No Second Date

So, I met this girl on a dating website. We chatted via text for two weeks and finally decided to get dinner. Dinner was good and the date was actually going ok. First dates can be awkward and fun at the same time, which it was. I was still trying to see what she was like and vice versa.  So I thought…

After dinner we went back to her car to chit chat.  Then it happened… A slightly bigger girl, she jumped on top of me and then she told me she wanted to “get it on.” She went for the buckle on my pants and said “I want you inside me now.”

I think my response was “um… no.” I’m not stupid enough to raw dog it with some chick I’ve met once. 

The worst: Crazy chick wouldn’t leave me alone for weeks.

I was out with a girlfriend one night and we ended up at a club in the Meatpacking District. Not the kind of place I frequent, but it was the last stop of the night and we were buzzed enough that $17 vodka sodas were only mildly appalling. We were also buzzed enough to dance with strangers, which is exactly what I did when a 6’5” Indian guy approached me. We were dancing and chatting for a bit when I realized my friend was fading fast. I kindly told the guy it was nice meeting him, but I had to leave. He, in turn, asked for my number and I obliged. He was funny and cute, and anyone who likes to dance (whether they should or shouldn’t) is usually a good enough egg in my book. 

Fast forward three weeks later. I get a text from a number I don’t recognize and it turns out to be this guy asking me out. In my younger years when I had standards I would have told him to fuck off for waiting three weeks to contact me, but in these tough times we can’t be too principled. Plus, he was a funny texter and funny is half the battle. So, I agreed on a date. 

A few nights later, we met at a little hookah bar he suggested, which was perfect because I had just quit cigarettes and was craving something (anything!) to inhale. Right off the bat, things were great. He wasn’t as cute as I remembered (no surprise there) but definitely tall with a nice athletic build. We order wine and I can tell he knows a little bit about wine, which impresses me, and the conversation thereafter is pretty effortless. I learn he has a good job in finance but also goes out a lot, and working in the restaurant/nightlife industry this is a huge plus. I typically can’t date “9 to 5”ers due to our conflicting schedules, but I can tell homeboy here doesn’t mind heading out at midnight on the occasional Tuesday. In fact, he suggests a place for us to go later that “has a really good Wednesday night scene”.

Sold.

He suggests we go to his place, conveniently located around the corner, for a glass of wine first. I wouldn’t normally go to a guys place on the first date (okay, it’s been done) but seeing as we have a plan in place for later it seems less likely he’s trying to get laid. So we go. If I wasn’t already a little interested in him I was damn near enamored when I saw his place: a gorgeous 1 bedroom duplex with 2 full baths, a walk-in closet and an amazing view (basically my Manhattan dream). He had an adorable bulldog running around, a wine fridge (!) and a DJ booth set up loft-style overlooking his living room. I always kind of laughed about guys who make their living working “normal” jobs but “promote” or “DJ” on the side in an attempt to feel cool or get laid or both, but after some really tasty cabernet and an hour playing with his new mixer, I think it’s kind of cute. We kiss. And then we go back out. 

We arrive at the Wednesday hot spot with a pretty decent wine buzz and a lot of chemistry. After another cocktail, date tells me his best friend (we will call him Sam) is going to meet up. I think it’s soon but nonetheless a good sign he’s already introducing me to such a good friend and get a sense he wants to sort of show me off, which is flattering. Sam comes in a few minutes later and I immediately note that Sam is hot. Just incredibly attractive and immaculately dressed. We exchange pleasantries and the date leaves us to order more drinks and go to the bathroom, etc. which leaves Sam and I to chat. I’m subtly flirting which I realize is messed up seeing as I’m on a date with his friend, but when a guy is that hot it just happens.  

A few short minutes into our conversation, Sam starts looking at me funny. It’s making me uncomfortable (do I have something in my teeth?) but I just continue blabbing on until he stops me. 

“Wait a minute, I knew that I recognized you from somewhere. Did you used to live in Boston?”

“Yes. That’s so weird. Wait, how do I know you?”

“It’s Sam. I lived in Cambridge. We dated? You took me to that party for your work…”

Of course I did. Memories start flashing back of Boston, four years ago, and this guy (who was always cute but damn he aged well) and the few dates we went on. I recalled our first meeting at a bar in Cambridge and the said event for work I invited him too, but seeing as the courtship was brief and it was four years ago, that was about all I could recall. Of course at this very moment, date comes back and Sam heads to the bar, saying something in passing to date as he walks away. 

