bride. How do I know? Because he’s got his own website, which amounts to, I believe, the first ever instance of a dating site with only one actual member.

Here’s the deal: Chas is a forty-something bachelor living in San Francisco who “works too hard” to meet women in traditional venues (translation: he’s too snobby for prostitutes). Internet dating never worked for him (translation: he’s too lazy to write emails), but “ten years with a life coach” has left him certain that he wants to start a family (translation: yikes). So he created HookChasUp.com, where folks can learn more about him and recommend strangers to be his one and only true love. If he meets, likes, and ultimately marries the lady you suggest, you receive a check for $10,000. It is unclear what prize is waiting for her.

A few of you have written in to ask how I feel about this. Look, obviously, I’m willing to go to great lengths to find a girl. (And a book deal.) I’ve been cried on, laughed at on TV, even nearly duped into fatherhood, but never did I think about offering up cold, hard cash. Well, that’s not true. I definitely thought about it, but a lot of my money is tied up in cat food futures and Blockbuster Video stock right now, so $10,000 is a bit out of my reach. But the question I have is, would such a financial offer actually work? Can money actually buy Chas love?

Let’s break it down…

Here’s what we, and any potential female partner, can piece together about the C-man…

1) His name is Chas.

2) He looks like this:

3) He lists his interests as “travel, snowboarding, tequila, movies, and (cliffhanger…) a bunch of other stuff.”

4) In his own words:

“I like reading. I think Shel Silverstein was a genius.”

“When I was seven, my mom gave me her old stereo and a record player. I’m still speechless.”

“I’m an optimistic guy. I try to see the good in things. Despite a world full of angry drivers, suicide bombers, and people who litter, life is too short for negativity.”

“I enjoy tennis and skateboarding.”

****************************************************************************

Got all that? Oh wait, you know what, there was one picture that I forgot to include…

I mean, could Chas come off as more of an asswipe? Who lists tequila as an interest? The beauty of music from your mom’s old record player still leaves you speechless? Come on. And no, life is not too short for negativity, it’s too long for positivity, so why don’t you grow a pair and ask a girl out on a date, eh Charles? Yeah, that’s right, Charles. Obviously your name is Charles!!!

Phew. Alright. Got that out of my system.

The fact is, it’s hard not to look like sort of a dick in a dating profile. Especially when that profile takes the shape of an entire stand-alone website, thereby lacking the context of other people’s profiles to make it look comparatively less dickish. It’s a tough road to hoe. Then, add a $10,000 bounty for true love because you’re just too busy to look for it yourself? Chas could be a perfectly good guy, but I’m starting to think that there’s no way that money can buy him – or anyone else, for that matter – love.

But maybe I’m wrong. It seems to me that female readers would look at his site, hear the financial offer and, well, want to stick their fingers down their throats. That’s what it does to me, but I’m a dude. Maybe it’s one of those things that ladies find endearing and men think is lame and annoying. There are a lot of those things. Like, Grey’s Anatomy, for instance. Maybe HookChasUp.com is one big Grey’s Anatomy experience, and the utter charm of it is lost on me. I think that the very fact that he’s paying to find love nullifies the valor of his cause, but maybe it’s a romantic gesture that I’m too stone-hearted to understand. What do you think, ladies? Anybody want me to recommend them?

But seriously…tequila as an interest?

Posted in Internet Dating is Weird | 6 Comments

The Girl Who Couldn’t Kiss

Posted on May 12, 2011 by B

Is this the face of flawless sexual performance?

Woody Allen once said there’s no such thing as bad sex, which would mean a lot more if it was coming from someone who hadn’t slept with unduly beautiful and talented women his entire life. I mean, if someone let me have sex with Mia Farrow for twelve years, I’d speak pretty highly of the experience too. Now, tell me that all the ladies Woody slept with agree with his evaluation, and you’ve got a news story on your hands. You go a couple of rounds with a 75 year-old neurotic director/clarinetist and still say sex is all sunshine and rainbows, then I’m bound to agree. The point is, you never really know what your sexual partner is thinking. Just because you’re having a great time, that doesn’t mean the person next to you isn’t thinking, “well now I see why Annie Hall moved to LA.” No matter how good you think you are, the reality may be that you’re a complete fucking mess. In love, in sex, hell, even in kissing. In fact, in my experience, especially in kissing.

