Living Just Enough for the City

When I lived in New York City, I actively dated on Match.com. My Very Worst Date happened when I met a guy at a Union Square restaurant. I walked in and saw a guy sitting at a table looking around, but he was clearly 10 years older than the photo he’d posted online. His hair was also much thinner, but I decided to give it a shot anyway and introduced myself.  The waitress came right over and asked if we would like anything to drink.

"No, we don't want any cocktails," he said rather curtly. 

I let it slide because I thought he might be an alcoholic for a second. Still I was annoyed that he spoke for me.

"Well, can I order a soda then?" I asked.

"Do you have to?"

I was turned off by his cheapskate ways but I still tried to enjoy the rest of the meal since he seemed fairly charming otherwise. After dinner, we stepped out of the restaurant into a rainy, rainy night. Since we were both headed to the Lower East Side, I suggested we share a taxi.

"Do you have your Metrocard with you?" he asked. "Because we're taking the bus."

I had one in my back pocket, but I was shocked that in the cold rain he would want to wait for a bus just to save a couple of bucks.

"And is it one of the unlimited ones because I forgot mine?" he added.

I gave him the card, which had four bucks left on it, and I hopped in a cab to meet my girlfriends.

Wandering to the Folks

After I ended a long relationship, my best friend from college thought it would be a good idea to fix me up with her boyfriend's childhood buddy because we were both wine connoisseurs. I agreed. 

The location of our first date was a wine cafe. It did not start well. Within five minutes of the date, he was already pointing out that I had a "terrible habit of biting my nails." I was troubled by this critique but ignored it and the other small comments that danced on my nerves.

After lunch, he suggested a walk. I'd had too many glasses of wine so I agreed even though I knew the date was going nowhere. On route, he asked if I would mind stopping at his old friend's house for a minute. I didn't mind especially since he came into town for the specific purpose of our date. 

We approached the house and rang the bell. An older couple answered the door, which totally confused me. It took me a while to realize that they were his ex-girlfriend's parents, who clearly were not over my (apparently highly eligible) date. 

We sat at their outdoor bar (drinking beer mercifully!) for two whole hours discussing how he would one day marry their daughter and how wonderful their relationship had been.

I have never felt more uncomfortable in my life. This dude still wants to know why I never called him again.

The Human Stain

I was on my second date with a guy I really liked. We had a wonderful dinner at a nice hotel and then moved to the nearby lounge for drinks afterward. I was sitting on a white couch and it was pretty warm outside this particular evening. After a few moments I looked down and realized that there was some sort of orange stain on the couch. Then it occurred to me that I was actually the cause of this. I had gotten a spray tan in preparation of the date, but now I was basically sweating it all off right onto the pure white couch. My date nicknamed me “Oompa Loompa” that night and I thought I was going to die of embarrassment. Luckily he didn’t mind too much because we are still together three years later. 

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Not a Smoothie

In a fit of internet dating in college, I agreed to meet up with a fellow. We'd talked online and over the telephone, and seemed to have enough in common that getting together for smoothies was not out of line. His request to meet me in the produce section of a local market was odd, but I tried to chalk it up to just being quirky-cute. I arrived early to scope out and five minuets later, there was a guy hanging out by the starfruit. When I squinted and turned my head to the side, I was able to see how this individual was related to the photograph online, but it was a stretch. I made my approach and introduced myself. He was much more nervous than he was on the phone, and had made me a mix CD full of really romantic stuff. Eek. 

The conversation over smoothies was nice, but I wasn't really feeling it. I'd taken the bus to meet him, and he offered me a ride. At that point, I was still down for hanging out, so I accepted. We started to drive and he mentioned that he had gone by the liquor store to "stock up for when we went to his place that night." I took that as my queue to tell him that he could just drop me off at my house. He agreed, and the rest of the drive went by in silence until we were about five blocks from my residence when he turns to me and breaks the silence, saying, "So... you're Jewish?" I blinked at him, surely with an open mouth, and finally said, "What?" I had never told him what religion I was. He stammered, "Well, you know... uh, dark hair and, your, uh... big nose.... um. Uh. I guess you're not?" I told him that the next corner was fine, hopped out of the car, and walked the remaining blocks back to my place.