Date: “Wait a minute. You know Sam?”

Me: “Ha, small world, right? We dated briefly in Boston like years and years ago. Too funny. I didn’t even recognize him.”

Date: “You didn’t recognize him? He just told me you guys hooked up.”

Me: “Say what?”

Date: “He just walked passed me and said ‘dude, sorry but I’ve hooked up with your girl.’ I’m confused.”

Me: “We never hooked up.”

Which I was sure we hadn’t. Again, I am racking my brain, remembering those few dates but I’m adamant nothing ever really happened between us. The combination of the shock and the embarrassment and the booze has me all mixed up but pissed off that this asshole would a) say anything at all while I’m still there and b) lie to my date and tell him we hooked up when we never did. I realize I have to go, that this is all too much and too uncomfortable but instead of leaving gracefully and taking any form of a high road, I approach Sam. 

“Why the hell would you tell your friend we hooked up? I was actually having a really nice night with him until you started acting like a complete asshole. Look dude, I don’t know if you’re pissed off because I didn’t remember you or what but it was some time ago and in a completely different city so I’m sorry if it was all a little out of context for me, but that is no reason to make shit up. “

“I didn’t make it up. You don’t remember? The night of my birthday?”

Oh yeah.

His birthday.

It came back to me like it was last Friday.

“Oh.”

And with that, I grabbed my coat and bee-lined for the nearest taxi. 

I spent the cab ride home contemplating yet another romance gone wrong and asking myself how degenerate a person must be to not recognize someone they’ve slept with. But more than anything I wondered, “how the hell is it that I live in one of the biggest cities in the world and THIS happens?!” I got home and immediately stole a cigarette from my roommate. 

Date actually asked me out again. I declined. Can you imagine the best man’s speech at our wedding?

I met this guy at a coffee shop near his house. I lived 40 minutes away and asked if we could meet in the middle… but, alas, we met by his house. 

He was an actor. “Usually I send my reel to the people I go out with before I meet them so they can see how good I am,” He said to me.  Ok… he’s a d-bag, I think, but maybe he just slipped up. After an hour of him laughing at jokes I didn’t know I made (and I awkwardly pretended to know what was so funny) my patience was running low. 

When I said I was a musician, he said ”well, give me your cd and I’ll tell you if you’re good. Don’t you want to know what the world thinks of your music?” WTF!!!! Excuse me, but you are NOT the world and if you were I would kill myself and inception my way out of this life!

FINALLY, the  keeper says - ”I have friends that are girls but we can’t really stay friends  since they are obsessed with me.” I kid you not, that was a real quote. Why I stayed at that moment, I’ll never know.

“I notice that the girls I WANT to date are really hot, but they are dumb,” He shamelessly continues.  ”The girls who are interesting are the girls who are just pretty because they haven’t been handed things to them their whole life. I tell the girls I date that I am settling. I know I’m not the hottest guy ever; so, I should be honest with them about how they look.” 

The end of the lovely night was me saying ”Don’t call me” after he harassed the waitress and almost made me pay for my 1 decaf coffee while he had a whole meal!!

Then we got married…

HELLZNAH!!! I never saw him again after avoiding his calls for the next month…….. ew…..

I went on a date with a guy who seemed really wonderful. He took me to a dive bar.

I like dives.

During my first drink he was mostly normal, asking about my week and other very normal things. (Note the normalcy).

He ordered me a second drink (thank you sir, very polite)

Then he started quizzing me and essentially harrassing me about what I was looking for in a relationship. Apparently “I don’t know” was not an acceptable answer, so he continued to harrass me. I proceeded to chug my gin drink.

Poor decision.

He realized I was about to walk out on him, and suddenly started being incredibly sweet, so I stupidly decided to stay for another drink. 

I thought perhaps the weird second drink outburst was a fluke and that he really was a normal guy, albeit one who recently escaped a serious relationship that he never intended to be serious. I thought I sort of understood his harrassment.

After our third drink, we walked outside so he could get on his bike and I could get on the bus. He went to kiss me goodnight, and I thought “Oh! A nice normal end to a weird date!”

We were in the middle of Harvard Square and not only did he kiss me goodnight, he essentially ate my face.  

