Not a Word

We all know that talking can get you into trouble on dates. Whether you drop a bomb about your baggage, manage to insult their mother, or just get flustered, it's easy to say the wrong thing. That's why we had to share a story from a reader about someone ruining things by keeping mum. Hope you enjoy this story as much as I did! Thanks for the contribution, sweetheart!


HAPPY DATING!!

So, recently I have decided to get out of my two year long dating funk by taking a "Yes Man" approach to dating.  I say yes to pretty much any guy who asks me out within reason (okay, so I'm not so good at the 'yes to everything rule.'). Still, I have been out on more dates this year than the last two combined and there have been some pretty awesome ones in the mix.  But who really wants to hear about the good dates? It is all about the awkward, the weird, the dramatic. So here is a weird one for all of you.

It is a second date scenario - second dates are my downfall, I swear. This one had promise though, the guy (we'll call him Dean) and I had a great first date and kept up with each other consistently with calls and texts. He lives a little ways from me, so the second date was about two weeks after the first.  I was set to have a great time. We were going to see "Prometheus" at midnight (I'm a sci-fi/comic book/fantasy geek so it is right up my alley), and I was under the impression that we were doing a double date with a friend of his. Nope. I meet up at the theater with him and I'm happy to see that he's waiting outside with tickets and my favorite drink, only to tell me that his friend is third wheeling. I was less than excited, but I like making friends and luckily got on well with the new guy immediately. 

Now, here's where it gets weird.

Dean turns out to be a total movie buff - something that would be awesome if he were not also the type who likes to 'immerse himself completely.' He was totally pretentious about the entire movie experience, already critiquing the previews of Prometheus before we got in.  Which, as someone who dedicates most of her study to analyzing the form and construct of comics, was interesting but the second we hit the theater door he completely clammed up. Honestly, he would not even try to hold a conversation with me and we had an hour until previews started. He told me that he had to get into the right mindset and that he could not talk. I nodded politely and munched on my popcorn, which earned a sympathetic look from the friend who, helpfully, tried to start up talk with us, only to get shushed.  The entire time I was thinking, "Seriously, dude? You are not the one flying into space to find your creator, you'll be fine if you hold a conversation with me."  The date ended and he did not even walk me to the car or give me a kiss goodnight.  The only good thing about the night was his friend who was actually polite and interesting. Go figure.

And the real kicker? A few days ago he asked me to Spiderman and I really can't bring myself to go even with my loosely followed 'yes' rule telling me I should.

Captain Obvious

I am happy to say that I am seeing a card-carrying member of the Human Race now. New One and I went to the Apple Store last night and bought a computer for him. That's not what this is about, though. This is about the unwelcome drunk texts I got from a previous fling-guy this past weekend.


(FRIDAY/SATURDAY 2:00 A.M.)

HIM: Are U in?

ME: Functionally asleep. Goodnight. Been lights-out for almost an hour now.

HIM: What floor are you on again?

ME: Shuddap.

HIM: But I am in the elevator.

ME: You have a home to go to don't be weird like this.

HIM: The only weird part is that you don't want to f#ck me.

Me: You're being really weird now and by weird I mean illegal.

HIM: Okay, if U say so.


(SATURDAY/SUNDAY 2:10 A.M.)

HIM: Hi. Sex? I like it :)


(MONDAY, 6:09 P.M.)

HIM: Sorry about Saturday. I was drunk which is never an excuse! Sorry!


This evening New One and I are going to dinner and a movie. My phone will be turned off at night from now on.

The Text Message Diaries

A good looking friend of mine recently joined Match.com. We'll call him "Guy." Guy already has plenty of dates, and his online dating hasn't stopped him from asking out the chick at the bar, all of my friends, pretty much any cute girl.

The other day we were chatting about Girl #735 and how it had ended poorly, yet again, over text. I asked to see the conversation and almost pissed my pants. Good stuff. The best part is he's too lazy to delete his texts. We're talking months of texts with dozens of women.

So I asked, would you be willing to let us publish the conversations, au total, on DatingIsWeird?

He's game. Sorta. I had to buy him beers and dinner so I could transcribe what follows is.

Guy:

I just felt Like we had a cheesy good bye and all.

And now I'm second guessing

my communication like u :)

Girl #1:

Well don't!

Guy:

Clicked "politely ignore" on ur wink.

And your messages and profile disappeared.

Girl #1:

Really? I saw a message that said

something along the lines of "thanks but no thanks",

funny!

I didn't feel like u invited yourself last night.

I ended up just hanging out at my

friends house. I closed my profile on match for a bit,

probably why its gone.