Recently I had a chance to go out with a professed Master of the Kissing Arts. To hear her tell it, she was to kissing what I am to marginally-read blogs about embarrassing things I’ve done on dates. She was so proud of her ability, so confident, that I started to feel a little like a romantic Daniel-son to her Miyagi.

Miyagi: I’ve never really Internet dated before.

Me: Oh, really? Why did you decide to start?

Miyagi: I just missed guys.

Me: Sure, who hasn’t been there?

Miyagi: I missed making out. That look on someone’s face when you kiss them, and you can tell they’re totally turned on.

Well la di da. It was all she ever talked about, her kissing acumen, but for two dates, Miyagi refused to offer any more than a peck on the cheek. It was like she kept saying “wax on, wax off”, and I was yelling, “enough with cleaning your god-damned cars! Can we get to the karate here, Pat Morita?!” Word to the wise, don’t ever call your date Pat Morita. They won’t be charmed.

Then, finally, on date number three, it looked like I was getting to the crane kick. There was a look in her eye, a spring in her step, and, more than that, she was drunk. Riiight in my wheelhouse. I wouldn’t say I was dying with desire for the woman, but I was fascinated to experience a black belt-level kiss. She let me walk her home, invited me up to her apartment, and then it happened…the worst kiss of my entire life.

I know she was tipsy, and it can always be a little tenuous the first time you kiss someone, feeling out each other’s approach, but to call this kiss a train wreck is unfair to trains. The trains would have to be going incredibly fast, and be filled with, like, bombs or something to make a wreck this bad. Usually one would go with either a closed mouth, or a slightly open one on an initial kiss, to allow for exits and entrances. But Miyagi, well, she had her own approach. Her jaw was open wide, like she was visiting the dentist or making room for a bowling ball behind her teeth. Normally I would’ve just gone about my normal technique, but she was so insistent about keeping her mouth entirely open, I felt like there some special space-using technique that was expected of me. Like I was supposed to climb in there and do pinwheels or something. It was like someone handed me a three bedroom apartment with two baths and a gourmet kitchen and said “use every inch of this place or you’re gonna be in trooooouble.” And oh boy, was there ever trouble.

This wasn’t her only twist, however. Even with her mouth agape, Miyagi led with her teeth, somehow managing to assert them at every moment. It was like a trap. Every time I’d swoop in to try to deal with this gigantic mouth situation, her teeth were there to scrape and nip me into retreat. I understand why she was so proud of her kissing technique, to this day I can’t figure out how she did it. Who keeps their mouth open and teeth clenched simultaneously? There’s only one creature I know of that’s capable of that sort of dexterity, and I’m pretty sure Sigourney Weaver killed it in Alien 4.

I played it passive, and she came at me with an open mouth. I got more assertive, and her teeth were all over me. I zigged and she zagged. It was like kissing a giant cave whose opening was protected by angry white bats. Make a move for the dark shelter within, and they attack, clamping down upon you. I mean, there are dictators in the Middle East who are less aggressive than this girl’s chompers. Eventually I gave up and tried to stop kissing, but Miyagi would have none of it. She came up calmly for air, took off her glasses, and went right back to work.

The experience was so strange, so baffling, so far from what I expected, that I couldn’t help but laugh. On the inside. On the outside of course, I played it cool. Stoic, like Miyagi would’ve wanted. The fact is, I love kissing. I’ll take a good kiss over almost anything, truly I will. If the right person is doing it the right way, I’ll happily kiss for hours. Miyagi, it turned out, fit neither requirement. Pretty soon, wax on wax off was gone and a whole new scene was in my head.

The student has become the master. Black belt revoked.

Posted in Horror Stories | 7 Comments

Internet Dating: Safety First!!!