Chicago with a Side of Whopper and Fries

My first mistake was allowing my parents to set me up on a blind date. The guy picked me up and informed me that we were going to a Chicago concert. I was not that keen on the band but it was a free concert and we had great seats. 

It turned out to be a total bust. My boy sat there not clapping, not singing (who doesn't know the words to Hard to Say to I'm Sorry?) and definitely not moving, never mind swaying or dancing. 

On the way home, he told me he wanted to grab food and drove up to a Burger King drive-thru. At this point, I was shocked to silence. He ordered his food and then casually asked me if I was hungry. I told him I was "fine." After getting his meal, he drove to his house, got out of the car and made his way inside. I had no choice but to follow him. 

He finally wolfed down the Whopper and fries and offered to take me home if I wanted him to. Um yeah! At my front door, he asked me if I wanted to go out again next weekend. I told him no, I didn't want to ever go out with him again. 

I heard through the grapevine that he's now married. I wonder how often he and the wife eat at Burger King...

Un-Date Action

While I was grabbing coffee before class, a cute enough, well built guy came up to me. We chatted a little and I gave him my number. He seemed normal enough. He called and we organized to meet up at the grad students' lounge and head to a party the following Wednesday. I don't like house parties but I figured I'd try to be open minded. And birthday parties are always kind of festive, right? 

When I arrived at the lounge, he was sitting by the fire. Half asleep. Lovely. He woke up and proceeded to pound three beers (to my one glass of white wine) and then insisted we do Jager Bombs. Then he began a monologue about industrial music. For the record, I am a slummy hipster. I don't like industrial.

After texting incessantly while we sat there for about an hour, he announced that we had to leave for the party NOW. We rushed into a cab and headed off. He stopped at a liquor store, and asked me to pitch in for booze because he was "broke." Perfect. Then, after some detours, we finally found the house (he'd copied the address down wrong). At that point, he realized he did not have enough money to pay for the cab. 

I paid and tried to remain optimistic. I realized that we were in an icky part of town that I did not know well but still I was ready to party. We entered the house and there were a grand total of four people there. They were trashed and wanted snacks. So my "date" and the two girls left for the store, leaving me there with the host, who regaled me with tales of his recovery from meth addiction and his former penchant for visiting prostitutes. 

When the others got back, I escaped to the restroom and texted eight different friends telling them to call me and pretend to be my roommate. My friend A graciously obliged and informed me that our pipes had burst. You see, since she was not good in a crisis, I had to go to her. I got in a cab and got the hell out.

But before I did that my companion for the evening walked me out to the cab. 

"Is this a date?" he asked.

"No, it's not," I replied affirmatively.

He proceeded to assure me that he would call again. 

My response? 

"I wouldn't."

Stairway to Hell

When I was a freshman at college, I went on a date with a lovely guy, who happened to be a senior, which was a huge deal to me then. After dinner at the local pizza joint, we stopped at his place to pick up something he'd forgotten before heading to his fraternity party. Somewhere on the way down the three flights of stairs that lead to his apartment, I slipped. It was March in Colorado so there was black ice everywhere but of course I didn't see any on the step.

Now when I say I fell down the stairs, I didn't just trip. I full on tumbled. It was like a scene out of an action movie, but to me it felt like everything was happening in slow motion. I could see him (ahead of me) trying to catch me but it was too late. Before I knew it, I was lying in a clump at the bottom of the stairs. I'm not sure what hurt more, my hip or my pride. I can't really explain the pain because I was numb with embarrassment. I immediately popped up and laughed it off while desperately holding back the tears.

He asked if I wanted to go to the ER but I brushed it off, saying I was O.K. As we walked to the party, which seemed like 100 miles away but was only a three-block distance, I felt my right hip throbbing with pain. By the time we got there, I was in so much pain that I could hardly walk. I excused myself and had a friend walk me home. When I got to my dorm room and peeled off my pants, I found a bump the size of a grapefruit on my hip! My friend took me to the ER, where I found that I did not break anything but would need physical therapy for a month.

