We love Alex, so we feel for him on this dating app mishap that is one step away from ending More »
Oh we were so lucky to have THE Ayanna Dookie up on our stage. In a story that will live More »
Sydnee Washington @justsynnyc and her story “From Lust to Dust” More »
Category Archives: Teenage years
It’s bad enough seeing posts on Facebook of the ones you used to party with in high school popping out ugly babies and getting unhappily married, but forced to sit next to ones you despised talking about their ungodly boring lives is the worst.
It was January 2009 and I just turned twenty-one. I was living with my parents, counting the days until I would leave for my college semester abroad. I had recently ended my last relationship via an email that included the sentence “in all honesty, I’m not sure what happened between us.” Things could have been better.
To get away from my parents and emotions, I went to visit my best friend from high school who was in college in Boston. Me and this friend, who we’ll call Rebecca, had a tendency of going crazy together. When we were together, anything was possible. I was also going to Boston, in part, because a boy I once dated and still cared for lived there. Let’s call him Dan, because I’ve never slept with anybody named Dan.
Cut to: it’s Saturday night in Boston and Rebecca and I are drinking lots of red wine, making penne pasta with red sauce and discussing how much we’ve missed each other. After a few more glasses and way too much pasta, we head out to some bar where we’re planning to meet friends, and Dan. Since it’s Boston, just assume that it was a lame bar in a lame neighborhood.
At the bar Rebecca and I took jalapeno infused tequila shots and danced as I anxiously waited for Dan. When he arrived he was just as hot as I’d remembered him, and we celebrated our reunion with more shots. In fact, Dan and I were enjoying each other’s presence so much we decided to go somewhere to be alone.
Dan took me all the way across the street to T.G.I.F Friday’s. Yes, that’s right: HE TOOK ME TO FRIDAY’S. I immediately started questioning how well I really knew Dan. Still in shock, I ordered some big pick cocktail from a waitress named “Shirley” or “Tammy,” and Dan and I started talking about Ayn Rand. “I almost forgot how smart you were,” he said. He told me I was perfect. I coyly smiled like I couldn’t believe it was true (it is), and we went outside for a cigarette. After the disgusting mix of alcohol I’d consumed, the first drag of this cigarette hit me like that scene in Fargo with the wood chipper. In other words, it fucked me up.
At this point, Rebecca walked the 50 yards from the first bar all the way to Friday’s. She told me that she was going home with some guy she met, which of course meant I couldn’t sleep at her apartment. Fine, I said. I’ll just go home with Dan. Dan and I finished our cigarettes and walked up the hill to his apartment, where we continued to validate each other about how smart and attractive we were.
Cut to: Dan’s bed. I lay on my stomach as he pet my hair and told me about how much he loved this new book he was reading, the Neon Bible. “Read it to me,” I said. He started reading me his favorite passages. We hadn’t even kissed yet. Maybe it was something about John Toole’s naïve narrative, or just one too many tequila shots, but it has never been more obvious to me that I was going to throw up within the next minute. I excused myself and found the bathroom, where I managed to hold in my vomit just long enough to reach the toilet.
With a complete loss of bodily control, I immediately started puking up red pasta sauce and pink cosmos and jalapeno flavored tequila, for what seemed like an hour. Eventually I regained basic functions, got a massive glass of water and decided that I’m fine. I went back to Dan.
“Are you okay?” he asked immediately, as the length of my bathroom trip was that of a short nap.
Keeping my cool, I acted like nothing was wrong and got back in his bed. I asked him to keep reading. He hesitated for a moment, and then started the book from page 1. At first I thought: “he is so sweet and romantic,” but by page 3, my brain was screaming: “What the hell is he talking about? This is so boring! Is it rude to fall asleep?”
Then, without warning, my insides – still red from pasta sauce and girly drinks – rose up from my stomach AGAIN and began splattering his white comforter. And it did not stop. Vomit all over his bed. His floor. In my hair. On my shirt. I was like a sick, hopeless little child and he was absolutely terrified. Pieces of pasta were literally coming out of me fully formed, and landing all over his room. I was almost impressed at how much I had consumed that evening. How is there still more? I thought.
Eventually I passed out, and when I woke up a few hours later, in my own drool, Dan had cleaned up the whole room and changed my clothes. All that remained was a smell unlike any other. Rebecca met me outside of Dan’s apartment and I snuck away, humiliated.
Rebecca had her own story to rival mine, and we could not help but laugh to ourselves at another successful weekend together. We also had to laugh because it was 7:30 am and we both looked and felt like heroin-addicted prostitutes.
Lying on Rebecca’s couch six hours later, mourning what I knew would be the end of my relationship with Dan, I received the best and worst text message of my life:
Still finding little pieces of pasta in my room. I’m sending you the Neon Bible since you didn’t get to finish it.
Friday’s and all, turned out Dan was a pretty good guy.
 I recently video-chatted with Rebecca, still my best friend but now living much further away. When I brought up our antics from 2009-2010, she deemed it as “the year I fucked everybody.”
This is what I remember about dating Jon, my boyfriend from the summer I turned 16:
1. There were about 100 girls and 25 guys at the arts camp I attended. The odds were against me and I beat those odds. I wish this luck translated to my existence in the New York dating scene.
2. We made out in a very large grass field (is that redundant? city girl here) and I was subsequently bitten toe to forehead by mosquitos. You’d think I’d learn, but no, I’m 28 and do the same thing, only now the story involves alcohol and ticks.
3. When I went to visit him after camp was over (we did “long distance” for two months, until we realized the George Washington Bridge was an obstacle we couldn’t overcome) we drove around Teaneck in his mother’s mini van. Then we made out on a bench outside his elementary school.
