I’m HOOKED on you. Get it?

What happened, dear CJS readers? Did our question cut a little too close to home for everyone? A bit too personal? Or are all of our readers such Lotharios that there are no bad dates to be had among the lot of you? I’m guessing your dates were either so bad you’re ashamed to share them with the worldwide web where it will reside in perpetuity, or they were so painfully banal, you could barely muster up the creative energy required to re-tell the tale.

Whatever. We have 6 hilarious god-awful male/female courtship tales to tell you, so what we lack in volume, we make up for in depth. Next week’s Confessional topic should be much easier to answer and a lot more fun for most of you. One more announcement before we jump into this week’s Confessions.

Remember Food, Sex or Cars? last November and how we promised our winners the chance to write their own CJS column? Well, it’s two and a half months later, and they’re finally ready to go! That’s right, Keithage and R have penned their columns and they’ll debut next week. So look alive for that! But now, onto matters at hand. We asked you last week: In honor of the red and pink Valentine menace, what was your worst date experience of all-time? As always, staff responses ahead, reader confessions below. Enjoy the free schadenfreude.

Lee S. Hart: My worst date happened about 3 years ago. I was 23 and going on my third date with a girl. She was 20 and still living at home, and I still had to meet her dad before I took her out. So already that was strike one. I was living in Ft. Collins and she lived out in BFE Eaton, CO. Which is a little po-dunk town about 45 minutes away. The funny thing about this stupid little town was the high school and their mascot, the Eaton Beavers (if you don’t get it, try saying it out loud).

So I make the trek out to rural Colorado, which involved passing through the town of Severance, CO and reading their town motto: Severance, where the geese fly, and the horses cry. I arrive at her house and meet her dad. I make small talk and play with the dog while she finishes getting ready. Meeting her dad wasn’t as bad as I anticipated, but still having to participate in this high school act at an age where I am legally allowed to buy booze was ridiculous.

We finally leave for our date, but still have to drive for 45 god damned minutes before we get to the restaurant. The car ride was filled with the usual boring chit chat, and I suddenly didn’t care what became of the two of us so I went into the mood where I say things merely to amuse myself. One of my favorite of these things was as we drove along the road she mentioned how the latest large snowfall made a nice barrier between the road and the giant open space and helped us from going off the road. My only reply, “Yeah, and it is good at keeping out the Mongolians.” She didn’t get it and thought it was totally random. This is going well.

Unlimited breadsticks or phallic symbols of patriarchal domination? You decide.

We arrive at the Olive Garden. She was super picky and this was like the one place she really liked. Everything is going fine, well as far as fine can be for this. Then in the middle of the meal, I am literally stabbing food on my fork, when she decides to inform me that this relationship is not going to go any further. Really, ho? This couldn’t have waited until the end of the date, or even better the beginning and save me a stupid ass drive, the money I saved on dinner, and given me a chance to have done something else like go drink with my friends?

So she drops this bomb, but then still decides we should hang out for the rest of the evening. Like the lonely stupid idiot I was, I agreed instead of just taking her back to farm country. Times like that are when I wish I had it in me to be an asshole, and done something like making her find her own way home.

We leave the Olive Garden and go to my place, where we lay on my bed and watch Groundhog Day. We spoon a little and she sends mixed signals. At the end of the movie we make out a little, and I ended up completely confused as to what the hell she wants with me. I am feeling used. I drive her home. And spend the entire return trip home confused and wonder just what the fuck was going on and what it all meant. Once I got home I did what I usually do after bad dates and poured myself a several glasses of whiskey.

She turned into a giant ho bag after that night and didn’t ever say anything to me again and eventually moved. I hope she is living a miserable life and I wish I had the time I spent with her back.

E Dagger: Thinking back over my life, I realized I’ve been on a remarkable number of crappy dates. I considered telling the one about how I spent two hours getting ready, picked up the girl from her alcohol education class, had a profoundly mediocre dinner at 3 Margaritas, and took her home by 8:30. I then proceeded to choke my roommates with my cologne stink while we played video games all night, and that was pretty much it. But then I realized that was the entire uninteresting tale and that I likely took the girl home because she had to take a wicked dump a la Liz Lemon on last week’s “30 Rock.” And no one wants to hear that.