Guy:

Jeeze... I hope its not b/c of me. Didn't mean to try &

make it a date & I should have kept my

developing crush to myself. Hope u stay in touch.

I would like to hang out again

but I won't pester u. I promise!

Girl #1:

Ha ha. Second guesser. The crush talk was sweet!

I closed my profile for a bit because

I just felt like taking a break, has nothing

to do with you. I like you, stoke we are friends!

Going through some bullshit right now,

stressful day. If I don't respond or pick up

its not because of you.

Guy:

guilty as charged!

(A few days later....)

Girl #1:

Thanks? Ok. Match is weird because

it causes pressure when u go out. Like

you have to decide right then if u like

the person. Pressure!

Guy:

Thats all you. I mean we do get to choose

from dozens of possible dates so I imagine

lots of people end up liking something

about one another, thats fun

I don't feel it like pressure

Girl #1:

Yep, it is all me I guess. That's why I realized

that I'm not ready for dating. I've never really

done that before. Just met friends and

it turned into something. Dating isn't fun for me,

plus I have too much baggage. Well, good luck ;)

Guy:

Yea I know you were just looking for friends...

Sorry I wasn't fun for you. I think u r hot and cool

but I didn't mean to bring the pressure.

Hope we can hang out again sometime, friends.

Girl #1:

Crap!!! No! You were fun, ugh,

can I make this more of a mess?

I'm such a social retard. I like u.

YES friends and let's hang out again.

(Again, a few days later...)

Girl #1:

We should go grab a beer??

Guy:

Dang..I think I may have plans as of 1/2 hour ago.

Text u tomorrow and let's figure it out.

Girl #1:

Sounds good...I'm more fun :)

Guy:

I wouldnt know. Jus kidding.

Girl #1:

You son of a bitch!! J/k...

I might go out tonight.

Okay I'm not. Talk to u tomorrow :)

(The next day)

Guy:

Okay what about planning on a beer later :)

say 6 or 7. And just see what unfolds

Girl #1:

What about your other plans??

Guy:

Well im keeping it vague

and since u r just a friend,

I'm not going to feel bad

if we cut it short because someone else

wants to meet me afterward.

Hah, like u did the other day. Fair enough?

Girl #1:

Ha ha! Ok. You would not have had fun

if u came with me. It was lame. Me, my friend, and

her Weirdo husband at their house...

Guy:

That's perfect, u wouldn't have fun

w/ me later either b/c

my other plan might actually like me. Hehe

Girl #1:

Oh please! Of course they will,

but will they be as fun as me? NO

Guy:

We'll see, call me later?

Girl #1:

Stop being so mad at me.

Yes, let's plan for around 7?

(A few logistical texts later. I'm going to include times from here on out because they also say something...)

Girl #1:
5:28

You better not stand me up

because you're so mad at me ;)

It will hurt my heart. See u at 7

6:05

Ok, you're going right?

6:29

Tonight seems weird and you have plans after, so

let's plan for another time :)

Have fun tonight on your date!

Guy:

7:02

Are you effing kidding me? I just got the message that you want to bail?

I'm pissed I rushed home to take a shower so I could meet up with you

after you practically begged me.

I actually canceled my plans with a very sweet girl...

And now I've got nothing to do....

Damn it I'm so pissed. I was on a motorcycle ride with a friend

so I didn't get the texts until I got home and got out of the shower.

We rushed back from ___________ so I could meet you on time.

(Guy calls Girl #1 twice)

Girl #1:
7:02

I'm not answering cause I don't want to get yelled at.

I'm sorry I came across as begging you.

You made it sound like you had plans right after,

u didn't tell me u canceled. If u could relax a little

we could figure out what to do, Jesus!

Guy:

7:15

Whatever! You're acting totally crazy.

Miss Manners Neglected to Talk About...

You have a Good One: nice, considerate, sweet. Only thing is, you have the sex drive of a blue-assed baboon and they have the sex drive of... well, do they even have a sex drive? A few of my friends are having this problem, and it's not limited to guys or limited to girls. So I'm asking you: is there a loving way to tell someone that you care about that they need to put out or ship out? I mean, I'm a woman in her 30's... and it's true what they say about women in their 30's. I think sex is healthy and demand a healthy amount of it right now. Maybe we can get some guy advice: has ANYONE ever come up with a tactful way of having this conversation with someone?

My very own pet stalker

Today's offering is a guest post from "hackneygirl". Happy Dating!

My first ever internet date. Yay! But me being me I should have known it couldn’t go well. And in fact I think I have managed to bag myself my very own personal stalker. WAY TO GO!

