Dating Quirks That Drive Us Nuts!!!

We’ve all seen the hilarious Seinfeld episodes that feature unbearable daters, à la “she eats her peas one at a time.” Well, that’s actually one of my favorite things about dating, the quirks.  Sure, you have some interesting friends and acquaintances…but only when you cross that special dating line, do you get down to the really nitty-gritty, juicy, peculiar stuff that most people don’t want others to know about. 

I’ve dated some weirdos (gasp, shocking—right?) and I’m thrilled to find out that you have, too! Here’s a few of my own faves and a few shared by friends. You can decide for yourself which YOU would put up with.

The Toddler

“Look, ma—no hands!” He’s the guy who’s still OBSESSED with his penis. He pees with the door wide open using no hands (turns disastrous if something else suddenly catches his attention,) he walks around shaking and dangling his stuff whenever he can, and he still pees in the shower—ALL the time. Come on man, get a GRIP!

The Cross Dresser

He thinks it’s a turn on to wear whatever of yours he can get his hands on…garters, stockings, heels, bustier, and even Halloween wigs. Newsflash: most women do NOT like this, and WILL run out the door.

The Poor Groomer

He clips his nails in the kitchen sink. Umm—is there something wrong with the bathroom? My solution: save the clippings and serve him an extra side dish with his next meal!

The TMI’er

You just had sex and now he wants to tell you how he’s “slept with 9 other girls in the past 2 months” and how “the ‘younger girls’ really have no idea what they are doing.” REALLY?? Let’s reinstate the no talking after sex rule, thanks. 

The Mustache Metro

He spends HOURS in front of the mirror. If one piece of his hair, mustache, goatee or whatever is the slightest bit out of place, his whole day is ruined and hence, so is yours. Get over yourself, I know I did!

The Disturbed

He says things to you like “you look so good I want to chloroform you” or “let me know if you can’t breathe” as he chokes your throat. ALWAYS sleep with one eye open with this one!

The Fanatical Gum Chewer

He never stops chewing gum. Seriously, never! I mean who doesn’t love a good piece of gum? Especially in those early dating days when you care about your breath...but if you’re burning through 3 packs a day—3 words—annoying oral fixation.

That’s just the tip of the iceberg—there are SO many more to share, I might need to make this a series! Send me your favorites and it might be featured in one of my posts. And while you’re at it, don’t forget to share my blog with your friends and connect with me on facebook and twitter.

And they call her………………….THE SABOTAGER.

“Stop sabotaging your dates”. If you’re a fellow single, chances are that you’ve also been hearing (and denying) this one for years. And perhaps subconsciously, within our own realm of the definition, we are in fact committing dating sabotage. Let me share with you one of my classic dating stories and you can judge for yourself if:

a) I’m a sabotager   

b) You too, are a sabotager         or

c) Our friends should just go stick it up their ass!

It’s the end of a drunken bar crawl...I look over and see my friend making out with a guy.  A few feet away I’m chatting with his friend who’s wasted and keeps buying us shots. IT’S TIME TO GO HOME. In order to get out of there, I give this finance asswipe my number and leave. The next morning (a few hours later) I wake up to 5 missed calls and 11 texts from this douche. A little persistent, aye?

 I barge into the living room and ask my roommate “who the hell is this stalker from last night??” (Her memory was always better than mine).  Hmmm….she nonchalantly grabs a pen, a napkin and starts drawing what can only be described as a Herman Munster stick figure. “WTF, are you serious,” I say?? “Ok maybe his forehead wasn’t really thaaattttt big,” she chuckles.  “Just go out with him, what do you have to lose?” “Are you crazy—LISTEN to these messages—why would I go out with this freak??” I say. “Because you haven’t been on a date in AGES,” she reminds me “at the very least it will make for a good story….just consider it practice” (love when people say this one). Rusty yes…desperate no…but “OK, FINE!” I say.

