One time I went on a date with a speech writer for Geithner and I ended up yelling 'gazangas' in the middle of a beer garden. This was towards the end of my 26 dates in 3-months and usually gets listed as the worst date I have ever been on. In our conversations on the eharm, he was smart, witty, well-traveled, seemed close with his family, and was attractive. We hadn't been chatting for very long, but I was excited to meet him in person. We were supposed to meet at 6:30 at the beer garden on U Street. I got there at 6:30 and texted him when I couldn't find him in the crowd. He wrote back to let me know he was running a few minutes late. 15 minutes later he shows up reeking of tequila and gleefully tells me that he had been doing shots with friends down the street. As we are getting our IDs checked, he asks me if I noticed he was shorter than his stated 5'8 - as he was just a hair shorter than my 5'6 - I told him yes and asked why he bothered to lie about something that is so obvious. (At this point, I'd been on so many dates with guys who lied about it - I was starting to get annoyed.) His response was (and still is) priceless: "I figure it is like telling a girl that you have an amazing apartment to get her to go home with you - once you get her there and she sees that you live in a hovel - you've already got her there so the work is done..." Yes, I know that this was the perfect opportunity to walk - but alas I stubbornly decided to ride this one out for the story. So we get our beers and he begins to regale me with shop talk, how important his job is, all the people he has met, how smart he is...I start checking the time and metro schedule. And somehow in my moment of distraction, the conversation takes an unexpected turn. He decides to tell me about his ideal woman, Salma Hayek. This is at first amusing to me - since he is out on a date with a green eyed, strawberry blonde with freckles - not really 'his type.' But then he decides to focus in on her attributes and gives me a good five minutes on her - and I quote - "titties" - yes, he really did call them that. I sit in stunned silence for the first couple minutes, and then I just blurt out - "Did you really call Salma Hayek's boobs 'titties'? Because, first off, who talks about 'titties' on a first date? And second off, seriously, that woman's breasts deserve better than 'titties' at least get it right and call them 'gazangas' or something with a little more umph (hand gestures for umph). But seriously, what is wrong with you?!" He didn't have much to stay after my outburst, which was much louder than I meant it to be, as people were now looking at us. I wish I could say I had stormed off after this outburst, but unfortunately I was a bit deflated and baffled at why I had already stayed so long, so I waited while he paid. I even let him walk me to the metro, where I had to dodge a clumsy attempt at a kiss and missed my train. #Ugh #Live&Learn #TheyAreCalledBreasts
So another time, I went out with a rich twin I met at a yacht party and turned down a weekend trip to Paris. When I lived in NY, W. would sometimes take me as her date to fancy parties. This particular evening came about when she was part of some exclusive club that would host impromptu parties around NYC that required passwords and a certain balance in your bank account to join. It was a ton of fun and one of those evenings that as time passes seems kind of surreal. The champagne cruise around the city was beautiful, and as I was stupid-poor at the time it, was great to enjoy the luxury. Towards the end of the night, I bumped into the twin as I was taking pictures of our group and he gave me his card. Turns out he was a lawyer (his twin was a doctor), they were named after two of our Founding Fathers, had gone to exclusive boarding schools in Connecticut, were lightly involved in politics, and wealthy. We chatted a bit and he took me out to a lovely seafood restaurant in the city, where we sat in the jazz room, then he drove us to the cafe from 'You've Got Mail' and had a decadent chocolate dessert - this was all carefully planned as I had mentioned my love of jazz, RomComs, and seafood. He spent the evening telling me about his twin, his amazing job, his dabblings in politics, and how he could afford to keep his spiffy car in the city (it was a spiffy car). At the time, it was not a bad date, I was 23 and it was flattering to have a night designed around you - looking back it was overdone and he was obnoxious. The fun started after the date was done. As flattered as I was, I was sooo not attracted to him and so when he called and asked if I wanted to go out again I was prepared to turn him down. But before he waited for my reply to the invite, he asked if I had a passport. My curiosity was pricked, after I replied that I did, he told me that a car would be picking me up in a few hours and I should pack for a long weekend and to bring my passport (it