I ought to have clocked it earlier but I’m new to this game and his profile was very funny – dry and sarcastic – and his pics were pretty cute. His emails were short and to the point and he seemed keen to meet up rather than spending lots of time exchanging inane emails. My impression: alpha male, possibly quite arrogant but could be a lot of fun. So, to a backing track of alarm bells faintly tinkling, I agreed to meet him for a drink the following evening. And that’s when the trouble started.

8am. My phone buzzes. It’s a text seemingly checking I gave him a real number. Concerning. I reply with a one word affirmative.
8.10am. Another text. This time re-confirming the details of our date later on. I do not reply.

The uneasy feeling persists throughout the day but I am repeatedly reassured that everyone feels like this before their first internet date. Just go along! What’s the worst that can happen? Ok Dr. Pepper, fine, I’ll go!

6pm. Another text. ‘See you soon. x’ SERIOUSLY! I am going to bail if he sends me one more word. I send a matter of fact response. Definitely no kisses.
7pm. (we’re meeting at 8 and I am at this point waiting at a bus stop). Another text! This time saying he’s been delayed at work. So I ring him to find out if he’s a total loony or what. It rings out. I leave a message then head home. This guy has clearly never been out with a girl in his life.
8pm. Buzz, buzz. ‘Just leaving. Can be there in 5 mins.x’ Dude, did you not listen to my message – I’ve gone home for pete’s sake!
8.05pm. He rings me. It takes me FIFTEEN whole minutes to get him off the phone in which time he has repeatedly tried to find out where I live, offered to come and meet me near my house, asked me out for dinner on every single night of the next two weeks (it’s amazing how busy I am all of a sudden) and extracted a promise that I’ll check my diary and get back to him.
10.30pm. Unbelievably, he texts again. Not being insane myself I do not reply.
2am. Yes, you read that right, 2 o clock in the am, he messages me online to explain, yet again, what held him up. I will have to block his profile. He’s not going to like that.

So, I remain an internet virgin and very likely the object of some disturbed fantasy. I am also probably going to have to change my phone number. Do I feel just a little bit grubby and freaked out? Yes I do. Am I going to quit internet dating? Of course not! Or not yet anyway… *

*Since writing this post he has settled into a routine of texting me every morning at 9am with a new angle on why he didn’t make it to our date and the myriad ways he would like to make it up to me. It’s kind of comforting. I might even miss him when he stops.

Cops

Why did I think it would be a good idea to date a cop?

Sure, he was kind of cute. Sort of funny. A stitch mouthy. But honestly, at that point, I'd go out on a date or two with just about anyone who asked. I felt like I had to give everyone a chance. I felt like at that point in my life, I'd made such bad decisions in relationships, it was time to challenge all of my assumptions. And who knows? People can be surprising. Right?

On my second date with Abe the cop, we were driving downtown, and I was in the front seat of his car, which, coincidentally, is the same year, make and model as my car. (Was that part of the attraction? That he had good taste in cars?) He wanted to stop by his house before he took me home, so I could meet his dog (He owned a house. I think that was a big part of it. I was curious about dating a responsible guy, I guess. Slightly older. Maybe looking for something long-term?), but as we drove down the left lane of one-way street, we passed by a cop car driving slowly in the right lane. My date slowed down his car and rolled down my window using his driver-side controls.

“What the hell are you doing, harassing some punks?” he shouted across me as I tried to impress the back of my head into the headrest.

“Abe! You son of a bitch!” the on-duty cop shouted from behind his mirrored sunglasses and moustache. “Are you drunk driving?”

“Hell yeah!” Abe laughed.

Then they proceeded to chat for another minute. Across my face. While I stared dead ahead, mortified. I live in a small town. Someone I know could've walked by at any moment, and I knew I'd be horrified if someone saw me in that position. I think that’s exactly when I decided I’m not the kind of girl who dates cops.

The problem is, you can't live it down. Months later, I was out on the town with a new one I was just getting to know. It was a sweet summer night, and we'd ridden our bikes, loving the gorgeous weather and anticipating a few too many beers. As we strolled and chatted, we walked by a couple of cops on the corner. I realized too late one was Abe.

We exchanged a friendly hello (I almost always let fellas down easy) and I continued walking with my new beau.

"Um, how do you know that cop?" Beau asked.

I had to 'fess up. Fortunately, Beau was understanding. Everyone has a few skeletons in the closet. Some of them just happen to be cops.