Posted on May 3, 2011 by B

As we all know, Internet dating can be a risky endeavor, and not just romantically. I mean, it’s one of the few romantic pursuits where ending up stabbed is a realistic possibility, so it’s wise to take care. To this end, Match has put together a list of helpful and informative safety tips, and I think it’s about time we went through them together. Of course, security isn’t a concern for me – I’m a pretty big guy, and have taken several classes in HoKung Ru, the Chinese art of running away at the first sign of danger. But I worry about you, my reader. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you guys because, well, there really aren’t enough of you to spare. So, with my daily page view numbers in mind, let’s get to the safety tips. First off…Fraud.

Oh, well it makes so much sense when you say it like that! I’ve just been walking up to people and handing out my bank statements, willy nilly. Am I not supposed to do that? I just feel like it’s hard to really know a woman until she’s seen my 401K, you know? And no, that’s not a euphemism. If it were, I’d be 5.5K, at best. At BEST.

“Sorry Mom, it sounds like you’re in a real bind down at Jose’s Last Chance Auto Repair, but I just can’t wire you any cash. Match.com strictly forbids it. I mean, how do I know you’re not just claiming to be in an emergency? What? Yeah, Match.com, the dating site. They handle all my financial security nowadays.”

You know that guy you just met online who you won’t tell your last name or your home state or where you went to college or the number of apartments in your building or whether or not you have a roommate? Well don’t tell him your Social Security number either. Got it?

Alright, now we’re getting to the nitty gritty. Although, I will say that if I ended every Match email exchange every time I felt unsafe or threatened, I would’ve made it to like three dates total.

Who’s checking their online dating account on a public computer? “Yeah, I’m just gonna swing by the Mac store and see if I can’t pick out a few honeys to email on Match. Right where everyone can see me, just to cement my wacko loser status.” Internet dating sites are one step away from pornography on the shame spectrum. No one’s doing that shit at the public library. Come on…

All this time I’ve had government resources available to me? Is that how they caught Bin Laden?

Also, no need to worry, Match. If I was in such a hurry to meet people offline I wouldn’t be shelling out $30 for your site, now would I do? Meeting people offline is when they become real, which is obviously terrifying. Thanks anyway, though…

And suddenly all my unreturned messages are explained…

So let me get this straight. You want to ban from Match everyone who is married, offensive, inappropriate, lying, or sending out spam? You realize that’s EVERYONE on Match, right? You kick out all the liars, cheats, and scum bags and you’re gonna be left with two old ladies from Florida and a fake profile someone put up for their dog. And I’m not gonna lie, I’ll take a shot at the old ladies, but I’m not gonna like it. And I’m absolutely not emailing a dog. Again. I’m absolutely not emailing a dog again.

…Remote location?

“So, where would you like to go on our first date?”

“The woods. Deep, deep in the woods.”

If you don’t own a mobile phone, cancel your date and immediately go to buy a mobile phone. Because people without mobile phones are weirdos.

Ha HA. Right. Stay sober on an Internet date! Good one, Match.

“Excuse me, I need to use the restroom for a moment. I’m just gonna bring my coat, and my hat, and my umbrella, and my cell phone, and my bag. Oh, and my drink. And the napkin with my drink, and the swizzle stick too. Back in a jiffy!”

And suddenly, all my unexplained restraining orders are explained.

Wait a second, what?! WHAT??!! Long Distance Meetings? People are going on LONG DISTANCE MEETINGS? Are you insane? I hereby take back every snarky, obnoxious thing I have said about Match’s safety tips. I had no idea how necessary they are.

Though I think we could simplify this whole section with the following safety suggestion:

LONG DISTANCE MEETINGS

Don’t go on them, you fucking lunatic.

End of story.

Safe dating, everyone!

Posted in Uncategorized | 11 Comments

The Girl Who Tried To Steal My Baby

Posted on April 28, 2011 by B

Another satisfied customer

It’s always a fascinating experience, having sex with someone new. There may be things you’ve done with others that they don’t like at all. Or approaches you’ve never even considered that they can’t live without. Then of course there’s all those things that make them laugh out loud and ask if you’ve done this before. That happens to you guys too, right? But probably the most important lesson I’ve ever learned during sex is that the person I’m sleeping with is totally fucking insane.