No, this story is way more appalling. Sophomore year of college Sr. Limon and I lived in a shitass apartment complex just off campus. My girlfriend was less than a half mile away in the dorms. On Valentine’s Day 2002, I decided we’d have a romantic evening at home and I’d cook dinner. I got a delightful chicken breast recipe that cooks in a casserole dish from my mom, dressed up in a suit, lit a bunch of candles that led to my room, and had Senor Limon pick her up and then get the fuck out of Dodge so we could do the hump-hump dance later. Here are the six problems with that set-up:

1. The recipe called for sherry, and I was only 20 years old. I had to have my mom buy me a bottle of cooking wine, true dork that I am.

2. The recipe also included some wild rice which I assumed would cook right there in the oven with the chicken. Um, yeah. If you like your rice al dente (read: hard as little tooth-breaking pebbles), this was your preparation style.

3. I didn’t own a tie at that point, so I was wearing a green suit with a white banded collar dress shirt that made me look like Jesse Katsopolis circa 1993.

4. This was a college apartment. Why the fuck did I think I owned a casserole dish? Had to borrow that too.

5. The girlfriend’s sister had just broken up with some assjack just before Valentine’s Day and was feeling a little blue.

6. Senor Limon always walks that fine razor’s edge between “I can still get thirty miles out of this tank!” and “Dude, can you come pick me up?”

 Reasonable representation of Senor Limon running to get gas

Well, needless to say, even though it was less than a half mile to pick up the girl, Limon ends up on the wrong side of the edge and calls me and says, “Sorry dude. Can you come pick us up?” So, like an asshole I leave all the candles burning and jump in my car to pick up my girlfriend and an extremely embarrassed Limon. I’m in my butt ugly suit, thus ruining that surprise, Limon’s in the backseat delaying a proper hello kiss, and my barely-beneath-the-surface-boiling-rage is pretty obvious at this point. We walk in, half my candles have gone out, and I take her back to my bedroom where I serve her one of the five worst meals of her life. She’s nice enough about it, but as I move in on her to give her the high hard one, she drops an absolute showstopper.

“Can we go see my sister?”

Of course we can! This night already resembles Nagasaki , why not just go for Hiroshima while we’re at it? So we end up in her apartment where I’m sitting on the floor wearing my suit playing with a cat I didn’t even like. She and her sister bitch about the doofus that just dumped her, and I’m now hungry again after having to chuck the rest of that lousy dinner I made.

After what felt like three and a half hours in that apartment, the girlfriend claims she’s tired and I drive her home to spend the rest of the night alone playing fucking Red Alert 2 on my computer. Happy Valentine’s Day!

I offered some chicken to Senor Limon as payback for idiotically running out of gas, and I can’t remember if he ate it, but the truth is, the night post-fuel outage was comparably so much worse, I wasn’t even mad about the gas thing anymore. Plus, given the way that relationship turned out, he probably should have run out of gas on the way there and just left her there forever. That would have saved me a good extra year of brain damage.

Senor Limon: This all happened about two years ago, but I’ll start the story when I was back in high school.  Two other guys and I hung out with a group of three girls from sophomore year until we graduated. For the sake of the story, we’ll call the three girls, “She-Bitch” “Big Nose” and “Horse Girl.” One of my buddies was insanely in love with She-Bitch, but she basically jerked him around for three years and they never really dated although she always seemed to give him enough to keep him coming back for more. He never really got over her.  After high school we all pretty much went our separate ways.  I ended up going to college with Big Nose, she and I were decent friends.  We had a class together freshman year, we sat next to each other and talked but never hung out outside of class.  I also bumped into her on campus a couple times throughout college, but we never really talked after freshman year.  I always kind of liked her, but never really did anything about it.

Fast forward around 3.5 years to the summer shortly after I had graduated from college.  I was working at the ceramics factory, and living back at home with my mom in the town where all of us grew up.  One night my buddy and I (the one who was in love with She-Bitch) were at a bar playing some pool, when out of the blue we ran into She-Bitch and Big Nose.  It was already pretty close to last call, and we were all a little drunk, so we ended up chatting for around 10 minutes before we all went home.  Before we left, we made a date he next night to all meet at a hotel restaurant where they both worked at around 8pm when they got off.  Sounds like a date.