Followed by a bite on the neck.

On our first date.

I am not completely opposed to the occasional nibble, but he bit me HARD. The first time we met. He left bite marks. Needless to say, I had lost interest. On my bus ride home (about ten minutes later), I got a text message asking if I “wanted company” that night. Um… no thank you bipolar vampire man. 

About a year ago a few of my friends convinced me to join OkCupid. I thought, “Egh, what the hell?” At this point I had been messing around with someone who I knew nothing was going to materialize with - so, I thought I would try it out.

It took me a longtime to muster up enough courage to respond to a message. I ended up getting a message from a super cute guy who lived in my area.  One night we ended up chatting online…Only to find out he lived on my street, in my building, in the IDENTICAL room below mine!

So, at this point I suggested he meet me in the hallway to go for a drink (which he happily did) and we laughed about the odd circumstance.

One drink around the corner lead to another and another and before long I was back at his place (one floor below mine, in the same laid out room…which was weird because it wasn’t mine).

We ended up having a really awkward romp in the sack.

Cut to one week later when he caught me with my usual hook-up getting particularly randy in the hallway right in front of his door on my way up to my place.

God, I looked like a slut.

After that, I would continuously bump into him in the building.

I’ve told this story enough times to know that it suffices more or less skip to the punch line.

One night I was at an “Edward 40-hands” themed college party.  As a petite female freshman in college, I saw no reason why I shouldn’t consume (almost) 80 oz. of malt beverage in one evening.  As the night wore on, things got friendly with one particular fellow.

Long story short, we went back to his dorm, were making out, and I stopped to vomit into a plastic bag.  He was very nice, I believe I washed my face a bit, and he gave me a piece of Orbit gum to clean my obviously dirty mouth.  Within five minutes, he started making out with me again.  

The guy puts a lot of faith in Orbit gum. 

We proceeded to date for about 9 months.  

I met a guy at my old job who I thought checked maybe 3 out of 20 boxes on my checklist - so, you know, super-promising from the start. He was cute but kind of full of himself, seemed a bit snobbish. But whatever, you’re only young once.

I agreed to meet him for dinner.

He picks out a tiny restaurant. However, it’s a Saturday in the summer and he hadn’t made reservations. The host informs him it will be a wait of “2-3 hours.” I’m ready to move on because who waits 3 hours for dinner at place with no bar? Instead, he says that’s fine and leaves his name. I suggest grabbing a drink somewhere nearby but he quickly, mysteriously shoots down that idea, says he’s fine waiting out front of the restaurant.

For three hours.

At first, we try to make small talk but it becomes increasingly clear that he wants to talk about himself only. Actually, he wants to talk about bikes.

And bike lanes.

And bike politics.

And bike accidents.

And bike helmets.

And bike culture.

And bands that support biking (there is such a thing? What color ribbon sticker do you get for that?)

I try to seem engaged but after his fifth story of how he told off a motorist for not obeying hand signals, I’m having trouble feigning interest. Then he suddenly goes on a tangent about socialism, making very simplistic comments like “This world is just rich f-cking white men trying to keep us from uprising.” I realize by “rich white men” he probably means his father, and by “us,” he probably means “people who work part-time at a food co-op.” 

He’s embarrassingly loud, too, the kind of person who only speaks in caps lock: “I HAVE A LOT IN COMMON WITH HUNTER S. THOMPSON!”

I was weighing my options at this point. Stick it out? Leave? Light self on fire? Light him on fire? But right then, like some sort of sick, twisted divine intervention, the host says she’s had a cancellation and we’re welcome to sit now.

She fails to mention the table is the smallest booth in the history of dining, so that we have to sit side-to-side, shoulder-to-shoulder. Close enough that I can’t even use my left hand. Close enough that I can smell that he doesn’t wear deodorant, but he DOES have a tattoo of a bike on his inner bicep.

I would like to order a drink but Boy says, “No thank you” immediately to the offered drink menu, my only saving grace. Then he complains that the bread is cold and asks the server to warm it up for him.

Then Boy proceeds to order for me.

Yes. Order for me. In the 21st century, after ranting about how “men can be f-cking feminists too, you know?” Surprisingly, he shuts up when there is food in front of him, leaving me to concentrate on both my pasta and locating all available exits. We’re silent for an extremely long period of time. 