Of course, me being me, this has happened a fair amount of times. You’ve heard of people putting notches in their bedpost? Well I put mine on the side of a bottle of antidepressants. That’s how nuts they are. Usually you have an inkling before you hit the bedroom that you’re with someone who’s a little crackers, but you let that pass because they have boobs and there is the outside chance that they will let you see them. This however was not the case with young Maggie Sanger. Maggie was a very cool girl, and had that rarest of very cool girl traits: she was a huge football fan. Shoulda known it was too good to be true.

The sex life with Maggie was surprisingly good, considering the large role I played in it. We slept with each after only a few dates – something I have since learned is a great way to never sleep with someone again, but in this case it worked out. Pretty soon we fell into a nice routine, hanging out a few times a week, sleeping together, not pointing out the obvious flaws in my approach…it was like a dream come true. Honestly, it was the most productive sexual relationship I’d had to that point that didn’t involve the letters h-t-t-p. Until she uttered that one dangerous little phrase:

Maggie: Maybe…um, do you not wanna use a condom this time?

My usual reaction to such a suggestion can be summed up thusly…

As long as there’s established monogamy, clean bills of health, and a whole hell of a lot of birth control pills, yes, I can be interested in maybe not using a condom this time. There was, however, a slight hitch in that holy trinity: birth control. Maggie, you see didn’t take The Pill, because it made her feel bloated. Whenever she said that, I liked to remind her that nothing makes a person feel bloated faster than a baby growing in their stomach, but she didn’t listen. Or laugh. Or refrain from looking at me like I’m anything other than an asshole, which I suppose was fair. But no pills meant plenty of condoms, 24-7. Even when we were just kissing. Can’t be too careful.

Maggie though, had decided to take a new approach. We had been talking about her getting birth control for a little while, and unbeknownst to me, she acquired The Pill a couple of weeks previous. She felt ready to go unprotected, and now with the trinity complete, so did I. Cue the Kool and The Gang…

We woke up the next morning happy as two clams who liked having clam sex with each other. I looked over at Maggie and smiled and gave her a big hug. A nice, trusting relationship with a great girl. Thanks, Internet. “Good morning,” I said. “You know I haven’t actually started taking the pill yet,” she replied. What? WHAT?! My reaction to this development?

Maggie insisted that this was all a perfectly innocent misunderstanding. All she said last night was that she had gotten the birth control pills, she never said anything about actually taking them. I pointed out, in my most controlled and understanding yelling voice, that if you say you’ve got birth control pills right before you suggest unprotected sex, I’m not gonna think you’ve only got them IN YOUR POCKET. Luckily, thankfully, sweet God in heavenly, we were too tired the night before to get into any particularly dangerous activity. (What can I say, I get sleepy early.) But when I asked what was her plan if we had, that was when she dropped the biggest doozy of all. “I don’t know, I mean, I don’t believe in abortion.”

I am going to beat the living shit out of Kool and his Gang.

This is what I get for dating a girl who liked football. Maggie loved football, you see, because she was from Texas. Everybody in Texas loves football. They also happen to love Catholicism, and might not be as into a panicked “what the fuck do you mean you didn’t actually TAKE the birth control pills” abortion as us yanks from up north.

Do not mess -- or have sex -- with Texas

When I suggested, again, in a totally level-headed yell, that young Margaret Sanger might have mentioned her views on pregnancy retention before she tried to lure me into unprotected sex, she looked at me again like an asshole. Which at that point was perfectly fine with me, as long as I was just an asshole and not an asshole FATHER. When I added that I can’t sleep with someone I don’t trust, her expression did not change. We yelled at each other a bunch, she made it clear she didn’t care for my allegations, and I ran out of her apartment before she had a chance to get at any more of my reproductive organs.

I find it can be tough to come back from allegations of semen stealing and forced parenthood. I mean, Proflowers.com doesn’t really have a bouquet picked out for that. And if they did, I certainly wouldn’t have been the one buying. We treaded water for another week or two, but it was clear that Maggie and I now kinda hated each other. Which is supposed to happen after you have the kid, not before.

Oh well, just another notch in the Lexapro bottle.

