It Ended Badly…

(Thank you, JoeyGirl, for contributing the following story)

I met my date the weekend prior to my worst date of all time and probably the best worst date story I’ll ever have. (I really hope this is it and that this is not a “ha-ha little do you know” situation.) I actually met O outside of a bar in center city Philadelphia and he was a complete gentleman. He’s an investment banker with a hoity LA accent that apparently doesn’t know his drinking limit. We met at my apartment (I’ll admit it wasn’t the best idea), he was an hour late, and yet things were fine. Aside from the fact that he offered to make me a drink, I declined, yet was given one anyways, everything was fine. It was all downhill from there though. He presented me with a flower he made from a napkin because he forgot to get me a real one. No flower would have been better than a napkin flower. (more…)

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When I was a teenager in the early nineties, I dated a guy who had his own dingy basement apartment, but not a phone. He won me over by walking a mile and calling me from a gas station payphone every night. We’d talk 25 cents worth: a half an hour. Through all kinds of weather. No one had cellphones back then. He was the last of a now extinct breed: the chivalrous Quarter Caller.

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…used his real, full, given birthname on match.com.

I replied to his email and asked why he’d release personal information (full name!) into seedy cyberworld. He replied, “I HATE SECRETS.”

On our first date, he presented a book I’d mentioned wanting to read. He looked nothing like his pictures. But he was confident and smart. He brought me chocolate when he saw me after that. By the end of week two, we’d hid our match.com profiles and were officially only wooing each other.

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(Another fine product of Helena Handbasket Dating Experience)

I often have a bad read on the obvious when it comes to men. Ken Doll with a crew cut was someone I always thought was ridiculously hot. However every hint I ever dropped never seemed to get a response. So I dropped it and assumed he wasn’t into me. Over the years my fantasy turned into a good friendship. Eventually any notion of anything romantic never crossed my mind.

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…wasn’t in touch with his feminine side.

(contributed by Helena Handbasket)

After picking me up, we were on our way to dinner and headed out on the turnpike. In a genuine show of machismo and lack of anger management, Mr. Sensitive decides to pursue some clown who had cut him off, and race him. Enter flashing lights and sirens. Mr Sensitive asks me to play sick. State trooper asks, “Where’s the fire?” And in a most unconvincing stammer Mr. Sensitive tells the trooper “I’m trying to rush her home. She doesn’t feel good. -WOMAN TROUBLES-” My jaw goes slack from disbelief and mortification. The officer takes note of my probably comical expression and promptly writes the ticket.

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….was at CBGB’s.

(Another fine contribution by Helena Handbasket)

I traveled with a bunch of friends from Philly to see one of the last matinee shows. The place was beyond capacity and I had luckily scammed my way in for free. Halfway thru the last band I couldn’t take it anymore and desperately needed water. I somehow managed to get a seat at the bar with a greaser rockabilly type to my right. He begins the chatting process and is completely a gentleman. Not a mention of sweaty breasts even though I caught his eye line drifting south more than once.

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(contributed by Helena Handbasket)

My first Christmas with my ex, he got me a butter dish. Yes, that’s right, a butter dish that you actually would put a stick of butter in. It should have ended there, but this was someone I had fallen for hard. That year I also got a crockpot and new pots and pans.

After 7 months of dating I should have had a million flags waved in my face. My girlfriend asked if it was a diamond encrusted butter dish. No. It was a dollar store butter dish.

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(contributed by Helena Handbasket)

On a random weeknight at my favorite blue collar dive, a cute straight looking former jock saddles up next to me. He’s not my usual type, but he’s not heinous in the least. The conversation is good and stimulating, not the usual slimy pick up crap. After a wink and thumbs up from my favorite bartender I agree to exchange numbers.

First date he’s charming and flattering in all the right ways. Next date was very casual and we end up back at his place that he shares with his brother.

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…lived through Christmas.

After winter holidays, I had a blind date with a guy met online. He was even more attractive in person than in pictures. Extremely handsome… A smoldering hot Czech who spoke with an accent as thick as it was intoxicating. He was very polite. And on time. And offered compliments a-plenty.

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…loved comics.

He loved comics so much that his full sleeve tattoos ended with Spidey on one hand… and the Hobgoblin on the other hand. Not so ambidextrous, it was the evil Hobgoblin that fondled my breast.

For being a tough terrorizing villain (or a web slinger for that matter) Hobgoblin used “Darling” a lot and was sick all the time. After coming down with “gophers” in his throat inflicted on him by the deadly children at a nearby school, the mighty Hobgoblin was forced to go to the hospital where was told he was contagious.

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