When we finish, he asks if I would like dessert, and I say no, thinking that I would rather stick my fork in my eyeball. As we signal the waiter for the check, I see another waiter kind of staring at us, holding two glasses of wine on his tray which I know come with our meal. 

He comes over and sets the wine on the table. I’m so thankful that booze is in my presence. 

I go to take a sip when Boy leans over to the waiter and says very loudly so everyone can hear, “NO THANK YOU! I AM A RECOVERING ALCOHOLIC!”

Everyone stares at us as he pays. We leave and I’m ready to say my goodbyes outside and go home, crawl into bed with a bottle of vodka and “Miss Congeniality” on TBS.

I’m ready to tell him that I don’t want to see him ever again but before I can, he says “WELL, I DON’T REALLY THINK THIS WORKED OUT. YOU’RE NOT MY TYPE. I ACTUALLY REALLY LIKE ASIAN WOMEN.”

Not only did I go on a date with a smelly pinko alcoholic, but he then proceeded to “turn me down” in front of, oh, I don’t know, hundreds of people. It made for the most eye-gougingly awful first date since Hannibal Lecter asked a bitch to dinner.

The last summer I spent at home during my college years, I could be found every Wednesday night at an outdoor movie night most Pittsburghers refer to as Flagstaff.  On one such a Flagstaffian night, I met a girl who, for all intensive purposes of privacy, I’ll refer to as “Sally.”  As a lesbian, I am usually under the presumption that most girls I meet outside of any sort of gay club or gay night are straight.  I assumed the same thing about Sally.  She did, after all, come with a guy.  

During the course of the night, I was surprised to find that she was talking more to me than to her date.  Even more surprising is that she offered me a ride home after helping me down a bottle of wine, and that she basically inferred to her date that he should make his own way back after the movie ended — alone.

After everyone had left (and after the last vestiges of wine were consumed), I asked Sally if she would like to wait for awhile before driving.  She answered me by planting me with a kiss that literally knocked me backwards onto the ground — with her on top of me — and into a pile of what I thought at the time were daffodils, or some other like-minded weed.

We proceeded to leave the park grounds and go to her car, where we had sex.  After we had finished (and as we were putting our clothes back on), I found that I had a rash on the back of neck and between my shoulder blades.  Yep — the patch of weeds I had fallen into when Sally kissed me were not just any fauna, but poisoned ivy.

At that point, Sally decided to tell me that she had never had sex with a girl before, and she was so happy that she now had a girlfriend.  She then basically gave me the ultimatum of her crashing at my place, or crashing in her car.

We both woke up the next morning covered with poisoned ivy.  Thank God for that poisonous weed — it ended up being the deal-breaker for the most short-lived relationship I’ve had in my life.

I am a news junkie for several reasons; I like to be informed, I work in politics, and possibly most importantly, the silver fox, Anderson Cooper.  There is something about the combination of his stunningly good looks, confident authoritative voice, and the way he can make a lying uber-conservative extremist shut up and look dumb.  Needless to say given the chance I would let him be my anchor.

So, a year ago when I met a gentleman that bore a striking resemblance to Mr. Cooper and had a chance to go on a date, well that was breaking news.

Mind you this was at a point in my life as a college student that I was putting myself out in the gay world, and let’s just say a relationship was not my primary motivation, but can you blame me? I was good looking, 22 years old, in great shape with very little time on my hands, and more hormones than I knew what to do with. 

So the date seemed like it was going very well and I happened to have my apartment all to myself  So, I invited - I just realized I do not even remember his real name - to come back to my place.  I am pretty sure my intentions were clear, I wanted to get a piece of my new favorite celebrity look-a-like.  Once the clothes started coming off the similarities between my Anderson and real Anderson continued. His body was amazing, six-pack does not cover the glory that was this man’s stomach.  So, without giving too detailed a report, we had a great time.  As we were putting our clothes back on my iPhone went off. I went to grab it, but I stopped my self and said “oh man I am addicted to my iPhone.” To which my my silver haired fantasy responded with “Oh ya, I got my daughter one of those she is addicted too… I think you two are the same age.”  

 I was able to contain myself until I brought him to the door, and showed him out.  The moment the door shut I laughed harder than I had in a long time. I’m pretty sure he heard me.  I was unable to respond to any of his messages without laughing and knew I would not be able to handle a second date.  Every time I turn on Anderson Cooper I get a smile on my face.