Posted in Horror Stories | 4 Comments

Your Awful Story Olympics IV

Posted on April 26, 2011 by B

You think it’s hard picking up a girl in English, try doing it in another language. I had the good fortune this weekend to find myself across from a fetching young girl from Belgium and a very normal New York guy, as they attempted to get to know each other. (Sad what passes as good fortune for me on the weekends). You could tell from the body language that she was physically digging him, but you could also tell from the confused expression on her face and the desperately eager one on his that he still had some work to do. He led with Belgium beer, which is a logical place to start.

He: “It’s so good!”

She: “Yes, it is very good to drink. I do miss it. Better than your Budweiser.”

A hearty laugh is shared.

This money little exchange bought him about 4 minutes of non-awkwardness. Then, high on his success, our young hero barreled through Belgian french fries and chocolate in 90 seconds flat, as if he had an unlimited amount of topics the rest of the night. Ah, the foolhardiness of youth. He found himself so out of sorts that he spent the next three or four minutes on a particularly misguided inquisition about the Swiss Army Knife, which she entertained politely even though it’s akin to asking him when he danced his first Argentine tango. After this, there was silence. A silence so enduring that it makes you feel better about every silence you’ve ever had. Dead people make more noise than these two. They sipped their drinks, waited, and then sipped again. Then, out of nowhere, he erupted with confidence and excitement. He had found the topic that would bridge the gap, bring their two nations, hearts, and genitals together. Proudly, heroically, he cried “So, land of the waffles, huh?” Love knows no borders.

Which brings us to the first entry in this month’s Awful Story Olympics…

The Bronze:

B, do you ever check out the gay dating sites? You really should, they’re hilarious. Some crazy shit going on there. -Davis L, Cincinnati, OH

Then Davis attached a profile from his travels, and for that, I am eternally grateful. First, there are two pictures of a person I can describe only as Rerun in a bra.

Like this, but with less clothes.

Then, there was the profile. Ahem…

i an looking for boifren sirios i an very sexy in romantic i an looking for sirios people i no looking for play games i an very honest i an like dancing i love black people is me speciality i an looking for me relation i an very cute sexy i love coking i an sometimes play balibol i like going in de park i love please no pley  

i an like dancind i love check muvis i love sometimes i like going teatro i an like porno muvis

OK, so obviously English is not this fellow’s first language, and there’s no shame in that. But I’m pretty sure Spanish has sentences. And commas. And the idea of thoughts making sense.

Favorite part of the profile, hands down? Under profession, he writes: social workes. Which means, if I’m interpreting correctly, someone, somewhere, is going to Bra Rerun for advice. Yippee!

The Silver

I started e-mailing with this guy and he seemed like a nice guy. I come to find out he breeds spiders and has over 300 of them…in his bedroom…and had 8 snakes and quite a few large lizards…While I love animals, I let him know that I probably wouldn’t be comfortable being in his place.  

When we finally hung out we watched a few movies at my house and hung-out. I’m not shallow, but I’m a pretty educated person, come from a well to do family, and would like the person I’m dating to be just as driven. This guy’s car was alright, and wanted to go back to school so I thought we may have a potential person here.

After hanging out, he texted  saying “I think I’m going to treat myself to the strip club this weekend”. WTF! I’ve been to strip clubs, I know what goes down there and I’ve known women who were in that industry. I’m sorry, but the majority of them are dirty. So I said this to him and he freaked out. Replying back “So my sister in law is dirty?” Well…in my eyes yes, she is. The fact that she is married and her husband is alright with this? To each his own, whatever. After saying I was sorry and that I didn’t mean to offend anyone in his family, it just based on my experiences, he said it was his “deal-breaker” because I’m judgmental… Are you kidding me?!  -Mary, Ann Arbor, MI

So…let me get this straight. You went out with guy who a guy who kept hundreds of lizards, spiders, and snakes in his bedroom, but you thought it would be OK because he had a decent car. Then for some reason he told you he was hitting the strip clubs, you told him strippers are dirty, and he told you to step off because actually his sister-in-law was a stripper?

God I love having this website.

The Gold

This one got the Gold based on the introductory sentence alone.

I agreed to meet up a guy with blurry pictures at a Barnes and Noble in a strip mall then head to a bar to watch a hockey game. (I mean, how great was that?!) At first glance several things were not OK, terribly wrong.

I can't be the only one who was thinking that...