I pick a bar that I’m familiar with for the dreaded encounter, a “safe place” so to speak. I get there a few minutes early because other than the stick figure napkin sketch in my pocket, I had NO idea what this guy looked like. I walk towards the back of the bar looking for a place to sit and this SEXY Latino reaches his arms out and says “Heeyyyy—wanna do a shot with us?” “Ummm…….what??” I smirk. “Do I know you?” I say. “No…but do you like whiskey?” “Uh, HELL YEA, I do!” (Why couldn’t this guy be my date?!) Loving this sexy Latino and his drunk friends, I quickly confide how I was there for a blind date to meet some guy who seemed like a total douchebag (come on—I couldn’t tell him it was really just beer goggles!). We throw back whiskeys and are having a grand ‘ol time when all of a sudden I feel a creepy tap on my shoulder. Like a geeky dad breaking up the cool kid’s party….it was HIM. Stalker finance asswipe in the flesh and he was WORSE than I could have imagined. I cringe. He looks at me confused and I tell him I just happened to bump into these old friends who bought me a shot. He looks skeptical but nevertheless, we mosey to the bar.

Within 5 minutes this guy has bragged about his job, his apartment and all of his other riches, and has tried to stick his tongue down my throat which I have successfully  dodged like a flying bullet. REALLY?! The bartender gives me a sympathetic glance.  I head straight for the bathroom and start bbm’ing all of my friends. I need an exit plan—STAT. I start explaining that I have to leave soon for a birthday party—“Great” he says, “I’ll come with you.” Ugh, I was a prisoner—I knew he was NOT going to let me out of there alone! The Latino stops by on his way out with his friends. “Nice meeting you he says as he shakes my hand which slyly (or not so slyly) has his business card inside. Asswipe vexed “I thought he was an old friend.” “Umm…what?” I can’t be bothered-ly mutter as I stare at my Latino walking out the door. ”Ohhh, yea….I meant the other one was”—he didn’t buy it but whatever, at least I got the Latinos number, score!  All I could think about was getting out of there to meet my friends.

I chug my drink AS FAST as I can. And then it happens. By the grace of God, asswipe gets a phone call. I give him a dirty look as he picks it up—because by now I totally detest him. “I’ll be right back, I need to take this outside,” he says. This is IT—my window of opportunity to escape!  I grabbed my clutch and bee-lined for the door. He’s right there, still on the phone and looks at me shaking his hands up in the air in disbelief like—WHAT?! I start a mild jog and wave, shouting “GOTTA GO, BYE—THANKS FOR THE DRINK!!” I meet my friends at a bar down the street. As I start telling them the horror story that just occurred, a hot guy grabs my arm. It’s someone that I went to college with.  He starts flirting with me with his weeping willow eyes. We make out like we should have when we were in college. I can feel my phone buzzing from texts from my new Latino. This rainy night was salvageable after all.

My friend was right, it WAS good to go out and give it a chance—it DID make for a story! I don’t know what it is but it’s like men can smell each other and when you are out with one the others all want a piece of the action. Well, the same is true for this gal. When I’m out with one guy, ALL I want is to talk to EVERY other guy in the room. So while you might question whether this was actually a sabotage since I didn’t like the asswipe in the first place the truth is….if you replace this story with a guy that I actually DO like I’m afraid not much of the rest of it would change!

Until next time …

***Don't forget to add me on facebook: www.facebook.com/sergeantsassy

 

ODB seeks SYF {Guest Post}

ODB (old dirty bastard) seeks SYF (single young female)

Guest Post By: Liz, WeLoveDates.com
Be sure to stop by their site after—you don't want to miss My Scarlet Letter guest post!

I have a love/hate relationship with bad dates.

I hate them because, well, they suck.
I love them because man, do they make great stories.

One bad date in particular stands out from all the rest. It was an online date, so the normal first date anxiety was hightened...due to the fact that I hadn't as so much even facebook stalked this person. I had no idea who I was to be spending my Friday night with.

