Datemares (vol. 6)
Just when you thought I didn't have anymore Datemares to bless you with, HERE I AM. As a friendly reminder: MY INBOX IS ALWAYS OPEN TO YOUR HORRIFIC, SO-BAD-ITS-FUNNY dating stories. Hit me up ANY time the mood strikes (emmasthing @ gmail).
Now that's out of the way, are you ready for tales of flatulence, wannabe rappers, angry Englishmen, and chaperoned dates? That's what I thought.
YEAH, I FARTED. JEALOUS?
So, at the time, I’m dating this guy who 45 minutes away from me. After several dates, it's time for our first sleepover at his place. Everything’s going great so far — we eat dinner, have great conversation, and are back his place, ready to relax. But I can't relax because I have to fart SO. BAD. My stomach was in literal knots, and I was in a complete panic. Of course, I couldn't fumble in frotn of him because we were far too early into things, but the thought of being in pain like this all night with no escape was almost too much to bear. Finally, he excuses himself to the bathroom, and I get my phone out to immediately text my friend about WTF is up while simultaneously trying to hard to not like this monstrous fart slip out. At this point, I'm basically I’m prairie dogging my own so that I don’t accidentally shit myself.
It's now bed time. My stomach is still in knots, and I'm a damn wreck. I'm sweating so bad from anxiety and nerves — a real looker. We all know what happens when you get into bed — YOU GET EVEN MORE RELAXED. And I CANNOT let this guy get a whiff of what’s cooking in my pants. I’m so scared I’m going to Dutch oven him in my sleep and wake up next to a dead body. Needless to say, I got zero sleep that night and instead used my time to let out teeny tiny inaudible baby farts until sunrise, bit by bit.
He never noticed and now we're married with an open door bathroom policy and baby boy.
emma's reaction: God, if we haven't ALL BEEN THERE. I'm going to share a trick with you all now that an ex taught me (we had a weird relationship. Just go with it). When you really gotta let it out but don't want someone to hear, take your hands and physically spread those suckers apart because THEY'RE the culprit for all the noise anyway! It works. And yes. I just wrote that. I just instructed you to do that. And now we are all closer than we were five seconds ago. Also, I'm so happy this story ended in marriage. What a gas!
HE RUINED HIS OWN PUNCHLINE
I went on a blind date my freshman year of college with a soccer player from Liverpool. Sounds hot, right? Well, he was but also his accent was so thick that I could not understand one word he said and just nodded my head the whole time. Nothing transpired after that first day. We parted ways and, over he next 4 years, he was in and out of trouble and sorority girls’ bedrooms. Fast forward 10 years later, I heard he went back to England, got in a bar fight, and landed a deadly blow in one punch. No, really. He killed a guy with one, singular punch and is currently on trial for murder in England. Soooo, yeah. Dodged that bullet!
emma's reaction: My only question is did he look like or even slightly resemble Tom Hardy? Like, was he a HOT, angry Englishman? Because if so, kind of tight. But if not, what a wanker. Either way, though, I'm very glad you didn't entertain this further because you could be setting up conjugal visits over in foggy ol' London town right about now, love.
YOU, ME, AND DAD MAKES THREE!
Several years ago when I was single and Tinder-dating as much as possible, I met this guy at a coffee shop for our first date. He was nice enough, easy to talk to, and asked if I was free the following week to go to a King's Hockey game with him. Delighted to try something new in L.A., I said sure! I mean, hockey, beers, ice? Sounded fun to me.
The night of the game, he picked me up from my office building. He texted me that he was downstairs in the valet, so I headed down. As I walked out the doors, I saw a GIANT Mercedes SUV (the souped up type), and an old man behind the driver's seat. My date pops out of the back of the car, bounds over to me, and declares "My dad is going to drive us to the game!" We're 29 and 30 years old and we're getting chauffeured by his dad? I was so confused, but nodded and climbed into the flashy ride.
The driver — er, sorry — his dad was nice enough, but the trip there was weird as the two talked very regularly about their days like he had just picked his son up from school.
We get to the game, and, naturally, I assume his dad is dropping us off. Alas, his dad parks the car, we all three get out of the car, and go inside. We then proceed to head to their suite (yes, they owned a box suite), and the night carries on as his DAD buys us dinner and drinks and chats with us all night.