4. This was the summer a friend taught me the grab his hand gently as it is moving to the fly of your Wet Seal shorts and he’ll know he’s not getting to third base move. Apparently this move is ” full proof” and “demonstrates the sensitivity of the moment.” Guess what friend. Subtlety is not my strong suit.
5. I broke up with him after he ditched my Sweet 16 for a soccer game.
This is what happened when, five minutes in, Jon crashed my first date with a guy from OK Cupid:
1. He came up to us and said “Excuse me.” I thought he was going to tell me to keep it down.
2. He called me by my first name. I realized who it was. I suddenly got way more excited about seeing him then I did the guy I was out on a date with.
3. The guy I was with realized this.
4. Jon and I exchanged numbers. In retrospect, perhaps this wasn’t the classiest move.
5. Jon asked what I was up to. I told him I just completed my masters. He said, “I never graduated from college.”
6. He asked me what I did for a living. I said I taught. He said, “I freelance. But that is just another way of saying I’m unemployed.”
7. I told him I recently heard from a friend of ours from camp. Then he told me when he was in his 20’s he used to date her. “She asked me if it would be weird because of you,” he said. “I told her ‘no.’ We were going to have sex, and you just gave me blue balls.”
8. Then he told me (well–us–as my date became heavily invested in this situation) how our friend had cheated on him–with a woman. “But I got back at her,” he said. “I cheated on her–with a woman.”
9. I told him I wouldn’t mention we had run into each other.
10. [awkward silence]
11. He started to yell about running into her on the PATH Train, where she was going to meet her boyfriend. “I had a broken leg and she wouldn’t visit me in Hoboken, and she’s just going out with this shmo?!”
12. [awkward silence]
13. “I’m over it,” he said.
14. “It’s nice to see you again,” I told him.
15. [more awkward silence]
16. Jon exits stage left [the bar].
17. My date and I paid the bill and got cupcakes.
My boyfriend (who I will from now on be referring to as Mickey) was sharing his first relationship with me on the phone last night.
Mickey: It was middle school and her name was Kerri
Me: That name is so New Hampshire
Mickey: I know haha
What do speeding tickets, mens cologne, girl scout camp and bagel rolling have in common for Lauren? One crazy ass summer…
Thank you to this BDGS reader, for reminding us what poor decision makers 14 year old boys are (and also why they should include ambiance in Sex Ed)…
It was my first time. I was excited of course. Not really scared. He said it was his first time as well but with all the drama that ensued, who knows. His build was much smaller than mine—wiry and short. I was tall and full, especially for a fourteen-year-old. To mask the differences I wanted it to be dark in the room. He desired light. Our compromise—in our obsession with Spencer’s sex shop—was to replace his light bulb with a black light. When I arrived at his house that morning—ironically enough—69 Virginia Avenue, he didn’t purchase the black light. In its stead was a regular bulb hastily colored in permanent marker. In the middle of our awkward and uncomfortable lovemaking, the contained heat within the glass caused it to shatter and shards rained down on us. I couldn’t help thinking, If your broke ass had only gotten the real deal…
We’ve heard your frantic 2012 queries:
1) “Where is Eric’s performance from the BDGS show 3?”
2) “How much more smug can Pat Kiernan on NY1 possibly become this new year?’
We have a sure answer to question #1: Here and on the Bad Date Great Story YouTube channel
And, if history continues, the amount of #2 is too large to fit in this post.
When I was 15 I really liked this boy. I won’t provide his real name, because there are only so many facebook friends I can alienate through this site (see: http://baddategreatstory.com/?p=1058). But it sounds like John Stamos. So for the sake of this posting, we will call him that (also, he is now a doctor and John Stamos totally played one on ER). So John Stamos and I went to Junior High School together, which I essentially blocked out because I was the type of girl who developed early but still managed to be a total outcast who didn’t make out with anybody. My lack of game can essentially be summed up by Valentine’s Day 1996, when I asked John Stamos to be my Valentine, he said YES, and then I responded by saying “kidding!” and running away.
Anyway, by high school I started to figure things out. And though Stamos and I went to different schools, we stayed in touch, and one Thanksgiving, he called to ask if he could come over. My family had just finished eating, and we were about to start our annual post-turkey Pictionary game. We had a big group that year–my parents, sister, her boyfriend, my aunt and her husband (a bookie who occasionally rose to check the scores of the game, or take a call requesting he break someone’s legs) and my Great Aunt Bunny. Aunt Bunny was a character–for example, she got kicked out of the Merchant Marines for having a dirty mouth. When she was in her sixties. She also used to perform pornographic puppet shows for the French Foreign Legion. Needless to say, everything to my Aunt Bunny was totally dirty.
By the time Stamos got to my house, we were in the middle of the game. I let him join my team, which also included my sister and Aunt Bunny. It was Stamos’s turn to draw.
“Stick!” I yelled.
“Pencil!” my sister said.
“Penis!” Aunt Bunny screamed. “Dildo!” Stamos paused. Uh oh, I thought. Here it comes.
“Did I ever tell you about the time I threw my vibrator out the window?” she said. “Thought it was broken. Then one night I’m in bed and I hear buzzzzzzzz buzzzzzzzz buzzzzzzzzz. Thought the damn thing had come back to haunt me.” Stamos’s time was up, but we were all just listening to Aunt Bunny’s story.
“Then I realized my neighbor’s son had found it and was running in the hallway, swinging it around as if it was a light saber.”
I looked at Stamos. He didn’t seem amused, more perplexed. I guessed his family Thanksgiving wasn’t like this. I realized not only did he probably not want to make out with me now, he definitely didn’t want to be the groom in the hypothetical wedding I had been planning. All these people would be there–and Aunt Bunny would probably want to give a speech.