How To Teach 4 Yr Old Boy To Wipe Butt My Funniest Online Dating Horror Stories

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My Funniest Online Dating Horror Stories

Yes Yes. It’s absolutely true that internet dating worked for me, after all. But after thinking about it for a while, I wanted to talk to you about something. It’s not like every date was a blissful flow of perfection.

Of course, I met a lot of great women and enjoyed life for a few years… culminating in meeting Emily on Match.com. But along the way, especially in the beginning, I certainly encountered my share of sometimes hilarious and sometimes downright nightmarish situations.

Here are four of the most striking:

1) Not what the doctor ordered

Very soon after my divorce in 1992, I received a “spam” message in my inbox that I actually responded to. Believe it or not, I had never heard of online dating before. This ad claimed that I could meet the woman of my dreams on their site, so I was intrigued.

Next thing you know, I collected whatever they charged and started looking at the pictures of the women they listed.

To be honest, this wasn’t exactly the most visited site on the ‘net. Who Knew Match.com Existed? So inevitably I found the exact one one a woman who struck me as interesting – a brown-eyed blonde with a friendly smile.

I sent her an email, probably with something lame like “You look nice. Maybe we could get along. Wanna talk?”. Remember, this was my first day in the world of online dating.

Call it “beginner’s luck,” but she responded. Crazy, huh?

Well, one thing led to another, and we were sitting across from each other at dinner. The fact that I shouldn’t have paid for the dinners here has long since been duly noted and is kind of beside the point, so please ignore it for now and read on.

In the middle of dinner, he starts talking about his health problems.

Never talk about your health problems on the first date. I don’t care if you’ve known that person for ten years, let alone ten minutes.

Between bites of everything I ate, she bragged about how she had chronic kidney stone problems and how tough she was that she could pass them today without even flinching.

Unfortunately, she took my casual attempt to divert the discussion as disbelief.

“You don’t believe I have kidney stones? Here…look…”

She had already started rummaging through her purse, soon pulling out a small bottle of medicine.

I thought to myself, “This chick has to be kidding. I already believe her. She doesn’t have to prove her case by showing me her recipe.”

I should have been lucky.

By pressing and twisting the childproof cap, the bottle opened and the contents soon poured into her hand.

“See, look at this…it’s got to be at least the size of a pea, right?”

With a freshly manicured thumb and forefinger, she produced the largest unit from the impressive collection of similar items she held.

Yes. It was the biggest kidney stone she had ever passed.

This woman has collected kidney stones. And she took them everywhere with her, apparently.

I don’t remember what I said or did, really. But I remember there was another meeting, believe it or not.

2) It’s not a tape Mallbaby

Not long after the “kidney stone” I met another woman from the same place. She was a Latin American cutie with perfect skin and an ass that would have put Sir Mix-A-Lot on the brakes. She used to say “sweetie” a lot.

I hadn’t yet learned the part about not taking women out to expensive dinners on first dates, so they were at one of the nicer sushi restaurants in San Antonio.

She was great. She was intelligent and loved to laugh. On top of that, she was a great flirt. She was clearly digging me.

We ordered two glasses of red wine and the conversation turned to what she did for a living.

“So you said you were ‘self-employed’. What exactly do you do for a living?” I asked.

As she answered, I took a sip of Merlot. And that’s when I discovered that all those slapstick “spits” you see in old-school sketch comedy are rooted in factual reality.

It took everything I had in reserve not to splash grape juice all over everything.

“I run a chain of strip clubs, honey,” she said nonchalantly.

In front of me sat a very classy woman, whom I had picked up from a decent house in a nice neighborhood.

“You mean, like a tape shopping center…right…with nail salons, a tanning salon, and a Chinese restaurant.”

“No, silly! LOL! I mean like… you know… take off your clothes clubs. The species with girls.”

Now, if you know my style at all by now, you already know that the date was over.

Still, it was like a train wreck. I couldn’t look away.

And I asked the inevitable question.

“Yeah, well…my ex ran the day-to-day operations and I pretty much did the books. But he let the ‘interview process’ go a little too far too often and I couldn’t trust him anymore. I got a job in a divorce settlement. “

Then I told her the truth.

“I’ve never been to one of those places in my life and I see no reason to start now.”

Uh oh.

I may have lit a roman candle. That chick practically attacked me as soon as we left the restaurant. I tried to handle things the best I knew how at the time, but let’s just say she was not a happy camper.