Before eHarmony

Sports Obsessions Are NOT Sexy Time

**Editors' Note: The same gal who sent us Where Were You in 1983? sent us this lovely bit about internet dating.**

I was lonely and bored, and my ex had just changed his facebook to "in a relationship" with the stripper he dumped me for. So I decided to give internet dating a try. And thus the story of Sex Blanket, as I now refer to him when warning others against internet dating.

SB seemed like a cool guy at first. Then it quickly became clear that his obsessive love of sports took up all the places in his personality where "intelligence" "humor" and "charm" should be. Then it became clear (from the multiple bumper stickers, posters and flags plastered all over his apartment, and lastly, enormous back tattoo of the school's logo) that he was a little TOO obsessed with his alma mater, a la Andy Bernard (Cornell) from The Office.

I was unimpressed and disinterested, but said loneliness and boredom convinced me that sleeping with him was an okay decision to make. I won't go into detail about exactly how and why, but it was THE. WORST. EVER. and multiple times I had to close my eyes and imagine that I was someplace else so I didn't throw up. No exaggeration, it was awful. And very, very sweaty. Him, not me.

Afterward, while I debated high-tailing it out of there and risking a DUI or trying to find a non-sweaty spot on the bed, he went to his closet and pulled out a blanket that was fuzzy on one side and kind of satin-y on the other.

"Do you know what this is?" He asked, in the wannabe suave voice that had added to my nausea.

"Um, no" I replied, terrified at what the answer might be.

"It's a Sex Blanket... you put it down before or after you have sex so you don't have to sleep in the mess afterward"

"Oh super" I replied, hoping to sweet jesus that the blanket had been washed since its last use, and wondering how the F this guy was having enough disgusting sweaty sex to necessitate a blanket of this kind.

So tell me, DiW friends... are sex blankets for real? Are all blankets with one fuzzy side and one satin-y side intended for this purpose? I received one as a Christmas gift from a female friend a few years ago and use it as a throw for my couch...

Anyway, SB and I haven't kept in touch since then, and so far all of my other internet dating prospects have produced similarly unappealing/creepy results. So for now I'm re-dating people from real life that I have dated in the past, cause at least I know what mistakes I'm making beforehand.

Keep It Casual

Cure for the British Disease

**Editors' Note: Terry Tucker sent this fun one in today. We were kinda expecting the cure for halitosis, but whatev.**

The four of us head into a Carmel restaurant. Milo, my date for the evening, is the talker in the group, down visiting from Vancouver. I refer to him as Milo because he reminds me of the Paul Giamatti character in Sideways. A taller, slimmer, better looking version…..….who would have been a more believable match for Virginia Madsen in the movie than Giamatti.

Milo has been talking wine for the last couple hours, suave and self-assured. Earlier, we had partaken, partoked actually, of what Milo referred to as spliffs – Mid-eastern hash mixed and rolled with Turkish tobacco. An British thing, he confides, as if we were rural retards. Even though he’s Canadian, he has more than a bit of the British disease. Or maybe it’s the wine obsession that brings out the elitist touch. Prolly both.

We are seated next to an elderly group in formal dress, the men in suits. One of them is carrying on about wines. His speaking voice is loud, and abrasive…….very loud, probably an age-related hearing problem. We bide our time going over the menu, waiting for the verbiage to subside but it does not. It’s tempting walk over and adjust his hearing aid.

Too loud for us to carry on a conversation, so during the meal we listen to his spiel about David Bruce wines, a local winery, every imaginable aspect. Milo is listening intently, grimacing and shaking his head in silent disagreement throughout. Finally, Milo whips out a pen, writes on the slip of paper, and passes it around. “Total rubbish,” it says. We laugh.

Their group finally leaves, and we also prepare to depart. Milo calls the sommelier over, offers a few comments on the wine, then says, “that guy at the next table knew absolutely nothing about wine.” The sommelier nods knowingly. Milo beams in the glow of acknowledgment and hands him a generous tip. The wine steward pockets the tip……then says, “that gentleman at the next table……that was David Bruce.” Our cue to leave.

The Shortest Date of My Life

**Editors' Note: Today's guest post comes in from the 4S's blog. Thanks for the submission!**

My friends set me up on a blind date with whom they promised to be a beautiful intelligent gal last week. After much convincing and elaborate descriptions I finally relented and agreed to make the date. I called her up via the # given to me and had a quick awkward conversation with a lady who we shall call Jane. Jane sounded pleasant on the phone and seemed to be as just nervous as me about the prospect of a blind date.