The next night my buddy (under the impression that this was a date) and I both got dressed up and met She Bitch and Big Nose at the bar.  They both paired off, Big Nose sat by me at the bar, and She Bitch sat next to my friend.  We were just about through our first drink and having a good time catching up, when all of a sudden, two guys show up.  One is introduced as Big Nose’s fiance, the other as She-Bitch’s boyfriend.  Since we were already in pretty deep, and since the four of us had been friends previously, neither my friend nor I could justify leaving, especially since we didn’t want to let on that we thought this was going to be a date. So, the six of us finished our drinks and drove across town to a an Old Chicago where She-Bitch, Big Nose and the boyfriends spent most of the evening talking about the finer points of martini bars and wine drinking while managing to act as if Old C’s was beneath them the entire night despite the fact that this was the bar they had picked. My friend spent most of the night staring at She-Bitch’s boyfriend like he was about to stab him.  I mentally checked out and alternated between intently studying my beer and watching basketball on the bar TV. After about 2 hours I finally managed to talk myself away, somehow managing to get through the night without blowing my brains out.

Fucking miserable, but at least I figured I was free from them forever.

About 2 months later I get a call from Friend 3 who had been away for school over the course of the first part of the story. He was all excited because he had just received a call from She-Bitch, and was supposed to meet her and Big Nose downtown in some East/West Fusion-Martini bar-Cocktail lounge bullshit joint that I knew I would hate immediately after hearing just the name.

 The best kind of East/West fusion…

Friend 3 had recently become single after 2 very long term relationships and was (and largely still is) on a mission to bang just about everything in a skirt.  I told him about the miserable fucking fiance evening, and warned that this was exactly what was about to happen. He didn’t want to hear it, and was convinced he had a chance with She-Bitch.  After something like 20 minutes of pleading that he desperately needed a wingman for the night to keep Big Nose busy while he worked his game I eventually relented and agreed to meet them there later that night.  At least I knew what I was walking into this time.

I arrived on time to the restaurant and Friend 3 was classically about 45 minutes late. I waited outside in the cold for him to arrive determined to see as little of She-Bitch and Big nose as humanly possible. Friend 3 finally arrived, we went inside to find Big Nose with her fiance and She-Bitch with some Australian toolbox.  They had been nice enough to start eating without us, and lucky me, Friend 3 decided not to let them know I was coming along, meaning that the booth was exactly 1 seat short.  Fucking sweet.  This wouldn’t have been too awful except that this particular booth was raised about 6″ off the ground and the chair I was forced to pull up was too short meaning I sat there like a second grader at the big kids table.  I ended up paying like $8.95 for a noodle plate I didn’t want, and another $5 for a Coors Light. I’m pretty sure I got shafted into pitching for a whole bunch of other shit I didn’t eat because someone had the bright idea of splitting the tab up evenly.  Anyway, She-Bitch talked to Friend 3 for all of like 5 minutes and spent the rest of the night ignoring him and melting all over Australian toolbox who was telling stories about planting trees in Africa for the impoverished something or other and bringing to light our lack of knowledge on the plight of the poor downtrodden (and apparently treeless) West-Africans.  I ended the night about $40 poorer and about 100% more pissed off.  Friend 3 never got laid and now I’m convinced She-Bitch does this on purpose for some sick reason.

I’m really not sure which night was worse.

***

Flickerbock takes the God spot this week with what is either a refreshing bit of honesty, or the tired old “It’s not you, it’s me” routine. Considering this is largely anonymous, we’ll guess the former. First time contributor Twitty joins us next with an abjectly horrifying tale from her past, and we close up shop with R who does his damnedest to tell you one of the most disturbing things you’ve ever heard. We’re warning you now: The end of R’s story is as fucked up as fucked up gets.