A.  Not only did he have a mullet, but a rat tail as well.
B. He was wearing a dangle cross earring.
C. He has wearing a tuxedo jacket and open blouse. Yes, a blouse. 
D. He had on white leather boots and a brown snake-skin belt.
E. Creepy ass goatee.

I could have maybe been OK with one of these qualities, but not all at once. It took every bone in my body not to bolt but I am not a terrible person and I introduced myself.  He decided on this stupid sports bar, didn’t order food, and informed me he once lived for 2 months on candy as an adult and only ate processed meat. He also told me about how is cat saved his life he when he thought about killing himself and how he found Jesus on the roads of America.  He kept calling my hometown “Philthy”. What the fuck, you’re from Detroit. No food was ordered just 2 sodas which pissed off the waitresses. He never once asked about me or let me speak for more than 15 seconds at a time and showed me a picture of his cat. He also bashed dogs, vegetables, and told me he had to drain his lizard. While he was doing that I thought about darting out of this empty bar and fleeing but I stayed. I waited a period of time that would have been long for a 80 year with prostate problems to pee, so I assumed he left or was taking a shit. Either way, I told him I had to pick up my dog from my friend. On my way out of the bar, I asked these people for a light and told them about my terrible internet date, I pointed him out and laughed.  I had lasted roughly 45 minutes, but I took it as a learning experience.

1. Don’t meet up at lame strip malls in a college town.
2. Don’t go out with guys that have cats.
3. Don’t go out with people who have blurry pictures.
4. Pooping on the first date is not okay, ever.

–Julia P., Baltimore MD

I’ll add a #5. Or, rather, I’ll give you a new #2, because cats obviously rule and you’ve clearly made some sort of terrible typo. Also, about #4, what if you’ve specifically planned it to be a Pooping Date? I’m getting off track.

2. If something is requiring every bone in your body to accomplish, don’t do it.

I mean, they’re your bones, you might as well listen to them. If it turns out you’re on a date with Kenny Powers, just hit him with an Alan Alda and get the fuck out of there.

Except, wait. How was his car?

If you’d like to be included in next month’s Awful Story Olympics, email me!

Posted in Your Awful Stories | 4 Comments

Profile of an Asshole

Posted on April 20, 2011 by B

They give off more of a Nerve.com vibe...

I can’t even begin to guess how many Internet dating profiles I’ve read. Probably thousands. (It seems I can begin to guess.) I’ve seen all the techniques. Some try to grab the reader’s attention by being funny, firing off a joke a line, even if it doesn’t reveal much about who they really are. (Sometimes works.) Or they’ll play with the format, writing their profile as if it were a letter to cupid or God or some omniscient Match deity. (Never works ever.) Some go romantic, describing how they’ll know when they’ve truly found The One. (Works if you don’t mind being a total dweeb.) Others still opt for the tried and true, making their profile as boring and cliche-ridden as humanly possible. (Works 100% of the time.) But the other day I discovered something new. An approach so bold, so courageous, I knew the author was one to watch. What better way to stand out from the crowd than to not be nice, or clever, or playfully charming, but to be a complete fucking asshole? I mean, nobody forgets an asshole, right?

I was strolling through profiles this weekend, as I like to do in lieu of going outside, and I came upon this gem. I read it several times to make sure it wasn’t a joke I was missing. I gave it a day, came back, and found it unchanged. Normally, I try very hard to avoid specific references to specific people on here, as I’m really not trying to make anyone feel bad. But this profile was too egregious to not paste in its entirety. It’s brief, but direct, and is unbelievably effective at making you want to punch the author in the face. Feast your eyes on The Asshole’s Profile…

Hello. My “no” list.

NO:

1) waiters
2) men with children or divorced
3) fatties/uglies
4) men who say LOL, LMAO, LMFAO, ROTFL, or any other horrendously lame acronym
5) use of emoticons, other than to be sarcastic
6) Anybody over 35
7) Anybody who didn’t go to college.

Nice to meet you!

Honestly dude, I dont love your chances...