I nursed a huge bruise on my leg and couldn't sleep on my right side for months. I don't know what happened to my date since I never saw him again. I am sure he's told the story of the poor girl who fell down the stairs on the first date many times. It still hurts a little bit just thinking about it. 

If You Can't Take The Heat...

After several successful dates, I offered to cook dinner for a lawyer I was seeing. As I thought he was  quite a catch, I desperately wanted to impress him, so I researched recipes and decided on a salmon dish. On the day of the date, I lovingly seasoned and prepared the salmon for roasting at his apartment. I felt quite confident that my cooking skills would seal the deal as far as our budding relationship was concerned. I arrived to find his kitchen in a bit a mess. I cleaned up a little, popped the fish in the oven and proceeded to join him in the living room for a glass of wine.

We were in deep conversation when we noted a funny smell filtering into the room. It was coming from the kitchen. When we entered it, it was full of smoke. Not just wisps escaping from the burnt salmon, but actual plumes of smoke, which had us gasping for breath. The oven was on fire! The fire extinguisher was not going to cut it so he called the fire department. As he did so, I anxiously envisioned the entire structure - it was one of those tightly packed New York apartment buildings - burning to the ground, thanks to my culinary efforts. They arrived in minutes, providing me with a small degree of relief. 

However, after they put the flames out, they proceeded had to tear down the walls of his kitchen to make sure there was no unseen electrical fire. Being the lawyer that he was, my date began snapping pictures of the damage to document it for his landlord. It turned out there had been some oil left in the oven, which was what likely caused the fire. It was totally my fault, but the firemen looked at my date with an expression that said: get rid of this girl!

My date was quite the gentlemen about the whole fiasco. After the firemen left, he even asked what we should do with the rest of the evening. Utterly mortified that I'd just burnt his kitchen to the ground, I said it was probably time for me to call it a night. Neither of us called each other again. 

Last Night The DJ Saved

I had fancied this really hot, hipster DJ who played at a bar in downtown New York for ages. We were friends of friends and had spent months outrageously flirting with each other. Finally, one night at the said bar, he grabbed me and asked me to come home with him. 

Since he lived in deepest Brooklyn, I invited him to my place instead as I lived just over the bridge in Williamsburg. I suggested we get a cab back there but his option was the train. I offered to pay the fare (about $15) but he countered by saying that the subway would be "more fun."

Unfortunately for our night of passion, the L train was running on a shorter route so we had to get off and take a shuttle bus to my usual stop. A journey that should have taken 20 minutes max prolonged into a one and a half hour voyage during which he yapped incessantly and revealed that his intellect did not quite match up to his looks. 

We got home well after 3 a.m. and I immediately put my pajamas on, yawned and said I was going to sleep. In the morning, I woke up at 6 a.m., mostly due to my discomfort at having him in my bed. When he got up and tried to be seductive and charming, I told him I had to work. After all, I have pay for those late-night cab rides somehow! I didn't say that of course though I wish I did. He left soon after. 

Love 'Em and Leave 'Em

I met this cute guy at a bar and he hung out with my friends and I for the rest of the night. I ended up drunk and back at his one-bedroom bachelor pad where we did some high school-style making out. The decor at his apartment consisted of t-shirts with silly sayings that were pinned to the walls. After a few more kisses we ended up just falling asleep. When I woke up I called my friend. I was concerned because my friend had a fight with her girlfriend the night before and I spent a few minutes consoling her before asking her to pick me up.

"You're leaving?" he asked.

"Yeah. You know I'm the love 'em and leave 'em type," I joked.

That set him off. He proceeded to start yelling at me, saying that I put my friends first and didn't have a backbone of my own.

"I thought we were getting along great and really have something here," he pleaded. "You really are just the love 'em and leave 'em type!"

As I was gathering my belongings he stormed into his bathroom, slammed the door and told me I could wait on the curb. I happily obliged and waited for my ride outside.

He then tracked me down through MySpace and sent me a note recapping the entire evening and morning, again referring to me as the "love 'em and leave 'em" type.

What the Frock?