In high school, I waited tables at a local diner a few nights a week. Save for the other teens like me who were trying to make some extra cash for a cell phone or new kicks, there was a small group of employees who exemplified the cast of the Ryan Reynolds movie “Waiting;” slightly older, at community college, bad habits, no car. Jack was one of them.

I had recently gotten out of a relationship, and knowing I was leaving for college in the fall, I wasn’t looking for anything serious. Jack was nice enough — moderately attractive with at least a slight sense of humor, which was an improvement over many of the other employees at the diner. We had some mutual friends, even though he was a few years older than I was and grew up two towns over.

One night after closing the diner with Jack, he asked what I was up to later. Not wanting to say, “I am going home to do my math homework and get to bed early because I have high school in the morning,” I played it cool and said I would just be “hanging out.” He said he would “come hang out with me,” his tone implying he was inviting himself over. Against my better judgement, I told him to drop by.

We stood in my living room, my parents asleep not too far from us, making awkward small talk. He told me he was tired, and I told him it was okay if he went home, promising we could hang out sometime soon. He said not to worry about it, that he would find some energy, and he pounced.

We started hooking up on my living room couch, both of us still in our greasy diner clothes and reeking of french fry oil. Soon enough things were progressing to the next level, which I was prepared for — and he didn’t seem to be holding anything back, either.

As we were fooling around, he wasn’t able to get hard enough to have sex, but we kept trying. But after awhile he seemed to get uncomfortable and frustrated and he stopped me. I asked him what was wrong, and all he said was, “Sorry, I smoked too much weed.” He buttoned his pants back up and said, “see ya, kiddo” before he left, with me still sitting on the couch half-clothed in my parent’s house.

We never spoke of that night again, although we were coworkers for another eight months. After I left for college, I heard from a friend he was arrested for transporting weed across an international border and spent a year in jail. I guess he had too much weed.

This is a story about why I should never have been asked on a second date. In reality, I was, but it should never have happened. I like to think it was my good looks and charm but it was probably this poor sucker’s teenage desperation.

My senior year of high school I unwittingly involved myself in a long distance relationship of sorts. I didn’t know then what a horrible idea those are, and although I do now, it still seems to be an unfortunate trend in my dating history.

In any event, said sort-of-long-distance-relationship-boy arrived in my hometown, from a country that will not be named, a day early to surprise me at the restaurant where I worked as a bartender the summer before college. It was fairly adorable in a young, summer love bullshit kind of way.  I was dressed in the world’s ugliest uniform that involved a teal polo covered in curly fry grease and margarita mix, and this well dressed foreigner came charging in to sweep me off my feet. No-slip shoes and all.

And sweep me off my feet he did (after helping me close down the bar, place chairs on table tops, and mop the floor that is). Which gave my eighteen-year-old self plenty of time to freak out, hyperventilate, and accumulate mass amounts of butterflies in my stomach; this all happened while trying to pretend I was cool as a cucumber and that foreign boys surprised me at work all the time.

Eventually exiting the restaurant became unavoidable and Foreign Boy nearly dragged me out to the parking lot to make out with me by my car. (It was high school, duh.) And in what should have been the hottest moment of my inexperienced life, he kissed me. So passionately, in fact, that he picked me up off the ground and shoved my back against the shitty, 4-door Volvo I drove back then. Unfortunately, instead of enjoying this makeout sesh straight out of a made-for-TV teen movie, my body had other ideas for me. Apparently, the combination of surprise and sudden sensory overload was too much for me. So, make out I did not. What I did do was shove Foreign Boy away so suddenly that I literally fell out of his arms and to my knees where I proceeded to vomit. Everywhere. For no reason. At all. Mortifying for me and really upsetting for Foreign Boy who just wanted to get some ass but got, instead, a front row seat to the regurgitation of the chicken fingers I had eaten earlier.

Life lesson for all: if you have any inclination at all that you’re about to be surprised, eat a light lunch.

I turned 30, broke up with my boyfriend of seven years, and decided to join OK Cupid.

I was incredibly picky, because I considered online dating a new low at that point.  It took me months to respond to anything to message anyone.  I finally found one guy.  He was cute, had an amazing job, graduated from Harvard, and wanted to take me to the Carlyle.  I was more than excited.