Where do I start? No waiters, emoticons, LOL acronyms…oh, right. Now I remember! Number 3. No fatties/uglies. NO FATTIES/UGLIES?! Seriously? Are you a real person, or something that was edited out of the script of “Mean Girls?” Who says no fatties/uglies?! It’s deranged. Sure, deep down you’re entirely permitted to not be interested in the overweight or people you don’t find attractive – but you can’t write out the words NO FATTIES/UGLIES! If Hitler was putting together a dating profile (on Eharmony, obvs) and wrote “no fatties/uglies”, his buddies would be like, “Whoa, Adolf. Chill out on the fatties uglies shit. I mean, we know you’re Hitler, but you don’t want to come off like a total prick.” And then Hitler would think about it, weigh both sides, and ultimately decide to cut the line because you can’t be an asshole all the time. This little darling however left it in.

What you’re wondering is, “what does this chick look like? I bet she’s not so perfect herself.” Well, unfortunately, she is fairly perfect. She’s very cute, in that “Daddy, one of the landscapers got some dirt on my Jaguar” kind of way. And I’d tell you her screen name, but this post is already personal attacky enough, so you’ll just have to take my word for it.

What I don’t understand is, why? Is there anyone who’s not turned off by reading “no fatties/uglies”, even if they are equally disdainful of the fats and ugs? I’ve found a lot of profiles that get aggressive, saying “If you’re over 40 or don’t have pictures, get out of my face!”, and it’s always off-putting. Though in life I never adhere to, “If you don’t have anything nice to say…”, on Match, I think I’m gonna. Internet daters are already on the ground, there’s no need to kick ’em when they’re down there too.

At least she said it was nice to meet me…

Posted in Internet Dating is Weird | 5 Comments

The Girl Who Drank Too Much

Posted on April 15, 2011 by B

If only I were gay…

Dating without drinking alcohol is a little like working out in your dress shoes. You can do it, but you’re gonna look like an asshole. As I’ve told you before, no first date should ever exceed two drinks, but I see nothing wrong with getting entirely Leaving Las Vegas on every date following. Dating is hard, and Internet dating is damn near impossible, so there’s no shame in relaxing yourself with a glass of wine or, say, a gin and tonic IV. Especially if you’re gonna be expected to have sex. I mean, have you seen people have sex? It’s gruesome. You can’t reasonably be asked to sleep with someone for the first time without getting a little buzzed beforehand, right? But there’s a fine line between drinking to become relaxed and drinking to become a total nightmare. This story is about the latter.

Over the years, I’ve had a fair amount of experience with the boozehounds. In college, my freshman-year roommate used to throw up on the floor next to his bed so often that after a month or two he stopped trying to clean the carpet and just cut out the dirty pieces and threw them in the trash. He also listened to Jamiroquoai incessantly. He and I were not close. Later, I had a friend who liked to get drunk and pee in my cat’s litter box. And let me tell you, you haven’t lived until you’ve tried to clean a human-sized amount of pee out of cat-sized pee container. Kinda like being a nurse in the ER, except without all the glamour and disposable gloves. Finally, I myself have been known to tie one on, on occasion. On my 21st birthday, I was introduced to a beverage called the Mind Eraser. Later than night, I threw up so aggressively that I broke the blood vessels around my eyes, making me look like Steve Buscemi for the rest of the week. I’m not sure if my mind was erased, but my dignity certainly was. Little did I realize though that there was a far more skilled drinker waiting in my future.

I can’t tell you what happens next until you buy my book. But it involves public drunkenness, overturned tables, and someone falling asleep in my lap. You’re curious…right?

To read the rest of this story, and a whole slew of other It’s Not a Match classics, buy my new book Not a Match: My True Tales of Online Dating Disasters. 

Available for your ereader on Amazon and iTunes. It’s cheap, and awesome! Please help support the site!

Posted in Horror Stories | 5 Comments

How to Get Out of a Bad Date

Posted on April 12, 2011 by B

"What? No, I'm having a great time. Why do you ask?"