When I got home, she had already emailed me nude pictures from her “Adult Friendfinder” profile (which was my first introduction to that reality). “This is what you’ve been missing. GOOD LUCK!!!” was the only line that followed the pictures.

3) June Carter Cash Or Charge

I should have known better, considering the one picture she attached to her profile was blurry.

And in my heart, I really knew better. Suspecting that this particular date might not go so well, I asked her out for dinner (yes, yes…stubborn, right?) at 5.30pm.

I walked into Chili’s or TGIFridays or whatever it was, and immediately got that nagging feeling that every single online dater experiences at one point or another. Specifically, the one where you see someone waiting alone at a table over there who vaguely resembles the person you expected to meet about as much as a piece of burnt toast resembles a perfectly good slice of bread you threw in the toaster and forgot about.

My honest first thought was, “OMG…who replaced the woman with the pretty smile on her profile with June Carter Cash!”

I was too much of a “Mr. Nice Guy” to immediately turn tail and skip town, so I gathered my intestinal fortitude and approached the table.

The conversation was shaky from the start. She began feebly trying to flirt.

The woman was at least 55 years old. And not a very attractive 55-year-old.

She was dressed in tight black stuff with a lot of shit and stainless steel fringe, like she was some farting legend from “The Grand Ole’ Opry” or something.

The thickness of her Texas accent was eclipsed only by the thickness of her black eyeliner.

Finally, she excused herself to the ladies room, offering me a blessed reprieve from the impending puke.

Then the waiter came to the table and asked me if I wanted another beer. “NO!” I said, soon apologizing for the harsh tone neither he nor I expected.

“OK, um… what about your mom?

“What?”

“Would your mom like another beer?”

Suddenly reminded that one must take oneself much less seriously in order to derive the greatest enjoyment from life, I burst out laughing.

I was still recovering when Mrs. Cash returned to the table.

After ordering a small garden salad (after all, who could eat?), my focus mostly turned to saying as little as possible in hopes that she would finish eating.

I had already called for the check and finally excused myself to go find the waiter and pay it already.

Finally, on my way out, I parted from her at the table and wished her well. There was no way I was going to risk the embarrassment of walking her to the car. My innate sense of chivalry was actually overwhelmed with utter disgust, unapologetically.

Arriving home in the later hours of 6:30, I was again greeted with a “post date” email. In her scathing message to me, Ms. Cash “accused” me of a series of insults that apparently awakened her deepest feelings of hurt and anger. Among the particularly hilarious ones was the statement that I was “obviously gay” because I failed to see her as attractive.

If she had been the last woman on earth, she might have been right about that.

By the way, I finally learned my lesson and left that particular dating site…for good.

4) Cook for your drunk

She was a very sweet teacher of Lebanese nationality. She was also a total lover. Realizing that her pictures keep getting 9.5s on HotOrNot.com, I rolled the dice and let her come over so I could cook for her.

There was no disappointment. She was just my type. And she was already sensitive/sensitive/smiling enough that I knew this was going to go really well.

I mixed her an “Apple-tini”.

“Oh my! This is GOOD!” she said. Noticing her glass was empty, I refreshed it for her.

The glass was empty again the next time I looked at it. At that moment, making eye contact with her, she jumped over to me, threw her arms around my neck and started biting me with a giggle.

This fish was maybe 110 pounds with a full tank of fuel. (in other words, she probably weighed 110 pounds at the time). So I decided that maybe two drinks would be enough.

But still, when I wasn’t paying attention, she found some raspberries in my bay and started mixing vodka with it.

Ten minutes later, dinner was ready…and it was spectacular, if I may say so myself.

But she was nowhere to be found.

Then I remembered that she excused herself to the bathroom.

I went to check on her and she threw up (luckily with extremely accurate aim) in the dresser and promptly passed out on the floor. However.

After managing to wake her up, she dazedly agreed to let me carry her into the bedroom and let her sleep… which she did.

I had dinner alone, watching the Sports Center. The Spurs lost, no less.

She woke up 8 hours later, found me sleeping on the couch and made me breakfast when I woke up. It was a great breakfast. She obviously felt that I was a man with whom she could feel safe. It was the second meeting.

Obviously, I learned a few things from my early misadventures on the internet. My night with the Lebanese cutie actually happened about six months before I met Emily, so it just goes to show that you always have to stay on your toes. Actually, that one was probably less of an “online dating disaster” per se and more than the trouble of keeping my supply of booze from shut-in school teachers!

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