Unfortunately I was strapped for funds and couldn’t afford to go out, so I suggested that I cook us a nice meal and she bring a bottle of wine for our enjoyment.
The last items in my fridge I could pull together were a pack of pork chops, some potatoes and broccoli. So I spent the 30 mins before she was to arrive preparing dinner thinking rather highly of my self in my domestic skills. Jane arrived, beautiful as described and I was pleased.

The door to my apartment enters into my kitchen so of course the first question out of her mouth was, “what’s cooking?”

“I’m making pork chops, mashed potatoes, and broccoli.” I replied with a grin.

She gave me a funny look and seemed disappointed. Then she said, “I don’t eat pork chops.”

“Why? Don’t you like pork?”

“No, I don’t eat it because of my religion.”

“Ooooh… Sorry, I didn’t realize!” I said franticly trying to figure out how to stave off disaster.

Jane cocked her head and gave me a funny look saying, “You shouldn’t eat pork either.”

Rather suprised at her statement I replied, “But I don’t believe in what you believe in.”

Then to my shock and awe she said something I have never actually uttered other than in jest.

“That’s because you’re a heathen.”

A heathen! She actually called me a heathen. I could not believe it. Folks, I am not a fan of organized religion. I am tolerant of it as long as you aren’t shoving it down my throat, but I don’t subscribe to any brand of it. So in complete shock my automatic response was,

“Well you’re an ignorant bitch.”

To which Jane turned and left the apartment. Luckily she left the bottle of wine behind, because I really needed a drink after that encounter.

All in all it was about a 3 min date that ended with us exchanging verbal blows. I will just have to always remember, never cook pork on a blind date!!!

The Perfect First Date

**Editors' Note: Today's guest post comes from "Terry Tucker" about the winner she met one night.**

A club below Santa Cruz, drinking and listening to music with a group of friends. Late in the evening, a solitary male walks in and parks himself at the next table. He catches my eye, and we invite him over to join us. Good looking guy with a scruffy beard. Just before closing time, he mentions his nightly/early-morning newspaper delivery route in the Santa Cruz mountains….starting in less than an hour, do I want to join him? Of course.

We pick up the newspapers just before 3:00am and head out, fortified with stimulants he just happens to have handy. Soon wildly careening down backroad corridors, alternating the paper stuffing, a wonderful rhythm, chatting our heads off, totally wired. A couple of stops where he grabs paper and package, runs inside the cabins, quickly returns. Delivery to the door for invalids and shut-ins, he explains. What a guy. Not just that, but he took them something extra, probably food, and delivered inside. Talk about trust.

It occurs to me that this is the perfect type of first date. A shared activity that brings a strong sense of teamwork, connection…..the conversation so easy. It should always be like this. That’s when I realize I'm buzzing on something special. I like it. The route takes about 3 hours, is over like that.

We wheel into a breakfast café still in the Santa Cruz mountain area, Felton I think. The locals seem to know him, and greet him as they filter in. He gets up and works the room while I tie into an omelet. So popular, almost everyone knows him, wants a piece of his time. A overheard fragment of conversation from the next table, then it hits me, and slowly sinks in.

The fatal flaw. My ex was a dealer, too.

Grand Theft Auto

**Editors' Note: Today's guest post comes in from "Trodo." Who doesn't love a little crime with their dates?**

Around this time last year I broke up with my ex and was on the prowl for something new, exciting and distracting. A friend figured she would be kind and gave my name and number to a friend of hers. I should have known something was not right from the get-go when, instead of calling me, he messaged me on Facebook first. A day or two go by of us exchanging vague, non-specific pleasantries back and forth – him with the intent of wanting to meet up, me with the intent of being polite so he’d take the hint, shut the hell up and leave me alone.

But, as we all know with bad dates they just don’t get the hint. Car Boy eventually worked up the courage to ask me for coffee and I brushed him off with an ‘Oh sorry, too busy with work’ excuse. Then he text messaged me with another ‘Hey lets go for coffee!’ Me: ‘I’m sick.’

Next I get a flurry of determined (stalkerish) messages about how he’d do the nice thing and bring the coffee to me because I am so sick. Yeah, no, I can’t have him doing that so I eventually agree to meet up at a different time later that week.

The planned date time comes and goes and I don’t hear from him. Instead of being relieved, I have to admit I was somewhat curious that he let it drop after all his hard work so I text him.

Three days later he gets back to me. Apparently he was doing some ‘Training for work and blah blah blah blah.’ I hesitantly accept this line, and I agree to go out with him the next night.

Date night comes and he arrives at my place to pick me up. I have to admit he was kind of good-looking in the fierce bald way, but he totally blew it when he matched that look with a Christmas sweater. That had danglies on it. Dangling Christmas dangles—if that isn’t a red flag I don’t know what is. But: Car Boy had a great Jeep.