So begins the getting ready process. I pluck, straighten, exfoliate, bronze, curl all while downing a glass (ok, a few) glasses of pinot and dancing to Jay-Z in my apartment. This was actually the best part of my evening-should have ordered a pizza and called it a night.

I hurried out the door and battled L.A traffic, hoping I wouldn't be late. It didn't really matter though, because my date ended up being 45 minutes late. I stood outside of the bar on Sunset constantly checking my phone, and reading his "I'm 2 mins" away texts. I called my best friend who said I should leave, but I felt bad and didn't want to be rude. Um, lesson to be learned here? If he's 45 minutes late, LEAVE. He's rude, not you.

Moving right along...finally, he texted that he was parking. I started looking around for someone who resembled the many pictures he'd posted online. 25ish, brown hair, 6'0, athletic build. Instead, a 65ish, salt and pepper, 5'5 tall man with definitely an un-athletic build walked up to me. I was shocked. I'd heard about people misrepresenting themselves online all the time, but never to this extent.

Too stunned to say anything, we sat down at the bar. He immediately told me that the images he'd posted online were of him...literally 20 years ago. I was silently kicking my own ass with my Louboutin because something had seemed a bit off from the images...ya know, like maybe they were from the late 70's?! He went on to say that he was "young at heart" and was having a difficult time meeting younger woman when he posted his real photos online. Go figure. And he didn't even bother to take off his wedding ring!

I regained my composure and calmly told him I was going to have to leave. He seemed genuinely sad, and my softy side almost offered to have dinner with him anyway. Luckily, I stopped thinking crazy and gathered my things. As I was shaking his hand good-bye (the creeper had the nerve to ask for a kiss! I die), he mentioned that his son was single, and offered to "hook us up." No thanks, especially if the old adage "like father like son" bears any truth whatsoever!

Oh, the joys of online dating!

This is a guest post from:

We Love Dates is an online dating website & dating advice blog for singles in the UK, Ireland, US, Canada, South Africa & Australia. Liz blogs (and vlogs!) about all things online dating, love, sex and relationships. Follow We Love Dates on Twitter, and get friendly with us on Facebook. 

Don't miss My Scarlet Letter guest post on their site!

Blame Canada.

There’s something about NYC that just gives me that itch sometimes. The nightlife is bustling, there’s an exciting rhythm that makes me want to stay out and be a part of it—EVERY night, ALL night long. As you can imagine, this sometimes leads to crazy, fun, wild, bad decisions.  

I went out to dinner with a male friend of mine. I had a stressful day so I enjoyed a strong, fancy pre-dinner tequila cocktail while I waited for him at the bar. We sat down to eat and shared a bottle of wine. We went to a nearby outdoor bar afterwards. It was a beautiful summer night with a great buzz in the air. We had a few more drinks…well I should say…I had a few more drinks. And then shots. I really hate doing shots alone but he’s one of those friends who just don’t take one for the team. Anyhoo….a little while later we called it a night and by WE, I mean HE. We said our goodbyes and I jumped in a cab. A few blocks from home I started to hear little voices in my head. I was having a conversation with myself in the back of the cab, something like—bad girl “I don’t really want to go home”  good girl “But no one’s around, it’s a bad idea” bad girl “I’m a big girl, I can just go to my local watering hole alone for one or two” good girl “ We’ve been down this road before, it’s a bad, bad, bad move, turn around right now and go to bed—you might even still be able to go to the gym tomorrow” bad girl  “That’s all you care about, is the gym. They know me there, it will be fine, nothing weird will happen, I will just take a peek inside” good girl “Haha, yea OK crazy, you’re on your own.”  Driver re-routes to bar.

