On Wednesdays, Amanda Chatel will be sharing stories about her strange, fascinating and sometimes wonderful dating life. If it makes you want to date, check out TheGloss dating page.
As your submissions come in left and right, I’m doing my best to keep up and respond to all of you. And it’s so much fun! Not only do I get to read your stories (before everyone else), but now I have a whole slew of readers’ email addresses for when I feel like being creepy. Why drunk text an ex, when you can drunk email a devoted reader of TheGloss?
I promise to make sure I use all the stories eventually, so don’t get anxious and start calling me names just because you haven’t seen your story posted yet. It’s coming; I swear. I’m also wondering if ANY OF YOU have a successful date that was practically plucked from a rom-com, or is it simply that the worst stories are actually the best? Thoughts?
This week we have a delightful and, yet again, bizarre collection of dates to share with you. You’re going to love it. LOVE it.
After marrying at 18, and then finding herself divorced by her mid-20’s Colleen Bailey was out on the prowl. Working at a gay bar she’d pick up loads of men like “trophies,” get drunk and proceed to embrace her sexuality. In other words, the gal was getting laid like there was no tomorrow.
It was after one such evening that a gentleman caller actually did call to apologize for getting off on the wrong foot, and suggested a proper date. Colleen, stunned by this move on his part, went for it.
He made lasagna, from scratch. He even made the sauce from scratch, and his whole apartment smelled like an Italian bakery from the garlic bread. He’d laid his small table out for two, covering the surface with a dozen or so tealight candles. A bottle of red wine, a decent vintage. I’d brought dessert.
Holy shit, dude. I was on A Date. A Real Live Date. I couldn’t remember the last time a man had tried to impress me with anything beyond his prowess in bed. My initial skepticism faded and we enjoyed pleasant conversation as we dug into the impressive food. This was nice. This was more than a bar hook-up; there was a connection. We discussed everything, including politics and religion and equal rights. When the candles had burned low and the wine was exhausted, he took my hand, looked deep into my eyes and said, “I want to show you something really special.”
My first thought? But, I’ve already seen your penis… ?
He stood up from his chair and went to a cabinet in the corner, the kind with those smoky glass doors, and took something out of it. It was the Starship Enterprise. An original LEGO VERSION.
And I was torn. Partly because, well, when you’re trying to impress a girl you’re interested in do you really bring out the vintage 80’s toys? The other part of me was silently squealing “HOLY SHIT! THAT’S THE ENTERPRISE!” I reached out for it, because it’s the em-effing Enterprise and… he slapped my hand away.
“No, you can’t touch it. It’s for display only.” He then proceeded to show me every single Lego in his collection, without letting me play with any of them. And when I realized that I was not longing to get him naked, but to somehow trick him into letting me play with the Spock Lego just ONCE, it was time to go.
I still see him in the bar from time to time. The bartenders all know him as the Lego Man, and I’m still trying to forgive myself for not stealing Spock…
Us, too, Colleen. I realize you’re married now, but next time you see that guy you should probably follow him home for Spock. Your husband will understand.
Zan Brody, in all her infinite greatness, shows us exactly how you leave an awkward situation on a date:
My worst date was a very tall, intensely green-eyed, dark haired artist. We’d hooked up a few times. He was pretty much a jerk, but he seemed to not completely dislike me. Which, at that point in my life, was all I ever thought to expect from men.
Midway through a half-ass-date-at-a-dive-bar-before-bad-sex outing he casually mentioned, “he was just waiting for his grandma to pass away, so that he could finally commit suicide.” Without one word, I picked my purse up off the floor, did a slow 180 swivel on my stool and walked out the nearest exit without looking back.
Did he really think he was going to get a second date with a comment like that? Or maybe he was hoping for a mercy fuck since he’d already decided his days were numbered? Let’s hope he’s still around and has since changed his outlook on things.
Lastly this week we have Jessica, the guy who wouldn’t put out and, well, some other fun stuff.
About 1.5 years ago, I met a nice young gentleman through online dating, whom I shall call L. This particular date ticked all the boxes. He was through school, had a good profession as an engineer, was attractive, intelligent, complete gentleman, tall and fit, same age as I, lived alone, had a car, etc etc. However, as I would come to find out, L was severely lacking in physical and/or sexual confidence.
Over the course of dating L, we went out 10 or so times; all very pleasant. I am an independent, sexual, confident, driven, and fun-loving woman, and I expect things to progress over a slow and natural course when dating someone. However, L would not stick his tongue in my goddamn mouth no matter how much time we spent together. He wouldn’t even open his mouth! I got him drunk on martinis to see if liquid courage would break that ice — no moves were made that day. Just single, closed-mouth pecks goodnight were the status quo for this otherwise lovely gentleman, and those didn’t even start until about the 5th date.
I persisted throughout this, as I was dating other people also, as one does, and I enjoyed L’s company. However, it became clear he was either devoutly religious (which I would have had the utmost respect for and zero problem with, though it also would have been a deal-breaker given my personal beliefs and choices), lacking in physical and/or sexual confidence, or something else that my psychology majoring brain did not comprehend. All I knew was that L would not stick his fucking tongue into my fucking mouth, much less make a move that involved moving his hands from their chaste position at my waist, and we were getting close to double digits on our date tally. It’s not that I advocate a hard and fast “number” of dates that should occur for certain physical things or otherwise, but close to ten dates without a real kiss is more than pushing it in my world.
But what he had suggested was that I go meet his parents at their cottage in a resort town several hours away. Actually, now that I relay this story, I am more convinced he was fundamentally religious of some nature. Sorry, L, but you should have told me.
So L and I’s dating experience came to an end.
A couple days later, an email came into my inbox, helpfully marked with the subject line “after-date survey”. At first I thought it was a joke. Then I read it, and realized how very, very serious he was about wanting my feedback. Since nothing is ever really removed from the Internet, particularly when IMAP protocols are concerned, a cursory search for his name through my inbox just produced it for partial reproduction here (all identifying or non-relevant details removed):
“So I am deciding to ask for a favour by asking for some feedback, as my dates with you were the most success I have had to date from POF (a lot if craziness in that site). Just some questions that hopefully will help increase the chances of reaching that long-term success goal.
1. Any constructive criticism about the online talk?
2. Did my online persona match what you expected in real life?
3. What ‘vibe’ did I give off during our dates (I.e. did it feel like I was looking for fun, hangout, dating or long term) need to make sure what I appear to want matches what I want.
4. General comments?
Thanks for the help, hopefully you haves saved some future awkwardness for someone else.
What the bloody fuck? And no, I never filled it out. As an aside, I coincidentally read not long after this experience that many engineers are socially awkward and exceedingly analytical. Take from that what you will. Though I did run into him a couple times and he appeared to have a girlfriend, so apparently he met “that long-term success goal” without my help.
Personally, I would have filled out the survey, but mostly that’s because I like to answer questions as a means to procrastinate. Apparently, Jessica has a better handle on time management.
And that, my loves, is our selection of Dating Hijinks for the week. If you want to step up to the plate and share your tales, too, email me: firstname.lastname@example.org. I also accept photos of cupcake porn if you don’t have a story, but just want to email me for fun.