I showed up fashionably late.  I was brought back to our table.  He was just as cute as he looked online.  He stood up to greet me.

He was wearing a man skirt.

I am not kidding, he looked like this:

That was the last time I tried online dating.

After splitting with my girlfriend and falling for someone a few thousand miles away, I was fucking pissed. I decided to channel my anger into getting laid.

I opted to hit a bar where my buddy’s friend is the bartender. This translated into me getting shit faced in about an hour. I went outside for a cigarette and noticed a cute girl smoking alone.

I’ll call her Lola. 

When I noticed her again in the bar, I went for it. I walked up to her, and BAM! I was intrigued by her Mexican accent. I don’t know what I said. But I DO remember making out in a booth and my friends giving me the thumbs up. It was actually my friend Helen and her boyfriend John who invited her back to my place for more drinks.

When we got to my apartment, Lola immediately dove on my bed. Helen and John smoked out my window as I went to the kitchen for another drink. When I returned, Lola was butt naked … and my friends were still smoking out the window, smiling sheepishly at me. Of course, at the time, this seemed acceptable. 

Then, Lola stood up her naked body in full view, and kissed Helen – which wasn’t nearly as surprising as the fact that Helen kissed her back. John’s eyes bulged. After the kiss, Helen collected herself and darted out of the room to her apartment. She returned with a spliff.

Helen handed me the spliff. Being the drunk idiot I was, I literally sucked down the entire thing. This was the second time I had ever smoked.

Then Lola undid my pants and began. Only then did my friends finally leave, giving me thumbs up as they went.

Suddenly, Lola and I were having sex. I was so numb.  I was on top of her and she squealed, looked at me and proclaimed, “Do you know I was raped once?”

I leapt off of her. “I’m kidding! I’m kidding!” she chided in her Mexican accent, “Come back!” I wanted to believe her… and for some reason, it seemed logical to finish mission.

After a few minutes, she grabbed my head and said, “Fuck me in the ass!” At this point, I just wanted to come, take a shower, and cry. I replied mid-fuck, “I’m good thanks!” It wasn’t easy, but I finished. And no, my orgasm was not good.

I thought the nightmare was over, but as I was washing up, she knocked on the door asking, “WHAT IF THE CONDOM BROKE!” She began crying, and collecting her things as I attempted to console her. After a few more moments of worrying about the condom, she dressed, and showed herself out.

After checking online for the earliest I could possibly get a STD test, I took a shower, and passed out.

I haven’t had a one night stand since.

A barreling, somebody-stop-that-train of a monologist was brought along as a deliberate third wheel on one particular date of mine.

She instructed my date and I to “get our flirt on.” I turned to my date, said, “I didn’t know we had hired a narrator.” The joke didn’t get any laughs and that’s how we began the night.

The low point of the evening came when the talker - a woman - said - in the middle of her definition of feminism - that it was the woman’s fault that a guy wanted to sleep with her. 

“I think that has more to do with personal values than feminism,” I said, knowing it was the sentence that - if the woman was capable of listening, which she wasn’t - would have effectively ended the night.

I tried to make it as diplomatic as possible, but when I pretty much shoved the friend out of the subway at the end of the night, I’d tipped my hand. 

In high school I would occasionally volunteer to work events that were put on for the parents of fellow students, the faculty and staff. At these events we would wear our catholic schoolgirl dress uniform and either sign people in or serve food.

One event I was asked to help out the catering company with the passed hors d’oeuvres. This was prime because:

1) I could eat for free

2) I could get into the Sherry

Three glasses of sherry later I was feeling pretty good - I started chatting up one of the caterers. He was very cute and explained to me that he had just moved to LA from NY to pursue a masters degree in English.  He wanted to become a grade school poetry teacher. To my 17-year-old (tipsy) self, this could not have been more of a turn on.

So, he asked me out the following weekend and I accepted his invitation to dinner. Three days later I met him at the shitty Chinese restaurant he had suggested. We start talking and the conversation is not flowing like it was when I was three Sherrys deep. Furthermore, sans booze goggles, he was not cute…. not at all.

That’s when he starts laying in on the compliments, “your eyes are as deep as the ocean,” or “you glow as if you are an angel from heaven.” I’m thinking to myself, and this guy wants to be a poetry teacher? I proceed to ask him about his move from NY.