Remember Kenley from last season's "Project Runway?" She seemed a little crazy on the show, but we never expected this! Turns out that the designer we all loved to hate was arrested in her Brooklyn home on Tuesday morning after assaulting her sleeping ex-fiance with everything from a laptop and apples to water and -- wait for it -- her cat!

According to court documents Collins told her ex-fiance, Zac Penley, "You're lucky … it could've been a lot worse." Kenley was promptly arrested and charged with 2nd degree assault, 3rd degree assault and criminal possession of a weapon in the 4th degree.

The "Runway" finalist's comment upon being released from jail on Tuesday morning?

"It was a miscommunication."

We're pretty sure Mr. Penley would call it something else. Ladies, violence is never the answer.

I Ain't Saying She a Golddigger

I met a nice and attractive girl at a bar so I asked her out. She told me there was this restaurant she was dying to try so I made reservations for Friday night. The dinner was good, but very expensive. I figured that on the second date we would go somewhere more casual. But she suggested another fancy place. I obliged, but I was determined to go somewhere cheap if it continued beyond the second date. We had great conversation and I was definitely interested in dating her because she was smart, beautiful and well traveled. When I asked her out for date number three I suggested we go bowling. She sighed and said she really wanted to try this new hot spot she read about. She agreed to bowling, but proceeded to pout throughout the date. I asked her what was wrong and she explained that dating was the only way she ever got to try these upscale restaurants since she was fired from her job six 
months prior. She said she really missed her old lifestyle. I flat out asked her if she had any interest in me beyond my ability to take her to dinner and she shrugged her shoulders. I gave her ten bucks for a taxi and walked out. 



Little Lie

I once went on a date with a woman I met online. Her profile on the dating site said she was 'petite.' Her headshot photo looked great so I was excited to finally connect in person. When I arrived at the assigned bar to meet her, she turned out to be a 'little person' (or a midget in more commonly-used parlance). The misrepresentation was a shock, which made it my very worst date. I have nothing against people of small stature but I do have a problem with people pretending to be five feet tall when they are less than four feet high. Talk about stretching the truth! 

Teenage Tale

I was 15 and had spent the second half the night making out with my first bona fide boyfriend on his basement couch (the first half being spent at dinner and a movie). In between swapping spit, we were swigging shots of Jose Cuervo. I was obliterated. I stumbled into the bathroom at one point and tripped over an area rug. As my entire body pitched forward toward the sink, I caught a glimpse of my long hair suspended straight up in the air. My mouth, which was about to be a canal for projectile vomit, connected with the rim of the sink. Gonk. When I stood up, bleary-eyed, my two front teeth were broken in half. Like a West Virginia meth addict's. I panicked--but only slightly. Then I puked. I walked out and showed my boyfriend my jagged smile ("loooooook!"), already crying. He had been fixing something on his drum set. He started crying immediately, saying, "You're gonna hate me!" Then he bent over the skeleton of his drum set, bared his front teeth, and smashed his face into the metal. Gonk. Half his two front teeth were gone. Now that's love.

Punched Out

I took about a week off work to recover from my wisdom tooth operation but found that I was chipper enough to go out that same evening and decided to head out to the local gay club with my friends. Armed with a few shots of Jager and the not-so-necessary pain medication, I was unstoppable and looking mighty fine. 

My roommate, who's quite the wing man, spotted a cute and very drunk guy at the bar and proceed to grab his ass and point at me when the looked for the culprit. I took over and began to chat to the young man, who was visiting from Texas. We then hit the dance floor and started to make out. And by make out, I mean he tried to head butt me with his teeth. I thought it was a drunk party foul and tried again to no avail. The guy enjoyed the teeth bashing! I tried to get away but my friends pushed me back, scolding me for never giving guys a chance. Finally, because I was high as a kite, I decided to take him home with me. When we got home, he proceeded to strip completely in front of my roommate and pass out. I was ready to call it a night anyway since my face hurt so much. 

When we woke up in the morning, we started making out. This time, it was less violent because he was laying down and had less momentum to head butt. But then he started to substitute the foreplay with punching. Now I am a non-violent individual but a boy's gotta to defend himself so I played along with what he considered "hot" until he got this look in his eyes. He then proceeded to jump up and stumble into the bathroom where he burst into projectile vomiting. That was the end of that. 