Flickerbock: My worst dating experience is more embarrassing than anything else. In high school, I had been hanging out with a group of people that went to another school. One of the girls in this group and I had been talking a little bit and it was time for an actual date. One weekend, I took this girl to the movies. We went to the AMC theaters down by Broadway and C-470 in Highlands Ranch. We did the movie thing and got back to my car. We started driving north to go get some food. I had gone nearly a mile when the lights flipped on in my rear view mirror. Pulling over, the officer got out of my car and walked to the window. He informed me that I had been driving at night with my lights off and I had not even noticed. He gave me a warning after seeing how embarrassed I was in this situation. A cooler cat would have brushed the experience off and continued with the date. Since I was a super nerd and a complete social retard, I was so flustered that the date went straight into the crapper. I never took her on another date.

Thinking back, I was a terrible date. I had very few instances that I could remember that I had a horrible time. Usually, I was the one making my dates wish for the end of the night. More proof that I was lucky to find the wifepiece!

Twitty: While my husband and I were dating, alone time was a foreign concept. It was not until our plunge into matrimony that we actually had a quiet moment. Many of our “dates” were ruined by family or complete strangers.

It was a Friday night, we had just finished working our asses off at our slave wage paying job. We thought a cup of coffee and a walk would wipe the day away. The Bad Ass Coffee company had just opened up down the street from Starf*cks, so we thought “It has to taste better….” Very wrong. Our pee pee flavored mocha offended our tongues as we walked out the front door, passing a rack of donkey decaled thongs. We took a seat at an empty sidewalk table, hoping to take a load off. The four sophomore Gamecocks at the table next to us kept that from happening. We probably heard the work f*ck and pu$$y thirty times in five minutes. Very romantic. I sipped some more swill.  We were about to leave when an approaching bag lady caught our eye. I am all for giving a dollar or two for Cobra or whatnot, but this woman wanted our time. She was the one taking a load off at our table with her half empty bag of Cheetos. After a moment of silence she informed us that the crumpled piece of paper in her hand saved her life that afternoon. “Come again?” She handed me the germ infested paper. It was a Saint Francis poem. How nice. Good poet. “You know what else?” “What, ma’am?” “These. The dogs of hell.”

“Zah?” She then proceeded to remove two very used lollipop sticks from her triple-d bra and placed them on the table.

“I always use these whenever the dogs from hell come knocking.” Good gravy, Batman. I turned to my man and told him we had to be going. He is too nice for his own good. “Have a nice night,” I yelled to the nice crazy woman as we ran to our car. Overreaction? Maybe. Bad night for some loving? Yes, especially since we made the mistake of ending the date with a viewing of The Lake House. Keanu should stick to kung fu.

R: I don’t think many people can top this one. After dating a woman in South Carolina a couple of years ago for about a month, we were having a lovely dinner date when she felt compelled to reveal something about herself to me. She informed me that she had a son who was nearly 6 years old. I figured that it was kind of late into our relationship, but she let me know that revealing this fact sooner typically scared other guys off and that she didn’t want that to happen. I didn’t really know what to think or how to react. Luckily I didn’t have to think about it too much, because later in the dinner, ironically during the ice-cream dessert we were sharing, she revealed yet another truth: She still breastfed this nearly 6 year old boy. I was appalled, but managed to courteously ask for the check and take her home. Needless to say it was our last date, and my worst date experience ever.

 Thank God for moral didacticism!

***

Thanks, R. We’re now on our way to find if a real-life version of Lacuna, Inc. from that “Eternal Sunshine” movie exists so we can have the memory of your worst date story permanently deleted. We’ll pass along our results to our readers if we’re successful. With that in mind, and with the Oscars coming up next week (we’ll have another E Dagger liveblog for the big event!), no doubt a bunch of critically-acclaimed movies you didn’t see this year will be nominated for awards. Since Cru Jones Society readers have notoriously quirky taste, we gleefully ask the following question: What beloved movie that everyone else seems to love, do you despise and why? Are you a woman that hates Sex and the City or a college guy who hates Borat? Can’t stand universally loved classic The Godfather? We want to hear about your peculiar tastes! Send your responses to staff@crujonessociety.com in a short, well-written paragraph, and we’ll publish ‘em righ’chere next Tuesday after our Oscars liveblog. See you then.

Limon, Hart, and Dagger

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