was a Friday and we had gone out on Tuesday). Now, those of you who know me know: that I am as far from spontaneous as you can get, that I do not appreciate people telling me what I will be doing, and that I don't like feeling rushed when I am dating - so what happens next shouldn't surprise them. I told him that while I appreciated the thought, I couldn't take off for a weekend and certainly couldn't take off work unexpectedly on Monday. This didn't go over well with him and the texts started - at first they were cajoling, trying to get me to change my mind by telling me he just wanted to take me to Paris for the weekend (yes, I will admit being slightly tempted after learning this), and then they were whiny, and finally they were just snotty. So I ignored them. When he got back I didn't hear from him and thought it was over...oh was I wrong. He called about a week later, I was at the store picking up ingredients for the key lime pie I was making for Thanksgiving at W.'s house. Well, he insisted that it was his favorite and he should come over to be my tester. I declined and said that I didn't think it was going to work out. I was so proud of myself for being honest about it and not making excuses. He spent the next 15 minutes telling me why I was making the biggest mistake of my life. He explained to me that he had told his brother (the doctor) about me (and about my Lupus) and his brother had warned him that I was "damaged goods," but he was willing to look past that and as such, I should be "grateful." Yep. He said that. I listened to him rant and when he finished up - I told him that "while I appreciated that he was willing to look past my shortcomings, I wasn't willing to look past his being an asshole and that he should refrain from contacting me." About a month later, I got a remorseful text message, that I assume his therapist made him write - I never responded. #RichDoesntMeanClassy #BestWeekendTripINeverTook #KeyLimePie
And finally, one time I went out with a window-dresser for Urban Outfitters and ended up at Fuddruckers. This one was date 3 in the saga of 26 first dates. I was super excited about this date, because the first two were so blah and this guy seemed really fun. He was super cute, had an entertaining profile, and seemed energetic - which at the time was something I found interesting, rather than exhausting. We met at my favorite dive bar in DC at 7:30, which was a later meet time than I liked, but I was just starting to date and trying to be open-minded. He came in 30-minutes late, as he had overslept, but at least he looked like his pictures. We were supposed to have a drink and then go play mini golf at the H Street Country Club, I was excited about the mini golf. However, his drink turned into multiple drinks and he began to delight me with stories about his nights out on the town and how awful his ex was. Apparently, the window-dresser world has crazy hours and so he had found himself living as a night owl - hence the oversleeping for a 7:30 date. But I wasn't to worry, as he was trying to change his ways because it had caused problems with his ex, who was resentful of him hanging out at the bars until the wee hours of the morning. Considering, he told me about wanting to turn his life around in the same sentence that he told me he had gotten home at 4am the night before - I wasn't holding my breath for his transformation. After I finished my beer, and he his fifth Jameson, I accepted that mini golf wasn't going to happen. I also realized that we should get out of the bar before he had more - not only was he getting loud in his bashing of his ex - but he was insistent about driving himself home. I figured I could be a good Samaritan and get some food in him to sop up the booze. He was a big guy, 6'3 about 180 lbs, and when he leaned on me as we were walking down the street I started wobbling in my heels - I decided we weren't going far for food and shoved him into a booth in the Fuddruckers that was 2 store fronts down from the bar and across the street from Urban Outfitters (which he apparently designed the window for). I bought us burgers and fries, and listened to his stories about the nightlife in DC, his crazy/amazing ex, and the life of window-dressing. When the tears started during reason #143 that his ex leaving him was the best/worst thing that ever happened to him I decided that I was done for the evening. I took him to the metro and put him on a train towards his house, avoided the sloppy attempt at a goodnight kiss, and realized that dating in DC might not be what I expected. #IHaven'tBeenBackToFuddruckersSince #CryingOnADateIsANo #DCDating
Hopefully these provided you with a chuckle and some comfort as you go on your own dating adventures. If you have a story that can top these, please feel free to share. And most importantly, keep your fingers crossed that this round of dating, none of them enter into this category of crazy.
