It’s the freakin’ weekend, let’s get into some shit.
Or, at the very least, let’s talk about some stuff you used to get into when you were young and carefree and hangovers weren’t a debilitating punishment for a modicum of fun.
We’ve all got our most embarrassing party stories but I wanna hear all about your wild, off-the-walls, bonkers events—the total messes you’ve gotten into. I’m talking hanging off of the rafters level nonsense. As a New Yorker, I tend to think the most insane parties are just regular parties and then Leonardo DiCaprio walks in (which has happened to me) or Jimmy Fallon (which has happened to everyone) but those are just dudes, and I didn’t end up streaking or something as a result of their arrival. So, tell us—what’s your most ridiculous party story?
Before we get to that, let’s check out those haunting first-date tales from last week.
mocena, my hero:
I had a guy ask me if I had any tattoos and when I drew out the simple one I had on a napkin, he got super quiet and told me that my tattoo was a design he had written about in a story years ago and that because I had it, I was the Chosen One.
He also told me he had a “pretty good plan” for cold fusion that he was working on.
Married 37 years this November!
Just kidding, I cut the date short and never talked to him or saw him ever again.
LOLQUINT was too generous with this tool, if ya ask me:
First Date: He took me to a great dinner, nice place, and during asked the waiter how much longer dinner would take, we had a show to get to. I, having no idea about the show, asked what we were seeing. He said he was taking me to the newly opened high class strip joint. I am young, I am impressionable, I have never been to a strip club so I don’t say anything, why? Because my parents have been to Crazy Horse in Paris and basically that’s a fancy strip joint and they loved it. I go. I meet and chat with some of the ladies as we enter who are offstage but going to dance. They are nice and kind and we talk about lipstick and fashion and it’s great. We start to watch the show after being seated and its not the Crazy Horse at all. Which, I am good with but not with this guy who is slobbering all over the stage. I tell him I want to leave, it has been at least 45 minutes or so. He asks me to wait until the girl takes the shower in front of us all, that’s what makes this club special, he want to watch her wash herself. The ladies who weren’t performing and were off stage called me a cab. For Godsakes.
Seabassy has no time for machine MEN:
I was an adult woman and an adult man took me to a Buffalo Wild Wings located inside a movie theater on our first date, but we weren’t going to a movie. This was 2008-ish, so early enough that most people did not have smart phones and therefore didn’t necessarily have a camera in their pocket. After the server takes our drink orders Date Dude pulls out a stack of printed photos and proceeds to show-and-tell me about his “machines” (his words). A truck. A jeep. A jetski. A pontoon boat. A 4-runner. A snowmobile. A hot rod he’s fixing up. A motorcycle. TWO tractors (John Deere, of course). He kept presenting each photo, telling me the specific details about each “machine” including how much each one cost. I did not feign interest, but I also wasn’t rude. I looked at the photos as he presented them to me and listened as he explained. When this exercise was over he asked me how many “machines” (god, that word!) I owned. “Um, I have a car? My family used to have a go-cart when I was a kid?” He then accused me of “not taking this seriously enough” and then asked the server for the bill, which was about $7 total since we’d each only ordered 1 drink. He asked to “go Dutch” and then walked briskly ahead of me out to the parking lot. I wasn’t upset the date was ending, but was a bit confused and asked if everything was okay. He got choked up and with tears in his eyes exclaimed loudly, “I don’t know why I can’t find anyone who is interested in my DREAMS!!!” Then got into a Jeep and sped off. Two weeks later I see this dude at my gym. He approached my treadmill and I just shook my head ‘no’ and he nodded, turned around and walked away. I never ever saw him again and my town isn’t all that big.
Beaufighter met an actual nazi?:
Really liked this girl and after a few false starts finally met for coffee and within fifteen minutes she alluded to full-on Fascism being alive and well in her family. I mean, Hitler-was-a-great-man old-school-1930s-Germany Fascism. I wanted to be absolutely sure what she was getting at and asked specifically if she really was saying what I thought she was saying. Literally the words “master race” were used as she spoke lovingly of her grandfather, apparently the ringleader (who knows, maybe even a fugitive from justice). I was horrified but, having never been so close to someone so blithely evil I strapped on the best poker face I could muster and eventually said as tactfully as I could (because, no lie, in the little time we spent talking, I realized that Ihad actually become afraid of her) that I had a good time, thanks, but wasn’t interested and said goodnight. She kept calling for a time (never picked up) but nevermentioned anything about her little enclave of Nazis again.
*Postscript: also the only time I’ve ever called my mother after a date to give a report, only because we’re both huge political/history nuts and had to tell her about it.
Second Bassoon met a man who would be intimidated by the length of this blog:
I met a guy on a Greyhound bus. He was very cute and we were making tentative plans to hang out at our destination but then we started talking about writing.
Him: “I’m a writer.”
Me: “Cool! Who are your favorite authors?”
Him: “I don’t read. It would pollute my art.”
Me [reeling]: “You don’t read ... at all?”
Him: “Well I once read Jim Morrison’s autobiography. I feel like that was all I needed.”
Reader, we did not hang out.
And catslighty’s beau should check out Dirtcast:
Dude told me the podcasts I listened to were too mainstream for him.