Then the truth comes out…. He did not move from NY, he fled from NY because the cops were after him because he was involved in a huge gang/drug bust. He was not in LA to attend a masters program, but rather a “beatz” class at Pasadena City College where he hopes to hone his “skillz” as a rap artist. Then, to top it all off, he spent 20 minutes talking about the cult he joined his first 3 weeks in LA, and how the true God is a red goat in the Hollywood hills.

Needless to say, I choked down my orange chicken, and fled the scene. When he called for a second date, I told him i had been in a horrible accident and was about to undergo several massive surgeries. He bought it too.  

Moral of the story: Never go out with a guy who hits on you in your catholic schoolgirl outfit; they are freaks - all of them.

I had been in a 3 year relationship when everything came to a crumbling end.  I was 21 and it was my first love; I was heartbroken.

I stumbled through the next few weeks like a newly single zombie - completely unaware of the men around me and if they were hitting on me.  My friend Tom invited me over one night and I met his friend John.  John was very nice.  He was cute enough, smart enough, funny enough - but not exceptional in any category.  An every day John.

A few days later, Tom texts me and says that his friend John really liked meeting me and that we should all hang out this weekend.  Oblivious from heartbreak, I had no idea that John was interested.  I figured we would all have a great time hanging out as friends.

Friday night, Tom and John join us in Brighton for a party.  It is pouring and I am drunk.  I invite everyone back to my place for my famous “drunk grilled cheese” (i.e. grilled cheese made while drunk).  To give you a visual of my intoxication, I opened a beer and sat on the floor of the van cab.

***

We get to my apartment, a group of about eight.  I have six more beers.  Before I know it, everyone is gone except John.

“I was really jealous of the back rub Ally gave you earlier,” John says to me.  ”My shoulders are killing me, do you mind rubbing mine?  I know that sound weird, but we’re friends, right?”

We were friends!  Drunk friends!  I thought nothing of it and obliged.

“Wow, that feels great, but it is really my lower back.  I hope this doesn’t come off as weird, but could we go to the living room so you can rub my lower back?”

Of course!  That is what friends are for.  I still have no idea what is going on.

The living room is occupied by a friend and his date.  Oh well!  Back to the kitchen.

“Wait… don’t you live here?  If it isn’t a bother, couldn’t we just go to your room?” John asks.

Why didn’t I think of that!  Of course we can!  But first, I should put my PJs on because I am sleepy.  Not realizing what I am getting myself into, I put on an over sized t-shirt and shorts.

“It is so bright.  Can we turn of the overhead and light those candles?”  Yes!  We can!  I love candles, new friend John!

“This back rub is great, but my shirt is in the way.  Would it be weird if I took it off?”  No!  We are friends, it wouldn’t be weird!  What is a shirt between friends?

“Is that lotion on your desk?”  Well, yes!  It is stress relief, doesn’t it smell great?

“Ouch, my right side hurts so badly.  Can you reach my right side?  Oh, you can’t?  Well, you can just straddle me to be able to reach it.”

I am now giving him a full on body massage, completely by accident, and it all comes crashing down when he reaches back and touches my inner thigh.  Holy crap…. how did I get here?  I am not that girl… how did I not realize?

Then commenced the worst 5 hours of my entire life.  Messy, bad, drunken hook up.  He woke up in the morning to go to the library, he had to finish his freshman thesis.  Oh god, he is a freshman in college.

I go back to sleep for a few hours.  In the late morning, I walk into my kitchen to find my roommates and friend sitting around the table.  They look at me, about to make fun, and immediately drop their vision to my neck.

“Have you looked in a mirror?”

“No.  Why?”

No one answers.  I walk to the bathroom.  It hurts to turn my neck left and right.  I look in the mirror and it looks like someone has tried to strangle me in my sleep.  Hickeys cover my neck from clavicle to ear.  I leave to meet my parents for lunch with a scarf.

For an seemingly ordinary man, I have never forgotten every day John.

Two people realized they were actually estranged siblings.  The story ran in the Daily Record earlier this week.  You can view the original version here.

A cleaner signed up to a website and ended up on a blind date - with her long-lost brother.

Sarah Kemp, 42, swapped emails and photos with 47-year-old George Bentley.

But it was only when they met in a pub on their first date and talked about their childhood that they realised they were brother and sister.

