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Category Archives: 1 Night Stands
Once again, we bring you a brief message from a wonderful audience member
I once was seeing a girl for the first time after a long break. Long story short, we got down to business, music on random, fantastic sex–and in the middle, some psychotherapy track came on about improving your memory. That is some bangin’ music for sure.
At the BDGS birthday spectacular, we asked our audience members to contribute their own bad date great stories. This is what one of them wanted to share:
I was on vacation with my parents and met a guy with adverse feelings towards Hispanics and Jews. I found this to be interesting and I liked his car, a 1972 barracuda. I slept with him, and on my way out, let him know I was a Columbian Jew. It was awesome.
(At our last BDGS show, we asked our audience to submit their own bad date narratives. This one came courtesy of our wonderful BDGS videographer.)
I knew I wouldn’t go on another date with this girl I met on OKCupid when she emailed me a poem she wrote about our one night stand. She was the Mama bird, I was her baby, and she never wanted me to leave the nest.
If this photo on our Facebook invite doesn’t make you want to come to the Friday February 10th show- You are crazy.
The Bad Date Great Story Valentines Day comedy reading show is coming at you this Friday. The performers are going to be out of this world, the invite alone is magical, and did we mention there would be candy?
Make sure to get there on time! We’re going to need our full set for our kick ass performers!
Because sometimes, the date ends at home.
And when it does, here are some things you don’t want to hear:
- The wrong name.
- “You remind me of my mother.”
- “You remind me of my ex.”
- “This usually doesn’t happen.”
- “Don’t worry, I’m sure these bumps are normal.”
- (the sound of crying)
- “You are stressing me out.”
- “Can you keep it down? I don’t want my mother to hear us.” [editors note: acceptable only-and only- for the under-21 crowd. Because then you’re just in college and getting laid. Any older, and you’re just an adult living with your mother.]
- “Can you keep it down? I don’t want to wake the baby.”
Any others? Let us know! We want to hear them…
About three years ago, I was taking a cooking class, which I figured marked the beginning of me as a mature worldly person who knew how to use the other utensils I previously cursed at for jamming my wine cork drawer. This class taught me a few things, but like all things I learn in classrooms (algebra and what the hell to do with a semi colon – half colon, half comma, who are you!?!>#) I forgot it all immediately and now rely heavily on Chinese takeout. However, enclosed in the folds of these cooking classes emerged something that I didn’t forget – couldn’t forget – that continues to haunt me to this day…
I look around. I think I know where I am.
Ok, I tell myself. I know where I am. I am in Ireland. I just smoked an illegal substance out of a two-liter coke bottle. Kathleen is downstairs, kissing some boy with a snaggle tooth. I just walked in on an Australian man pissing himself. A man named Happy Fun Dave just dropped his pants and showed me his Prince Albert.
There is a woman banging on the door. She is yelling. She is yelling something in Spanish. Wait, she is saying something in French. She is saying something about a menage a trois.
The invitation to my cousin’s wedding said I could bring a guest, but my Republican boyfriend and I had recently called it quits (for the fourth and second to last time) so I had to go at it alone. At first I tried to get out of it–the last wedding I had been to I downed two bottles of white wine and then woke up at 5am to be a guest on an eye-brow plucking segment on New York’s third best morning show–but then my mother informed me that my cousin was forgoing a traditional reception in replace of a rock concert at the Mercury Lounge, and I thought, well why the hell not. I figured I would be so blitzed by the end of cocktail hour that I wouldn’t care about the barrage of relatives asking where my boyfriend was, or my mother wondering when my sister or I would do a mitzvah and bring her her first grandchild. Of course, this being Mercury Lounge there wasn’t really a cocktail hour. It was just cocktails and lots of them, and not much food to try to tame the beast which was consuming large amounts of alcohol during family functions. “I’ll buy you a drink,” my father said. I explained that this was open bar, and by definition, there was no need for buying. I did take the $10 though, in case I’d need it later. Five white wines later I met Samuel, one of the chupah holders during the ceremony. A chupah holder is kind of like the caddy of Jewish weddings, doing all the hard work while someone else gets all the glory.
“You here alone?” Samuel asked.
“Me too. We must be the only two single people here.”
I would like to think that it was more than that reason that I was introduced to Samuel’s tongue on the dance floor, to the point that the groom came up, tapped him on the shoulder and said: “Dude. Stop making out with my cousin.”
I would also like to think that by this point my parents were in a cab back to Queens.
Soon enough I was in a cab of my own, on my way back to Samuel’s apartment.
“Do you want some gum?” he asked me in a cab, and I took a piece, figuring it might be awhile till I got a chance to brush my teeth.
The next morning, Samuel got up to go to the bathroom, and the following questions filled my head:
1) Where am I?
2) Where does that door go? Where does that other door go?
3) Why did I wear those granny panties?
4) Do I have to be somewhere right now?
5) Why do I smell spearmint?
And slowly, I came to my senses. I remembered I was in Samuel’s apartment, and I plotted on ways to slip my name casually into conversation. I remembered that I told Samuel I wasn’t going to sleep with him (I searched for evidence to negate this memory and found none, sometimes I amaze myself). I remembered I was supposed to be at work inless than an hour, and reached down for my underwear. Samuel was still in the bathroom. As I slipped my undiesunder the covers to pull them on I realized that the spearmint smell grew stronger. WHY WAS SPEARMINTEMANATING FROM MY NETHER REGIONS?
Samuel got out of the bathroom.
“Hey baby, you’re up” he said. “You want some breakfast? You want something else.” He got back into bed with me, andI clamped my legs together. He didn’t seem to notice, and his hand travelled farther down. HOW COULD HE NOTNOTICE?!
“I have to run,” I said.
“Ok, baby, I’ll get you a cab.”
“Where does that door go?” I asked.
“Where does that door go then?”
This was a tough moment for me. I wanted to like Samuel, who it turned out was a really nice guy and on top of that,had made some wise investments and bought a duplex apartment with an outdoor garden. But money isn’teverything, and Samuel forgot to spit his gum out. He even pursued seeing me again, and I finally agreed to try onemore time. But at the end of the date he offered me gum and the flashbacks came rushing back, of what I had to dowith a pair of scissors stolen from my office.