He Was a She
My worst date was when I discovered he was a trannie. Um, actually happened twice.
That's all the details for you.
No Cerveza Por Favor
His preferred cuisine was Japanese. Mine was Mexican. It was our second date. We chose Juan's Place, at Ninth and Carleton. I was a senior studying electrical engineering at UC Berkeley. Bill was a grad student in the same department. Beset with nervousness, he quickly downed two bottles of Pacifico, followed with a fine Mexican meal. To my surprise, this sequence of events created with physicists call a Rayleigh-Taylor instability: infalling mass on top of meandering bubbles. As we departed, my date rapidly vomited over the curb outside, just across from the animal shelter. (Picking up or delivering?) I scooped him up and draped him across the back seat of his vintage brown '67 VW bus and drove him home. That was 1979. We are happily married. Our teenage son and daughter prefer Japanese food to Mexican. We still dine at Juan's Place occasionally, but the meal comes before the beer. Bill hasn't lost his lunch in such a romantic manner since. And never since that night has he consented to letting me drive his car while he is passed out in the back.
Amelia S. Marshall, Oakland
Appetite for Destruction
My first date with Gab was one out of a fairy tale. We had a picnic in Dolores Park. He brought wine and cheese and when he took out the 97 percent dark chocolate for dessert, I almost came in my pants. After a few glasses of wine, we decided it was a smart idea to go back to my place. He was such a gentleman. When I jerked him off, he even came in a napkin! He left soon after and we agreed to see each other the next weekend. He was going to take me to dinner!Once Saturday came around, I was super pumped for our date. I hadn't eaten anything but vegetables and gum for almost a week, so needless to say, I was looking good. We met at the bar, had a glass of wine, and flirted until our table was ready. Once we sat down, Gab took the liberty of ordering for me. I started with a goat cheese and beet salad, which I immediately spilled all over myself.I was so embarrassed. I apologized profusely and prayed that being a klutz was a major characteristic that he looked for in a woman. Turns out it was. He told me that he was in fact thrilled that I spilled all over myself. He went on to explain that he has a lot of anxiety around eating in public and the fact that I eat like a seven-year-old made him feel at ease. Aww, he's sensitive. I ate what was left of my salad and then it was on to the main course. I gingerly started eating my five-star meal, but realized that Gab had not touched his at all. I asked him if everything was okay and if he needed me to spill some more before he could eat. He then took a big gulp of wine, looked me in the eyes, and said, "I'm anorexic." I of course thought he was kidding, because everyone knows that manorexics are an urban legend. But he then described in detail all the issues he had with his family. We are talking deep-rooted stuff that you shouldn't share with anyone until they have a ring on their finger or you are paying them to listen.The rest of dinner dragged on. I of course could not eat my halibut because I felt guilty for eating. So we both sat there pushing our food around and talking about his father's control issues, his sisters' inability to connect with anyone, and his crazy mother. All of which apparently lead him to not eat and to as he described it "self medicate." It was worse than watching Dr. Phil. Finally, the bill came and I was so excited to go home and eat everything in my fridge.Gab told me he had a great time and asked if I wanted to go back to his place. I declined, insisting that I had early morning plans. He shrugged then gave me a hug and before he pulled away, he leaned in and whispered into my ear, "There is one thing I do eat."
Did She Really Say That?
There may be a tendency for a writer to embellish a "worst date ever" story for gluttonous entertainment. But this tale is achingly true. An Internet date that made me question my very life purpose.
We exchanged the token frivolous Match.com e-mails and decided to meet at the Rooz Cafe in Oakland next to the Parkway Theatre. It would be a cup of coffee and a movie. The length of this date idea is just simply wrong for a first encounter. But, there I was sitting in Rooz on a cold winter night. In she walks, and waves manically, as she crashes toward me. She looked a lot older, unhealthier, and beaten up by life than her work, as a Feng Shui interior designer, would have led me to fantasize. Even though it was near freezing outside, she immediately took off her jacket to reveal a child's size tank top. She looked down at her tattooed arms, and back up at me, with a devilish twinkle, and cackled, "If you are a good boy, I will show you some tattoos later that are in hidden places." I laughed nervously. Did she really just say that?
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