Tag Archives: bad date
Oh we were so lucky to have THE Ayanna Dookie up on our stage. In a story that will live on in BDGS forever, Ayanna tells us about one lucky mister she went to visit who had a very specific weekend agenda…
We adore April. In this video she had us hooked and reminded us all why bad dates are storytelling gold…
Brad and I connected on OKCupid, and so finally we decided to meet up for brunch. It was a decent meet up, we were getting along in the form of stilted conversation, and then bam. 10 minutes in and he’s talking about Jesus.
This happened a few months ago, but it’s now a running joke with my coworkers.
I had been seeing this guy a couple of times, and for our third date we went to a restaurant that was serving a special dinner for Restaurant Week.
Now, I’ll preface this with the fact that I had a questionable lunch. When we got to the restaurant, I felt suddenly hot, and sweaty on and off.
“Is it warm in here?”
“No, it’s actually just perfect…” Maybe I was just thirsty and needed to drink more water.
Then the salad came out.
“Do you feel okay?”
“Sure, I haven’t eaten in a little bit so I must be just hungry.”
This was the last thing I said on this date, I proceeded to projectile vomit on the salad, on myself, and partially on my date. Oh, and before you ask, he’s the one that said “I think you should go home now.”
On my way home from my “date” I also had to pull over and continue to vomit in the street. It was food poisoning. I never heard from the guy again.
This year was full of douchebags and unavailable men, so I desperately needed a palate cleanser. I preferred nice boys, but settled for casual sex via that famed matchmaker, Tinder.
Peter’s profile showed a tall, fit surfer and we made a date. But instead of Kelly Slater, Guy Fieri walked in and bought me a drink. Chubby in all the wrong places, clad in cargo shorts, only his spiky hair looked like this alleged “Peter” individual. It was too late to abort mission, so I drank until he resembled his pictures, and then we went back to his apartment for mediocre sex.
Afterwards, Peter leaned over and whispered, “You should know . . . only girls I’m seeing can sleep over. So you have to leave now.”
I didn’t sleep with an overweight Guy Fieri lookalike with the sexual ability of an ADD addled sloth just to get kicked out, drunk, at 3am.
Hell no. “Sweetheart,” I said, “that’s not gonna happen. I’m sleeping now. You want me out, call the cops.” Then I rolled over, and promptly passed out.
In the morning, I left with as much dignity as I could muster. But overnight, I received proof that there is justice in the world. While sleeping, I got my period and bled just enough to be noticeable all over his expensive sheets. It’s true, Karma is a bitch, and I love her.