Bad Date Tip of the Week

If you want to have a bad date, follow the lead of my good friend *Simon. One day, Simon commented to my friend *Emily, "If you were a Star Wars character, you would be Chewbacca."

They were not on a date at the time, but comparing girls to large hairy creatures has about the same effect no matter what the circumstances.

Match not Made in Heaven

Right after serving an LDS mission (two years, no girls), I was “invited” to ask out the daughter of a former teacher who liked me (the teacher, not the girl). My old girlfriend had gotten married while I was gone, and I hadn’t been out on a date of any kind since I’d gotten home; I hadn’t been out on a first date for nearly three years.

Lacey was described as a ‘babealicious hottie goddess.’ She was. I was also informed that she and I were perfect for each other. We weren’t. One particular exchange pretty much sums up the whole date. She found out that I’d recently returned from mission and got excited (as girls in Utah often do).

In her enthusiasm she exclaimed, “Wow, don’t you just wish you were back out there in the mission field?”

“No. No way. Absolutely not. It was great and all, but you have no idea how nice it is to be back.”

“Oh . . . well . . . maybe it’s just you because lots of my friends say that they wish they were still on their missions.”

“That’s nice.”

Wait--is this a date?

Submitted by B-52

I should have known. The fact that he was on the other end of that phone (yet again) should have clued me in. Alas, I am dense, and could therefore be tricked into going on a date with a boy I was completely uninterested in.

"Hey, some of our friends are hanging out tonight, wanna come?"

We're still friends, I thought. The talk was good, we agreed not to date, but he's nice and we're friends. Heck, why not?

And I said yes.

J showed up with two other guys in a four-door sedan. As I climbed in the back seat, friend A casually asked friend B how to get to B's date's home. Tactless as usual, I blurted out, "Wait, this is a date?"

. . . silence . . .

Friend A: "You didn't tell her?!"

As if it wasn't bad enough that I was on a date against my will, the evening had no redeeming qualities. The dates the other two guys had chosen were still sophomores in high school. Four years their senior, I had nothing in common with them. However, we did spend a fair amount of time getting to know each other in close proximity -- remember the four door sedan? Three guys plus their dates makes six people total. A four door sedan seats five. My date was thrilled with this result, as I was halfway on his lap the entire hour-long drive. Me, not so much.

The photos documenting the evening are on facebook somewhere. I'm always on the fringe of the group, trying to maintain a decent amount of space between J and me, with a fake grin plastered on my face, the two other 'couples' cute and cuddly. Standing in the cold at a soccer game, it's clear I'm having the time of my life.

Conversation topics for the evening:

"Um...which body type can pull off skinny jeans?" "They don't make you look fat." "Oh, good, I was worried."

"So, what's the point of this game? Trying to make fieldgoals?" "No, just goals. And you have to do it without touching the ball with your hands." "But how do they run and kick the ball at the same time?"

"Guys, Tide pens are such miracles. I just can't live without them, but I've never been able to figure out how on earth they work. Is it just some kind of white paint you're putting on your clothes?" "I think it's just straight acid." "Well, that's better."

Intellectually stimulating, no?

Finally, the game had ended, I had at least gotten a burger and root-beer float out of the fiasco, and we had driven back. I thought I was home free.

"We saved the best for last. Let's go up to make-out point and shine lights on steamy cars. Maybe we can get some good photos!"

The Boggle Date: Part 2

Tales from the life of the Keeper of the Blog

*David and I doubled with his roommate (also weird) and his nearly-mute date. Though I had many mutual friends with the two guys, I had never met this girl. (And since she did not produce a full sentence through entire course of the evening, I can still say that that I have never really met her.)

First, the four of us made cookies. The boys had somehow failed to get a mixing bowl for making the cookies (they had no suitable vessels for mixing dough in their apartment), so we actually went back to my apartment to get a bowl, which I thought was incredibly awesome.

While the cookies were baking, we played some games. I was pretty happy about the prospect of playing games because I'm good at games. I am from a game-playing family and can win just about anything against non-game-players.