I walk in the bar, everyone yells “Norm,” ok maybe they really didn’t…but you get the picture. I made the rounds saying hello to all the regulars and popped a squat at the end of the bar. I’m pretty drunk. I have no business being there, but what else am I going to do on a Tuesday night? A guy sits down a few stools next to me and I see him checking me out through the corner of my eye.  At this point I can’t be bothered because I am too preoccupied trying to catch the objects (ice cubes, lemons, cherries, etc) that the bartender is trying to throw down my shirt from across the bar (did I mention I go there a lot?). Somehow this guy at the end of the bar gets caught in the cross-fire and seizes the opportunity. Bingo, game on.  We chatted for a while. If I remembered what we talked about I would tell you—but I don’t, so I can’t, so I won’t. He walks me home—what a gentleman. Enter the black out.

Fast forward to the next morning. My bedroom looks like a crime scene. My clothes and pillows are thrown all over, there’s an open condom wrapper on the floor (safety first—NO MATTER WHAT!). Awesome. My head is pounding but at least I’m up on time for work. I go to get a glass of water. There’s a bottle of wine, a half drunken beer and a napkin on my counter. The napkin has a name and phone number on it. I’m amused. I google the area code. Canada. Blame Canada. Somehow, I get through work. The bartender bbm’s me “at least one of us got lucky last night”. “Thanks for the shots, go f**k yourself,” I reply.

I ran home after work because I had plans to go out again. Busy girl. SO HUNGOVER. There’s the napkin…still on my counter.  I text “what a hot mess last night, huh?” He replies, “yea pretty messy but at least you remember.” Me “whoa, whoa, whoa, who said anything about remembering?” Skip to later that night. By now I have gathered that this guy is visiting from Canada (sorry I am not always that quick, thought maybe he lived here now) and was leaving tomorrow. The curiosity, the temptation, I couldn’t resist. I had to see just how good OR bad my beer goggles were. He came over at about midnight. We had both been out drinking but not nearly as sloppy as the night before. As soon as I see his face the flashbacks start hitting. He’s cute. SHORT. Says he’s 5’7 but not joke, he’s barely 5’4. Tatoos—lots  of them. Longish hair. Turns out he’s half Italian and half Chinese. Pretty interesting mix, and incidentally my first Asian. I ask him how old he is, he says “26”. I ask if he knows how old I am, he replies “what 27 or 28”? I say yea, let’s go with that.  Cougar, cub—here we go again. He recaps the night before for me. A little more detail than I was looking for but nevertheless sounds like it was a real good time. Apparently we gave my doorman a great show if he was watching the camera on the roof. Then we moved to the bedroom.  I will save the details for my X-Rated novel that will be coming out in the fall. According to my new Canadian sweetheart, I started losing my patience with him in the bedroom about a few things so he decided to leave before it got too crazy. Ok now we are caught up—and back to the present day.  I thanked him for the wonderful bedtime story and told him I was too tired to mess around, and that we will only be cuddling until morning wood. I haven’t cuddled in a while. I forgot how annoying it can be when you REALLY need sleep and there’s a guy grunting and breathing all over you.

Like clockwork he’s ready for me to deliver on my morning promise. Once again, I will spare you with all the visuals except one that I still can’t get over. As I mentioned, this fella has tattoos. Well, one of his tattoos is on the inner underside of his arm. It’s of his Chinese grandparents. A portrait.  He’s on top of me and literally—THERE THEY ARE—I’m making eye contact with this kids CHINESE GRANDPARENTS. They are STARING at me!  I’m trying to enjoy myself but this is just creepy.  I say “dude you gotta do something about this—you’re grandparents are WATCHING US—they are looking right at me, I can’t do this”. We change positions.  He laughs and says “he never really considered the placement when he got it”.  Damn straight kid, and no joke you really should do something about that. I take a quick shower. I walk into my living room and there he is—standing in the middle of the room NAKED peering around my apartment. “You gonna put some clothes on or what,” I say. “Not yet ,” he says “I’m really comfortable naked”. “That’s great,” I say.  I sit on the couch to check the TV. This mofo slowly sits his naked, hairy, BARE ass right next to me on my nice COUCH. Are we supposed to be having a moment here?? Because really I can’t even look in his direction—I stare straight at the TV. All I can think is—ARE YOU FOR REAL?!  I got dressed as fast as I could in hopes that he would follow my lead. He tells me he loves NYC and even went to inquire about joining the NYPD but he would need a green card. I say, “well don’t get any ideas Canada, cuz I ain’t marrying ya…but I hear you can find someone for that online.” I walked him back to his hotel because it was on my way to work. I have manners. “I’ll add you on facebook,” he says. Great, another one—just what I need.