So I get in the jeep and we (he) decided that instead of going to sit inside a place full of potential witnesses, we’d hit a coffee drive thru and drive around. But despite everything, Car Boy is somewhat of an interesting guy to talk with (minus the fact that all he really did was talk about cars and I could only nod along, give doe eyes and act interested), so it was rather easy.

After a good hour of being parked down near a river that screamed ‘Make out point,’ he decides that he is in fact a horny teenager going to get some action! He puts the moves on me; leaning close, sliding arm around shoulders, puckering up his lips and attempting to look me longingly in the eyes. I wanted to vomit and this conversation followed:

Me: Yeah, time for me to head home.

Car Boy: Oh, okay, well have a good night.

Me: Um…you picked me up?
Car Boy: Yeah, I know.

Me: You’ve got to drive me back home.

Car Boy: Oh, right.

His astuteness astounds and stuns me into silence as he begins to take me home. But then! Instead of taking me home, he goes and picks up his friend instead! Even worse, I get shuffled to the BACK of the jeep for this to happen. I would have gotten out if I knew where exactly we were and found my own ride home but before I thought of that I was trapped in the back seat.

Next, he drives to the opposite end of town from where I live. I’m now a good 40 minutes from home. In the industrial park. With Car Boy and his friend. Trapped in the back seat.

Soon we find ourselves parked outside of a locked, chain link fence that is keeping us out of a darkened parking lot. It was at the point his friend got out of the Jeep, reached into the back (where I’m sitting) to grab a pair of chain cutters that were under the seat, and he goes to the fence. I dig through my purse to find my phone and SOS some help, but it’s dead. Great.

His friend cuts the lock on the fence and pushes the gates open only for us to drive right on through. I just witnessed by first up close and personal B&E. Car Boy jumps out of the vehicle after parking, telling me to wait there.

Five Minutes go by.

Ten Minutes go by.

He finally comes back around the 15-minute mark. He doesn’t come back alone. Nope, he’s bearing gifts! Greasy, oily headlight gifts. Which he promptly dumps in my lap asking, ‘Hey, can you hold this?’ This repeats over and over until the back is littered with car parts. Seriously, car parts. He’s stealing car parts from an auto shop parking lot.

You know what makes this all sweeter? About the fifth time he starts talking about his sexual powers, but he starts talking as if we were in mid conversation about it already. So while he’s stealing vehicles I’m learning he’s got a dick that is just ‘made to tickle the girls the right way.’ Is stealing an aphrodisiac?

Just when I think things can’t get any worse, I hear the sound of an engine start. His friend had hotwired a vehicle and peeled out of the parking lot. Cue for us to leave. We peel out of there and I finally get a ride home. He expects a good night kiss; I stare at him as if he’s grown two heads that each has a dick flopping from his forehead.

Next day at work – extremely paranoid by then – I get a call from my friend. Car Boy and his friend have skipped town. Apparently they had some trouble with the law. My paranoia goes into overdrive and for the next two weeks I refuse to leave the house without giant sunglasses to hide my identity and believe I’m being followed.

I deleted his number from my phone. He still tries to get in touch with me today. But hey, we made it into the newspaper.

Three ways to confuse the Serial Monogamist

1) Go out on one date. At the end of the date, ask for date two, to which she replies, “Maybe let’s grab a beer sometime, you know, as friends?” Follow up with near daily joke email forwards.

2) Go out on three dates. Get into an argument on date #2 and date #3. When you try to set up date three, and she says, “you know, actually, this is going to sound really strange, but I think not. I’ve met someone, and I think it might go somewhere. You’ve been there, right?” Tell her, of course, yes, sure. Thanks for being honest. "Pocket dial" her that night, so she can hear what sounds like a bar in the background. When she texts, asking if that pocket dial was intentional, ignore her. Then, weeks later, send her a text, just saying hi and wondering how she is.

3) Go out on two dates. Try to make date three. When she explains that while you seem really nice, you two don’t seem to be a match, tell her she’s “wrong.” Then continue for weeks afterward to send emails and texts. Continue this even after you’ve sent a text that says, “Hey stranger, how are you doing?” and she replies, “Good. I’m seeing someone.”

Isn’t it OK to just stop talking to someone you went out with just a few times, after it’s clearly, amicably way, way over?