We’ve all been there. Staring across the table at someone who’s insisting that they’re happy at H&R Block, but thinks that this X Factor audition on Saturday could be the start of something big. Sure, they’ve only sung in front of their friends and family, but they seemed to be genuinely amazed at how good it sounded, even though she was really just singing “Happy Birthday”, but if I’d like she’d be more than happy to sing me something there at the table. OK, maybe we haven’t all been exactly there, but somewhere just like it. Out on a date with a person that’s perfectly fine, just not…perfectly fine enough, and immediately the tally starts going in your head. “Money I’ve wasted on this date: $40…Time I’ve wasted with someone I never want to see again: 45 minutes…How long it’ll take me to get out of here: half hour, if there’s a fire. Otherwise, I’m fucked.” But why do we have to be fucked?

When a date is bad, both people know it. It’s not like one person is sitting there singing Firehouse’s “I’ve Finally Found The Love of a Lifetime” in their head while the other is trying to slit their wrists with a swizzle straw. Either there’s chemistry or there’s not, and it’s usually pretty evident. So why is it so hard to say, “you know what, I don’t think we’re a good match” twenty minutes into a crappy date and hit the road? I wouldn’t mind if someone said that to me. In most cases, I’d be thrilled. I’d give ’em a high-five and $5 for their troubles. But every time I’ve tried to say it myself, something happens. I believe you humans call it “feeling bad.” So sometimes you have to get creative…

The following is a list of ways to get out of bad dates:

"Uh, I gotta go. My apartment is being attacked by a giant moth."

1) Receive an emergency phone call from a friend.

2) Place an emergency phone call to a friend (so confusing that the date usually gives up).

3) Pretend to get food poisoning.

4) Sneak undercooked shellfish into date’s dinner or cocktail, giving her food poisoning.

5) Turn on all the faucets in the bathroom and insist there is a flash flood.

6) Ask your date if she knows “where all the white women at?”

7) Dress up like Godzilla and attack the bar.

8) Tell your date you’re a Republican.

9) Tell your date you’re a Libertarian.

10) Ask her if it’s cool if you write about this on your blog.

11) Say the following, “If you had to guess, what kind of shampoo do you think Justin Bieber uses?” Then, when she guesses, say, “Wrong. It’s Pert Plus.”

I’ve done each of these, and trust me, they all work. But there has to be a better way, doesn’t there? There’s gotta be, because I’m getting real tired of wearing a Godzilla costume under my date clothes.

What we need is some sort of signal. Something you can say or do at any point in the date that just calls the thing off. They’ll be no risk of hurting anyone’s feelings or making things awkward because you’re not saying anything that’s actually insulting. Every time I consider ending a date early, I’m terrified that in trying to say “You seem like a great person, and thanks for coming to meet me, but I’m just not feeling a spark”, I’ll blubber and stumble and end up blurting out “You smell. I’m outta here!” But a code word will fix all that. I just say a simple phrase and the woman understands all the nice things that I’m far too awkward to express in actual conversation. I can use it, she can use it, anyone can use it at any moment, and we’ll all understand that even though we’re both wonderful people, it’s time for this date to end. No hurt feelings, no uncomfortable silences, it’s like heaven! Or a version of heaven where bad dates exist. But what should the secret signal be…?

That’s right, Alan Alda. That’s the secret code word. Say “Alan Alda” and the date ends in harmony. It’s perfect, isn’t it?! He’s so comforting, and old, and wryly humorous. I mean, there’s just no way you can think of Alan Alda and get angry. He’s like a glass of warm milk…with a dignified gray head of hair and round creative-guy glasses. Try it out. Seriously. Look into the mirror and say “Alan Alda” as aggressively as you possibly can. What happened? You smiled, didn’t you? You have to smile! You can’t not feel good about the words “Alan Alda.” It’s not possible! Go to a funeral where everyone’s crying and carrying on and say “Alan Alda.” You know what will happen? Singing. People will be so overcome with joy and relief that they will sing to the heavens. All because of this fantastic little code word that you and I have set up today.

It could spread. Soon there will be wars ended by Alan Alda. Waves of pestilence and hunger, stopping dead in their tracks by a simple rerun of MASH. All budget debates will cease and everyone will agree to pay as much in taxes as they possibly can – and really do it. All from Alan Alda. But it starts with you. Spread his gospel. This will only work when everyone knows about it. So go forth on your awkward dates and explain Alan Alda and use him. May you never have to buy another pointless drink or waste a needless hour. Say Alan Alda, and be free!!!

Posted in Advice | 16 Comments