Luckily, the penny dropped before any “kisses or fumbles” took place.

Last night, Sarah said: “Can you imagine the surprise, joy and embarrassment we both felt? It was such a crazy thing.”

Sarah, from Edinburgh, added: “To meet your long-lost brother, in a bar, after over 30 years would be something by itself.

“But to meet him in those circumstances - on a date, for crying out loud - really is something else. We obviously had far more in common than first thought.”

Sarah and George were born in Ashford, Kent, where they spent an “idyllic childhood” with parents Felicity and David Bentley.

But they lost touch in 1975, when the couple divorced.

Sarah, who was six, joined her mum in Edinburgh, while David, nine, went with his father to east London. Neither parent remarried, but the two families never spoke again.

As adults, Sarah and George tried to make contact, but had so little information that they were unable to trace each other’s whereabouts.

The search was made more difficult when Sarah married in 1989. She divorced a decade later, but kept her husband’s surname of Kemp.

George, 47, a builder, said: “I had absolutely no idea where she was. I was also searching for Sarah Bentleys, rather than Sarah Kemps, as I obviously didn’t know she married.

“After a while, I think both Sarah and I gave up looking.”

But against the odds, the siblings were reunited after joining casual dating site ForgetDinner.co.uk  last November.

They began courting online and frequently exchanged emails and even photographs.

After three months, they decided to “bite the bullet” and met for lunch at The White Horse - George’s local pub in East Ham - last weekend.

Sarah said: “I would never have agreed to go to London on a blind date, but we hit it off from the beginning and our relationship blossomed as we emailed each other more and more often.

“I love London anyway, so when he suggested we meet up I thought it would be a good opportunity to explore and have a mini-break in the city - as well as meeting George.”

She added: “We had so much in common and we really enjoyed each other’s company. It was as if we’d known each other all our lives.”

After talking about their childhoods for more than an hour, the pair finally twigged that they were related.

Despite their embarrassment, they celebrated the reunion with a bottle of champagne - and spent the rest of the evening getting “slowly sozzled”.

Since the date took place, the siblings have met twice more in Edinburgh.

George said: “This was the meeting of a lifetime and we are now planning to see each other as often as possible to catch up on the time spent apart.”

A spokesman for bookies William Hill said the chances of the pair meeting in such a way were 500million-to-one.

He added: “They are unlucky in love, but clearly not in life.”

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After a string of bad first dates & drunken hook ups, two post-grad friends got to talking about these instances.  These experiences were similar - a brotherhood of sorts. A  tequila induced night with a friend’s friend that you would sooner forget wasn’t so different from a whiskey fueled escapade that ended with a carousel.

It begged the question: Did talking about it make the first date with a kleptomaniac better?  Did sharing these experiences and hearing others almost make up for the drunken night with a guy who secretly collected stuffed animals?
 
Yes.  Yes it did.
 
Hence, the idea for No Second Date was spawned.
 
No Second Date is an online forum for people to share their awful first date and hook up stories anonymously.  Newly single, currently single, formerly single – everyone has a story that desperately needs to be shared (even if only for schadenfreude).  The time he talked about zombie movies during sex.  Or the time you went out with a friend’s friend who ended up yelling at a waitress.  These are the stories we love to tell and hear – No Second Date is a place to do both.
 
Here are the guidelines:
1)   Submit your stories here.  This is an anonymous uploader.  If you have any issues, you can also send stories to noseconddate@gmail.com

2) Stories should be shortish, probably under 500 words.  However, we do understand that some stories may (painfully) be longer.  That is fine, but please try to stay under 500.

3)   All stories are subject to slight editing from us to ensure privacy.  This means that we will change names, work locations, and other identifying information.  We also reserve the right to change any spelling or grammatical errors.  You can learn more about this in the terms & agreements.

4) Stories are categorized by location and by tags.  This allows us to find stories that are near us, near where we grew up, and that are similar to ours.  For example, you may have a story that involved “peanut butter.”  Don’t you want to know that someone else has just an awful a story involving lunch items?

5)   Don’t be scared to be completely honest.  He tried to put what where?  She said what?  He actually cried at the dinner table?  This is the stuff everyone wants to hear - so don’t hold out on us.

What are you waiting for? Share your story now.

Once we’ve collected a handful of stories we’ll start posting them for your enjoyment/therapy.