A Portrait of a Date

**Editors' Note: Today's guest post came in from she who wishes to remain anonymous. Fine by us, just keep 'em coming.**

It was a funny date. Not funny "ha ha," but funny "mildly awkward." Just not a really good match, but still a decent time. And the making out was good, so that's sort of how I ended up at my suitor's house. Then he made gin and tonics, and then he was obviously too drunk to drive, and it was late, and I didn't want to deal with waiting for a cab in his far-flung borough, so I decided to sleep at his house. Now, I could have slept in the guest room, or made him sleep in the guest room, but please. That's ridiculous. So I let him know that there would be no pants-off partying, and that I would figure out an exit if that was a problem.

"No, no, stay, I'll be good," he slurrily promised. And this guy was basically a frigging boy scout, so I trusted him. As well I should have. He didn't try a thing … until the next morning. And what he tried was very convincing, as it didn't involve the removal of clothing on his part. So I accepted his offer, but I still had no interest in what he was packing.

When he got out of bed, he was sad, mopey, even a bit mooney faced. I, of course, felt wonderfully sleepy, glowy, etc. He moped into bathroom to take a (presumably cold) shower. I rolled over and nuzzled deeper into the blankets. He turned on the radio. Over the water I heard the whiny warble of Morrisey cry out, which seemed entirely, hilariously appropriate to me.

Dating Married Men : Part Deux

As promised, the second installation of why it's a really bad idea to date married men:

I didn't realize it was a date until he saw a female friend who looked first at me in confusion then at him questioningly then back at me in disgust and then turned to him and said, "How is (wife's name)?"

It wasn't that I didn't know he was married. I've met her. And their two kids. It was that he asked me out to drinks to discuss "work." Or so I thought.

"I'd like to run some ideas by you about my book business," he wrote in an email. "And it'd be nice to catch up over some whiskey."

Now if you've followed this blog even a little bit, you're aware I love whiskey and hate bad pick up lines. I'm also a bit of a geek so a book discussion over whiskey invite is heaven. It's also a brilliant cover.

We met at a swanky bar downtown and ordered top-shelf scotch-bourbon with a tasty appetizer. The conversation meandered through the usual catching up then veered towards discussion of building crushes. Evidently the men in his office had crushes on the various young women in the building (I used to work there). I feigned ignorance and ordered another.

He kept asking me about my personal life - what I was up to these days, what did I like to do on the weekends, etc. - and was reticent when asked about his wife and children, whom I asked about frequently. Truth be told though, I was alright with having a few drinks on a married man's tab until his female acquaintance walked up and gave me the stank eye like I was the one in the wrong.

Tangent: women, instead of blaming each other when a man's being a dog, blame him. This seems obvious to me, but for whatever reason, the majority of women will go after the other woman like she's the one cheating. I have a few stories about this as well, mostly about being physically threatened and harassed by crazy girlfriends who think their boyfriends are cheating on them with me, but I'll save that for another post.

At one point I asked if he had to go given that it was getting late and a school night and he said that he had told his family he would be working late. Sketch.

As the third round of drinks were finished, I thanked him for a pleasant discussion, pointed out we hadn't even once mentioned books and wished him well. No mention of the possibility of meeting again, nothing about the awkward tension introduced by female friend, just a nice and formal "thank you."

"I'm sorry we didn't even talk about books! We'll have to go out again soon," he said.

"Thanks again. Tell (wife's name) I said hello," I replied.

Bros & Hoes

**Editors' Note: This guest post came in from a guy asking to be called "Wingman," which seemed apt given his backstage role in this story."

We've all heard the old saying, "Bros before hoes." For me it's gospel. I'd do anything for my guys way before I would do something comparable for a girlfriend or a potential fuck. After a few nasty experiences with friends' ex-girlfriends, girlfriends of exes, friends and my ex-girlfriends...you get the point. What guy hasn't been burned in the past by not following this one, simple rule to dating?

That's why when last week I had the opportunity to help a bro get a hoe, I was stoked. There's gotta be extra karama points for that, right?

He had managed to lay the hot manager from Barnes and Noble a few weeks ago after meeting her out at the bar. There was enough alcohol involved that although he remembered it being good ("fucking best piece I've had dude!" he said) he didn't remember her name.

Classic.

Even more classic was calling me 15 minutes before their "first date" in a panic.

"Shit! I don't know her name! I mean I think it's Beth, but I'm not 100% positive. What if I call her the wrong name?! Shit shit shit!"

"Calm down," I said. "We can figure it out. I'll call the store and ask whoever answers the name of the manager."

"I fucking love you dude."

We hung up and I called B & N.

"Hi. I was just in there talking to the female manager. I told her I'd bring something back, but I forget her name. What is it?"