On a side note: I got lucky because this guy was a total gentleman and sweetheart but let’s be real…bad decisions sometimes lead to bad things so please be safe out there.  

So………………What do YOU do when a guy doesn’t call?

We’ve all been through this before, right? You meet a guy—you had a great time—you gave him your number—a week or two goes by and—NOTHING.  No calls, no texts, N-A-D-A. You’re shocked—you’re wounded—you’re perplexed.  Well, if you’re anything like me, then you probably casually start replaying the scenario in which you met, over and over in your head…looking for clues about what could possibly have gone wrong.  Then you might mull over some of the things you said or did, that you wish you had said or done just a tad differently (especially if you were drinking!). THEN, once you’ve exhausted all the scenarios of beating yourself up….you run through all sorts of reasons about why he didn’t call due to his own personal issues or malfunctions. You know the drill—he lost your number, he’s a player, he’s young, he was drunk, he’s intimidated, he’s gay, he just got out of a relationship, he’s an idiot, etc., etc., etc. And then FINALLY (but always), you land upon the revelation that it doesn’t even really matter—it wasn’t meant to be—it’s HIS loss for not calling anyway. This, by the way, is all just a hypothetical manner in which someone might handle a silent “rejection”.

None of this strikes a chord so far? Hmmm….then maybe you are more like my friend “Roxy” (name changed to protect her identity). Let me tell you how my dear friend, Roxy, recently handled a situation when a guy that she met didn’t call her. Picture this. Winter, 2011 (February—the month of love to be exact). Hunter Mountain, New York. Roxy goes out with some friends after a not so hard day on the slopes. It’s the end of the night. Roxy’s on the dance floor swinging her hips and having a great time. All of a sudden, like a rockstar’s dream, Roxy is surrounded by a group of drunk, young men in Elvis costumes. You heard me—ELVIS. 

 

Roxy and one of the Kings of Rock ‘n’ Roll start dancing. She typically hates Rock ‘n’ Roll but it’s OK because she immediately feels a SERIOUS connection. Now, I know Roxy, and in this situation, she would normally grab a bull by the horns and go home with him—or at least take his number so that she’s in control of next steps. However, much to her friends suggestions, she has recently been re-evaluating her approach and was on a mission to try a different one—starting with this fella. It’s not easy, but Roxy lets the guy make the first move…and despite his repeated requests, she refuses to go back to his lodge with his gaggle of King impersonators. Who knows, maybe Roxy will even try to impersonate a little herself and play a little hard to get with this one, after all, there was a connection! Alas, Elvis asks for her number but as it turns out his jumpsuit has no pockets—therefore, he has no phone. Roxy stuffs her number in Elvis’ jumpsuit while thinking, hmm—this doesn’t seem very full proof, I hope he doesn’t lose it.  Elvis softly serenades “Love Me Tender,” they lock lips and say good night.

A few days go by back in NYC and nothing. No calls, no texts, no entries on missed connections—N-A-D-A. Roxy thinks to herself, I just knew he would lose that number in his pocket-less jumpsuit! She calmly starts piecing together all of the details she learned from their brief encounter. He likes to ski and dresses up as Elvis. Those aren’t very common attributes. He said he lived in the East Village (on first ave and first street to be exact). Well, there’s a lead. She knows his first name is Bill—another clue! So Roxy did what any of you might do????? She searched endlessly on Google, Facebook, plenty of fish, Elvis impersonator sites….it just wasn’t enough information for Roxy to zone in on her new man. So she researches bars in his neighborhood and narrows it down to the one place she is convinced her Elvis would be most likely to frequent. She goes to the East Village after work, innocently strolls around his block. No sign of him. She heads to what she thinks is “his” local bar, sits down and waits. Nothing—No Elvis, no Bill—no blue suede shoes. 