So another time, I went out with a rich twin I met at a yacht party and turned down a weekend trip to Paris. When I lived in NY, W. would sometimes take me as her date to fancy parties. This particular evening came about when she was part of some exclusive club that would host impromptu parties around NYC that required passwords and a certain balance in your bank account to join. It was a ton of fun and one of those evenings that as time passes seems kind of surreal. The champagne cruise around the city was beautiful, and as I was stupid-poor at the time it, was great to enjoy the luxury. Towards the end of the night, I bumped into the twin as I was taking pictures of our group and he gave me his card. Turns out he was a lawyer (his twin was a doctor), they were named after two of our Founding Fathers, had gone to exclusive boarding schools in Connecticut, were lightly involved in politics, and wealthy. We chatted a bit and he took me out to a lovely seafood restaurant in the city, where we sat in the jazz room, then he drove us to the cafe from 'You've Got Mail' and had a decadent chocolate dessert - this was all carefully planned as I had mentioned my love of jazz, RomComs, and seafood. He spent the evening telling me about his twin, his amazing job, his dabblings in politics, and how he could afford to keep his spiffy car in the city (it was a spiffy car). At the time, it was not a bad date, I was 23 and it was flattering to have a night designed around you - looking back it was overdone and he was obnoxious. The fun started after the date was done. As flattered as I was, I was sooo not attracted to him and so when he called and asked if I wanted to go out again I was prepared to turn him down. But before he waited for my reply to the invite, he asked if I had a passport. My curiosity was pricked, after I replied that I did, he told me that a car would be picking me up in a few hours and I should pack for a long weekend and to bring my passport (it was a Friday and we had gone out on Tuesday). Now, those of you who know me know: that I am as far from spontaneous as you can get, that I do not appreciate people telling me what I will be doing, and that I don't like feeling rushed when I am dating - so what happens next shouldn't surprise them. I told him that while I appreciated the thought, I couldn't take off for a weekend and certainly couldn't take off work unexpectedly on Monday. This didn't go over well with him and the texts started - at first they were cajoling, trying to get me to change my mind by telling me he just wanted to take me to Paris for the weekend (yes, I will admit being slightly tempted after learning this), and then they were whiny, and finally they were just snotty. So I ignored them. When he got back I didn't hear from him and thought it was over...oh was I wrong. He called about a week later, I was at the store picking up ingredients for the key lime pie I was making for Thanksgiving at W.'s house. Well, he insisted that it was his favorite and he should come over to be my tester. I declined and said that I didn't think it was going to work out. I was so proud of myself for being honest about it and not making excuses. He spent the next 15 minutes telling me why I was making the biggest mistake of my life. He explained to me that he had told his brother (the doctor) about me (and about my Lupus) and his brother had warned him that I was "damaged goods," but he was willing to look past that and as such, I should be "grateful." Yep. He said that. I listened to him rant and when he finished up - I told him that "while I appreciated that he was willing to look past my shortcomings, I wasn't willing to look past his being an asshole and that he should refrain from contacting me." About a month later, I got a remorseful text message, that I assume his therapist made him write - I never responded. #RichDoesntMeanClassy #BestWeekendTripINeverTook #KeyLimePie
And finally, one time I went out with a window-dresser for Urban Outfitters and ended up at Fuddruckers. This one was date 3 in the saga of 26 first dates. I was super excited about this date, because the first two were so blah and this guy seemed really fun. He was super cute, had an entertaining profile, and seemed energetic - which at the time was something I found interesting, rather than exhausting. We met at my favorite dive bar in DC at 7:30, which was a later meet time than I liked, but I was just starting to date and trying to be open-minded. He came in 30-minutes late, as he had overslept, but at least he looked like his pictures. We were supposed to have a drink and then go play mini golf at the H Street Country Club, I was excited about the mini golf. However, his drink turned into multiple drinks and he began to delight me with stories about his nights out on the town and how awful his ex was. Apparently, the window-dresser world has crazy hours and so he had found himself living as a night owl - hence the oversleeping for a 7:30 date. But I wasn't to worry, as he was trying to change his ways because it had caused problems with his ex, who was resentful of him hanging out at the bars until the wee hours of the morning. Considering, he told me about wanting to turn his life around in the same sentence that he told me he had gotten home at 4am the night before - I wasn't holding my breath for his transformation. After I finished my beer, and he his fifth Jameson, I accepted that mini golf wasn't going to happen. I also realized that we should get out of the bar before he had more - not only was he getting loud in his bashing of his ex - but he was insistent about driving himself home. I figured I could be a good Samaritan and get some food in him to sop up the booze. He was a big guy, 6'3 about 180 lbs, and when he leaned on me as we were walking down the street I started wobbling in my heels - I decided we weren't going far for food and shoved him into a booth in the Fuddruckers that was 2 store fronts down from the bar and across the street from Urban Outfitters (which he apparently designed the window for). I bought us burgers and fries, and listened to his stories about the nightlife in DC, his crazy/amazing ex, and the life of window-dressing. When the tears started during reason #143 that his ex leaving him was the best/worst thing that ever happened to him I decided that I was done for the evening. I took him to the metro and put him on a train towards his house, avoided the sloppy attempt at a goodnight kiss, and realized that dating in DC might not be what I expected. #IHaven'tBeenBackToFuddruckersSince #CryingOnADateIsANo #DCDating
Hopefully these provided you with a chuckle and some comfort as you go on your own dating adventures. If you have a story that can top these, please feel free to share. And most importantly, keep your fingers crossed that this round of dating, none of them enter into this category of crazy.
