On a date, it just might be a bad idea to...

I'll start...comment and add yours, or add one for a friend.

At the end I'll make a top 10 list :)


1. Throw money at your date. (True story). Unless of course your "date" is a stripper, and actually on the clock at the moment. But in that case, she's not really your date is she? Your sort of sharing, and you need to get out more...or at least get on match.

Identity Crisis

Thanks to the first male contributor! We all know there are crazy women out there too...and we want to hear about them. I think this story is an "only in LA" type of thing. I hope so.

~ms. m

About three years ago a girl hit on me in a parking lot, she drove a PT Cruiser with Texas plates and she had a Texas accent that I found charming. She gave me her business card and told me to call her. Her name was D____ and she worked at a makeup counter in the Beverly Hills Saks.

I called her a few days later; she was house-sitting for a friend and invited me over. We had a couple drinks and got to know each other a little better. In the middle of telling me about herself she suddenly said, “Jay has had a crazy life.”

I was confused and asked, “Who’s Jay?”

“Oh, Jay is my stage name” she said.

She was talking about herself in the third person by her stage name. Weird.

She did that like three more times over the next half hour and it really turned me off. I went home and never called her again.

~ Carl

Love Languages?

There's a reason you don't get a second chance to make a first impression, and here is a great example...It's times like these that makes me wish there was a remote control that works on people. To mute, or fast forward. Or better yet, just change the channel.

~ms m


I wished I was trashed. Fifteen minutes into the date I already wanted to end it. Why, oh why did I agree to an entire dinner date? Coffee would have been better. Grabbing a drink would have been even better. I can deal with most things inebriated. This dude was definitely two vodka sodas and a shot of Gran Ma worthy.

He was good looking at the beginning of the date. By the end, after he told me countless anecdotes where his attractiveness was the highlight of the story, I began to detest his face.

“I wake up every morning, look in the mirror and am always stunned how beautiful I am.” I swear this is a direct quote.

Not only was he beautiful, he was really smart and intellectual. Of course, this was what he told me over and over again. If you have to tell me how awesome you are and it is not blatantly apparent, you are probably a douche. Just when I thought his douche bag level was at its highest, he started to plan our relationship.

This was our first date and a week before Thanksgiving.

“Aren’t you going to invite me over to your parents’ house for Thanksgiving?” he demanded.

“Uh. What?” I almost choked on my bite of food.

“I think they should be introduced to their future son-in-law, don’t you?” he said with a smile.

If there was an “Abort Mission” button under the table, I would have hit it at that precise moment, stood up screaming, and run out the door. However, there was no such button, because I checked several times.

I laughed off his comment as best I could. “We just met.”

He proceeded to tell me that he thought our relationship would go swimmingly. Our schedules were a match made in heaven. He had a lot of time to devote to me. He couldn’t wait to take me around town as his new girlfriend.

In between his annoying anecdotes and his future plans of our marriage, he stopped talking suddenly and stared at me.

“What?” I said.

“Oh, nothing. I love to just look at you.”

The best part of the date was when he described to me love languages. Please grab some sort of receptacle you can vomit in because this part of the date is going to make you particularly nauseous. Love languages are apparently the different ways people show each other how they love one another. The different kinds of love languages, for example, are words, physical touch, or time. At least, this was what I think he said, but I was so revolted by the discussion that I may have not heard him correctly.

“I’m going to figure out what kind of love language you use, so that you will always know how much you mean to me.”

This was our first and last date.


~ Anonymous

Big Pimpin'

Ok, here it is...the first entry. I know her personally, or I wouldn't have believed the story. But it's true, and here it is. If you can top this one, please let me know. Enjoy!

~ms m

So I met this guy at the gas station by my house as I was getting off the bus the day after I broke up with my boyfriend. He and a friend were simultaneously pumping gas and vying for my attention, and he won with the loudest “Hey Lil Mama, what it do?” For whatever (dumb) reason, I continued talking to him, and we ended up going out a couple times. After a month or so, he invited me to “meet his dad,” which was a surprising and somewhat frightening prospect for me, but I had nothing to do, so I accepted. Once we were in the car, he informed me that his dad was ‘pimpin’’, which I more or less wrote off as something normal that he’d say about anyone who he liked or respected.

After a couple close brushes with death on the freeway, we ended up at a rundown apartment building in a part of the Valley that was more ghetto than any part of L.A. I’d ever seen (to my shock and dismay), and we proceeded to his father’s unit. I walked in and was introduced. As soon as I laid eyes on his father, I began to realize that my friend’s description of him as ‘pimpin’’ had probably not been figurative, as in ‘cool,’ but literal, as in ‘vendor of prostitutes’. I was looking at an older, slightly paunchier version of Katt Williams mixed with Suga Free with his hair in pigtail twists. I stared in awe as he instructed his son how exactly he wanted him to roll up a blunt (“leave a little bit of air in there so it burns right”) and poured himself a strange mixture of cheap piña colada mix and some brandy in a paper McDonalds cup.

It was then that he decided to ask me if I’d ever considered becoming a prostitute, and after I replied that I had not, he went ahead and schooled me on the profession and lifestyle. Suddenly, he said to his son, “You know what, she looks just like Boo!”

Of course I had to ask who the hell Boo was. “Oh, she was one of my dad’s hoes that made him a lot of money back in the day.”

Oh, the flattery! To add insult to injury, his dad popped a DVD in the DVD player and told me to pay attention. It was a movie about pimps and hoes featuring pimps smacking their hoes up, having little pimp children with their hoes, threatening neighborhood children and recruiting them as mini-pimps, etc. It was probably the classiest hour of my life.

And so I stood, awkwardly, for a good two hours while they played chess (there were only two chairs in the apartment) and tried to coerce me into becoming a whore. Apparently Pimp Daddy wanted his son to pursue the same career that he had and thought I would be a great asset. I deflected P.D.’s advances (asking for my number, licking his lips at me, staring at certain regions of my body, glorifying the life of a ‘ho’, etc.) for the rest of the night and reflected upon the direction my life was taking, suppressing urges to hurl myself out the nearest window or run screaming into the night.

Luckily, Aspiring Pimp, Jr. landed himself in jail shortly after, and I was freed from the pressures of pursuing a life of prostitution under his wing. I decided to avoid men at gas stations and ones that address me as ‘Lil’ Mama,’ which was probably the best decision I’d made in awhile.

~ Lil' Mama