So what dear readers did this bodacious Roxy do next? Well, you’ll never guess…so let me just tell you! She put aside her brand new “let the guy make the first move” approach—and took matters into her own hands. The next day at work, she put a few words down on paper….made some copies….grabbed a roll of tape……..and took a stroll down to  first ave and first street. This Queen wasn’t going to let this potential King go. Roxy posted her new homemade flyers (see below for the ACTUAL flyer that was posted—only her name was changed!) ALL over the East Village!!!!!!!  Telephone poles, street signs, mailboxes—if Elvis was “in the building”, he was NOT gonna miss this one! Feeling charged and liberated, Roxy went back to “his” neighborhood bar sat back patiently and waited for him to either walk in or flood her inbox—after all, he would be so relieved she found him.

Well folks, I wish I could say this story had a happy, fairytale ending, you know, the kind to tell your grandchildren…but I can’t. The only email Roxy received from her flyer was from a random guy saying “he’s an idiot, you’re cute, call me” but sigh—nothing from Elvis. Who can say if“Bill aka Elvis” did or didn’t see the flyers or how he would have reacted if he did. How would you react??? So while I can’t say I agree with or approve of what my friend did, I will say—she’s a hopeless romantic who has a lot of heart and some gigantic balls! And alas, we can just add this story to the files of crazy shit my friends tell me.

I think it’s most appropriate to end this one with a quote from the King of Rock ‘n’ Roll himself:

“ ‘Til we meet again, may God bless you. Adios.”
-Said in 1977 at the end of a concert during his last tour

Oh, how desperately I want you inside of me…

I was recently dishing with one of my guy friends about crazy things that guys/girls do when they feel like they had a connection with someone and have been rejected. He started laughing and casually browsed his iphone e-mail archives and handed it over to me for review. It was an e-mail from a chick he met a few years back that he had only hung out with a few times. As you will see, there’s really no backstory needed for this one...

WARNING: What you are about to read is an unedited e-mail this chick sent to my friend after clearly a few too many cocktails on HER BIRTHDAY!

Hey,

So it is my birthday, and this is the first time that I have e-mailed you in a very long time. But I have a few things to say: First, I think about you and really want you inside of me; that is, I want your penis inside of me and I want you to go down on me and I want to go down on you and I want to have sex with you, you make me wet when I think about you when I masturbate, which is more often than I would like; second, I am mad that you haven't e-mailed; you have really made me feel like a cheap prostitute, like someone you just wanted to fuck with, with no kind of follow up and I am not really that kind of girl. Why haven't you called or e-mailed? What is wrong with you? I don't want to be your girlfriend. I would be a terrible girlfriend, and I am sorry if I said shit like that to you a while you were at my house, you know, an ultimatum or something like that. I think that we could maybe be friends and have fun together. I kind of want you to take care of me, in an affectionate kind of way; not in a boyfriend kind of way. I apologize for the last time when I was kind of quiet. I have been dealing with a lot of shit lately.

Ok, I am going to go now because i NEED to get some water. Can we just talk. I would really like to talk,

p.s. I am coming in this weekend; do you want to meet for a drink or something? like maybe saturday night?

I think this one pretty much speaks for itself...I am sure we have ALL been tempted at one time or another to send or say these types of things but believe me—it’s not doing anything to help fight that old adage that “all girls are crazy”. PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE Sassy readers—I beg you NOT to do this! I promise there are many, many, more productive and less embarrassing ways to handle a rejection or break up and I will cover that discussion soon!

In the meantime, next time you are feeling this way, write the email and send it to me or a friend instead...we promise you will feel better about it the next morning ;)