Once the game was over, my date and his dad dropped me back off at my office building, we said our good-byes, and I went home.
WTF???????? It was SO weird. Not only did I feel about 12-years-old the entire time, but the guy never offered an explanation; rather he acted as though his dad tagging along was the plan all along?! I don't know if he was trying to show me his family had money or what, but it was unusual. Shocker: We did not continue to date.
emma's reaction: I'm. What? Huh??? What?! You are much nicer than me, because I would've 100% taken him aside at some point and been like "So. What's up?" That is just... so odd. On a lot of levels. And you never asked him WTF the deal was, even post-date? That is such a 16-year-old way to show off to a girl. Methinks someone has some Peter Pan/Daddy issues, and I'm glad you weren't willing to be his Wendy. Or Tinkerbell. Or another character.
WILL THE REAL ROKHEL PLEASE STAND UP?
So, I see this guy on Tinder, and the ONLY reason I swipe right is because he had a cool name. You see, My name is Ameari and I thought that our unique names would be a surefire conversation starter, so I went for it and it worked! We ended up Tinder messaging for a month before we decided to meet in person for a real date.
The night of the date, he insists on picking me up. I’m waiting and waiting (thirty minutes after the agreed upon time), and he finally pulls up to my home. We hug, get back in the car, and his car now won't start. He says he borrowed his roommate's car, and just doesn't know how to start it so we sit there as he calls his roommate twice and leaves voicemails asking how TF to start it. Another ten minutes pass before we actually make it on the road on our way to a restaurant that I hate but am pretending to be enthused about because how was he to know?
We get inside, order our food, and he immediately dives into a story about how much he hates the United States government. I try to change the subject to something lighter but he refuses to drop it. In a last ditch effort to get him off the topic, I ask about the origins of his unique name, "Rokhel." He acts confused then says, "That's not my actual name. My name is Richard. Rokhel is just my rap name."
Oh. Good. I'm at dinner with an aspiring, 28-year-old rapper.
He then pulls out his ear wax-caked earbuds and tries to shove them in my ear so I can listen to a grainy audio clip of him rapping over Ellie Goulding. At this point, I’m done with him, the song, the meal — EVERYTHING. I politely cover up my bowl to signal I'm done eating and ready to GTFO, when he reaches over and removes the dirty napkin I’ve put over my food and begins to PICK AT MY LEFTOVERS. He’s sitting there sucking non existent pieces of shrimp out of cold tails and nibbling on wilted greens. While he's not looking, I motion for the check (which, surprisingly, he ends up paying). As we leave the restaurant, he asks if I’ve been to the movies? Not "have you been to the movies lately?" or "seen anything good lately?" No. Just "have you been to the movies?" Before I know it, he's pulled into the parking lot of the movie theater. We get out of the car, and he walks up to the theater window asking, "What’s playing right now?” The poor theater employee looks understandably confused and says "Neighbors 2 started 30 minutes ago." And, no. I am not kidding when I say ROKHEL THE RAPPER bought tickets for us for a movie ALREADY IN PROGRESS. Oh, and made homophobic comments about it the entire time.
Once I was finally home that night, I blocked his number and decided to forget about the hellish experience forever. That is, until I saw your call for Datemares and knew I had to share my story.
emma's reaction: I hate this guy so much, I don't even know where to start. Like BRAVO to you for making it to a movie, because my ass woulda been all "I'm SO tired" immediately following watching him suck and pick at my leftover, empty shrimp shells and demand I be taken home. Also, ear wax earbuds. Omg. Rapping over Ellie Goulding??? BUYING MOVIE TICKETS TO A MOVIE THAT'S MORE THAN LIKELY ALREADY ESTABLISHED THE CONFLICT AND IS HEADING TOWARD THE CLIMAX? Also, PREVIEWS ARE THE BEST PART. Also, DID HE GET A BAG OF POPCORN AND LET YOU EAT IT THEN SUCK ON YOUR KERNELS? I can't. Bye.
So, guys. What did we learn here today?
1: Sometimes a fart can win over a heart.
3: Boys can have daddy issues, too.
4: Suck on discarded shrimp tails once, shame on you. Buy tickets to a movie that's 1/4 of the way through, shame on everyone including the theater employee.
Until next time...