First game: Pit. Good. I was raised playing Pit. I can play Pit in my sleep. I can kick your trash at Pit.

I lost Pit.

I lost by a lot.

Silent girl won, and I was more than a little miffed because Silent Girl couldn't utter more than one word at a time (which may have worked to her advantage since you only need one-word utterances in Pit). So, sore loser that I am, I suggested we switch to Boggle. Everyone else agreed to this.

However, I failed to mention that I am a Boggle champion. Unlike Pit, Boggle is a game of knowledge and skill. Boggle requires a good vocabulary. I have this vocabulary. I can beat nearly anyone I know at Boggle without even trying. Silent Girl had never played Boggle before--even better. I would crush her. And David. And his roommate. I would crush them.

I did crush them. I crushed them all. I more than crushed them. I pulverized them. I blew them out of the water. I blew them out of the solar system.

They were three of the four worst Boggle players I had ever seen. Silent Girl couldn't spell even basic words so most of the words on her page didn't even count.

At first, I was quick to tell the others when I had the same words as them. Quick to tell them when the word they found wasn't actually on the board. Quick to point out every word they should cross off their list. Then I read my word list, which was very long and included many very long words. They didn't question my words. They were in awe.

But as I pulled farther and farther ahead, I started to feel a little bad about how poorly they were all doing and a little guilty about having suggested the game I knew I would win without warning them that I would win. So I stopped making them cross out words. I stopped calling them out on misspellings. I did everything I could let Silent Girl get at least a point or two each round. I even handicapped myself, so that I only wrote down words with four or more letters (not just three). Toward the end of the game I imposed a five-letter handicap on myself. I still did awesome.

By the end of the game, I was so embarrassed for them for being so bad at the game and for myself for being such a jerk, that I refused to share my final score--it was more than double the other three players' scores combined. David found my paper and (since he is a very nice person) congratulated me.

The cookies baked into large, flat frisbees. They were the worst-looking cookies I had ever seen.

The Boggle Date: Part 1

Tales from the life of the Keeper of the Blog

The date I refer to as 'the Boggle date' is memorable for two reasons: one, because we played a terrible game of Boggle (to be detailed in The Boggle Date: Part 2); and two, because it was the first time a boy asked me out in person--as opposed to over the phone--and I did not respond very well.

One weekday afternoon, *David, who lived in an apartment down the hall, knocked on my door.

David was genuinely nice person . . . but he was a little weird. At parties he sometimes sat in the corner of the room and sang tunes from South Pacific to himself. Whenever I passed him in our building hallway, he wished me a 'Happy Birthday.' Sometimes this happened two or three times in a single day. I told him he was making me old.

On this particular day, I did not invite David inside (because the boy I liked was already sitting in my livingroom), so we exchanged 'how are you's' at the door. Then he said, "Do you want to go out with me on Friday?"

But since I was, at that moment, totally focused on other boy, David's question sounded more like, "Fla fla fla fla fla?"

I was so caught off guard, all could do was stare--although it may have looked more like a glare--at this poor boy. About twenty seconds later I responded with, "Wait, what?"

"Do you want to go out with me on Friday?"

This time I heard the words, but it still took another ten or twenty seconds for the question to sink in. In the mean time, I continued to stare, open-mouthed, at David. I had heard of guys asking girls out in person, but it had never happened to me before, and I really just didn't know what to do with myself.

Finally, I answered, "Oh . . . um . . . sure. Yes. Um, yes. That--would be fine."

I'm certain that David felt very reassured and confident at that moment. And I felt like a jerk. For not inviting him in--I made him stand in the hallway outside my door (who does that?). For not paying enough attention to answer the question the first time--I've heard some guys have to work up a lot of courage to ask a girl out, and making him ask the question twice is just mean. And, finally, for not responding more enthusiastically, like I should have acted excited(?), happy (?), or at least nice(?) about the upcoming date--I should have said it would be 'fun,' not 'fine.'

I'm sorry, David. You are a nice person. I am moron.