The Anti (Speed) Date

Here's an antidote for those who hate the dating dance: speeding hating. On the other side of the pond, Brits, who've never really cottoned on to the dating idea (preferring instead to get slaughtered on Stella and pull whomever they fancy and close the deal by taking them home), are enjoying this new trend, which the The Mirror bills as: 

"... the second-cousing-twice-removed of the more conventional speed dating. 

But instead of having three minutes to impress the opposite sex with your painted-on smiles and zest for life this is a night dedicated to grumbling, misery and despair."

We think this fits with the whole Brit self-deprecating persona. And there is a lot to bitch about in these economic times so why not just get it out there on the first encounter? 

Heavy Subject

I joined JDate hoping to have fun and live a little after my recent recovery from an eating disorder. Since I’m a culinary school grad, the guy I was chatting with suggested we go for a picnic and bring dishes to share. When I met him, he broke out an array of foods from a large lunch bag. As we got to know each other, I  told him about my exercise addiction and eating disorder recovery. He then went on about another JDate he had with a girl who he described as being unbelievably articulate, which he said turned him on. I asked why I was on this date instead of being with her. He said she was on the “heavy side” and that it represented “excess,” “laziness” and someone who is “out of control." I couldn’t believe he was telling me this after he knew I had a rough battle putting on weight after being plagued by the obsession about being thin. To top it off, he asked if I wanted to join him for a run sometime. It’s like he was offering a beer to a recovering alcoholic.

Taking Him Back?

This doesn't come as a complete shock to us here at My Very Worst Date, but People is reporting that Rihanna and Chris Brown are "definitely together." The reconciliation is in effect at Sean "Diddy" Combs' house on Miami Beach's Star Island. How apropos. 

From People: 

"They are definitely together and care a great deal about each other," says a Miami source. "They feel like staying in and working through their issues. So far they have not wanted to go out." Brown, however, did venture out earlier on his own. On Thursday he hit the water to Jet Ski with pals. Rihanna and Brown's reconciliation comes nearly three weeks after Brown, 19, the alleged battered the "Umbrella" singer on Feb. 8.

What does this mean for Rihanna's career? Will people still embrace the singer if she takes back the guy who beat her in the face? What does it mean for her millions of fans who are impressionable young girls? 

Flipping Not Allowed

I had been dating this amazing guy for a month or so. Our whirlwind romance had me falling madly in love. One night, he invited me over for a BBQ but my mother was visiting. He insisted I bring her along, which I did. He was super-excited when we arrived and tried hard to impress her. When he took a break from the grill to grab something from the house, I decided flip to the meat on the BBQ. He came back and screamed at me: "What are you doing! You are so controlling! Why can't you let me be the host!" Then, he stormed off, leaving us speechless. I went to look for him and found him curled in a fetal position staring into the void in his bedroom. I could not get a response for him so I went back to my mother. We sat there and wondering what to do. I was sad, disturbed but also amused, especially when we decided to eat some of the meat since we were starving. The next day, he called apologetically and said he should not have been drinking while on his medication. Needless to say I had no idea he was on meds. I guess the paranoid behavior should have tipped me off - he kept a samurai sword under the seat of his car and had a panic button installed in his bedroom. If my mother had not been there, I might have rationalized this and forgiven him. But because she was, there was no going back. 

Master of the Wardrobe

On a third date with a very cute and interesting guy, I wanted to get beyond the surface, so I asked him to tell me some about himself. "I do like to wear women's clothing sometimes," he replied. My response: Huh?? "Well," he said, "You are wearing men's jeans so it's not that different." I was wearing Levi's. We kept talking and before I knew it he was explaining his favorite fabrics. Blouses and skirts were his preferred dress style apparently. By the end of the date, I was driving him around, and pointing out my best-loved boutiques and discussing make-up as if I had found a new shopping buddy. I must have been shell-shocked at the revelation, but the next day I decided not to see him again. It was a decision he found perplexing.