"Oh, you mean Beth. She..."

I didn't even wait to hear what the clerk was going to say.

"Sweet. Thanks dude."

My bro got laid again and didn't hesitate to call out her name during it. I made up a new law for our friends: "Help our bros get hoes."

Dating Married Men

Dating a married man is a bad idea. (Yes yes, I know. Duh. But before you get too comfortable on your high horse, don't assume you know why unless you've also had several unfortunate experiences with married men or women. Then ride 'em cowboy. My hat's off to you.)

Dunno why or how, but I have the tendency to attract married men. I chalk it up to the absence of anything remotely similar to a wedding ring. My friends theorize it's because I also have this tendency to be somewhat naive about a man's intentions. Either way, whatever. Married men love me.

My first experience was in college with one of my former instructors. We dated (after I was done with his class) for about 5 months. I don't remember why we broke up, but it had nothing to do with a wife, whom I didn't meet until 3 years later. She called me one day while I was at work.

"Hello?"

"Is this S.G.Loughlin?" asked a heavily accented female voice.

"Yes. Who is this please?"

"I'm Ramon's wife. Have you contacted my husband lately?"

Shocked. Utterly shocked. I'm opening and closing my mouth silently like a fish.

"Uh. Yes? I guess I just emailed him a few days ago."

"Well I want you to stop. Never contact him again. He is my husband. You leave him alone or I will be forced to do something to you. Did he tell you I am his wife and I have his baby? Leave him alone..." Her English was good enough to threaten bodily harm but not quite good enough to explain how the hell she got my number or what the royal fuck?

According to her, they'd be married for the last five years but she had only recently come to the U.S. (they're both West African) and learned he had been having affairs. Mind you, she's calling me years after we dated, threatening physical violence, though I'm not sure she meant to actually threaten me given English was her second, maybe third, language. Either way, I'm not going to investigate the matter too closely.

I agree to never contact him again - "No problem! I'll be sure to lose his and your number as soon as we hang up! My apologies! Have a nice life!" - and hang up.

A few days pass. I'm walking home and Ramon passes me in his car. He pulls over, smiling and asks why I haven't called him back.

"Are you kidding me? Because your wife called me. She threatened to beat me up Ramon. Um, hello. You're married?"

He sings me a song and dance about her actually being a crazy ex-girlfriend who hacked his email account and contacted all his friends to find out if he'd been cheating on her..blah blah blah...it's not true...yada yada.

Whatever dude. What. Ever.

Epilogue: She called me about a year after that asking for help. Evidently she tested positive for a STD and he had left her and the baby high and dry. As an undocumented immigrant, she didn't know where to go or how to get help. I gave her the number of a Planned Parenthood, wished her luck and raced to get my own test. Thankfully he caught it after we had broken up (whew!) and I was clean. I changed my number and email address.

Stay tuned for Dating Married Men: Part II.

Jesus loves you more than you will know

I knew it was going to be a good night. I had a feeling. I had run into some girlfriends of mine downtown, and we decided to go out “skeezin.” Seriously. I hadn’t even ordered my first drink before he started talking to me at the bar. He tried to buy my drink when the bartender showed up, but I declined. He and I talked at the bar for awhile, then made our way to a corner table while the girls worked the dance floor. He bought me a couple more drinks. He was young, but not too young. I told him he looked 19, I checked his ID. No, he really was 23.

When he brought back round two (or was it three?), I noticed he was wearing a bathing suit. Really? Yeah, he’d been on the river earlier that day. OK. Whatever. He was cute. Tall. Dimpled chin. I could forgive him. He knew my favorite bands. Before long, we were making out. That got boring, so he asked if I wanted to see his place. Oh sure, why not?

We get in his truck. I asked where we were going. “To Booneytown.” Seriously? Booneytown is about 20 miles out of town. Fairly secluded. I also don’t have my cell phone on me. I’d left it at my house. Ah, well. Time to take chances, and this kid was just so babyfaced. A face to trust.

We were about 10 miles out of town when it hit me. I went out on the wrong night. The wrong week, actually.

“Oh, my,” I said, “I just remembered something.”

He looked across the pickup seat at me, his drunken Mrs. Robinson, with his shiny, excited blue eyes.

“What’s that, June?”

His hand was on my thigh. I noted that he was sober enough to drive and to remember my name.

“Well. I’m on my period.”

“Oh,” he said, “OK,” and looked back at the road. Still smiling, still tapping the steering wheel with his left hand.

OK, then. I shrugged. When we got to his house, I was relieved to find that he had black sheets. It was a good night.