Yeah. He said it.

Ok...this one isn't about a worst first date. It's about a worst fourth date. Date one was acceptable. Plus, I was bored, I figured "hey, how bad can the second one be?" Turns out pretty bad. He decided that finding out how quickly he could make me cry would be a fun time. Date three (yeah, I know...bad decision making) we hung out at his apartment. He ordered in ribs -- which he knew I hated. Then we watched Blazing Saddles.

Now, I know people love Blazing Saddles. I am not one of these people. He, on the other hand, was. And was deeply offended that I wasn't laughing at the parts he thought were outrageously funny. Not only was he deeply offended -- he proceeded to yell at me because clearly since I didn't think farting was about the funniest thing ever, that I was a stuck up bitch.

Ok. Whatever.

So why, you ask, did I take date #4? Because I'm a masochist. And I couldn't believe that anyone could be such a massive asshole. Guess what -- they can be. And they can get even worse.

We went to dinner -- a nice spot -- where he proceeded to tell me that no one would ever love me like he did. Uh...yeah. The things that he was saying sounded straight out of an after-school movie about bad boyfriends. I didn't think anyone actually said stuff like that. Apparently they do. But then it took a turn for the worse. (Yes, there's worse).

He asked if sometime he could watch me have sex with my dog.

Yeah. He said it.

First things first -- I do NOT have sex with my dog, no matter how much I love him. Second, oh hell no. As Whitney puts it -- Hell to the NO.

I called him sick (and also some things not as nice). I stood up, turned on my heel, and marched right out the door.

Guess what? Yeah, he called me the next day to see if I wanted to hang out. I made it clear there would be no more hanging out and he should get some psychological support. And hung up.

He called me constantly for the next few days, and each time I was increasingly forceful. And then came the e-mail.

I wish I still had it. It was the best e-mail I've ever received. It was a scathing indictment of my personality, a treatise on my complete inability to ever have a successful relationship with anyone (huh...I wonder if that includes my dog...). And since he was a grad student, there were lots of long words telling me how awful I am. And it was like 1000 words long. I am a bad, bad person with many deficiencies.

But not as many deficiencies as someone who things I should hook up with my beloved lab.

The Worst Ones of All

We've all had bad dates -- with people with bad manners, people who are cheap, liars, cheats, boring people (really the worst!). But I am going to argue tonight that the worst dates of all are the ones that you thought went really well -- and you never hear from the guy (or gal) again. These dates don't end in crazy stories. You can't talk bad about the guy to your friends. There's a good chance the problem is you. Nothing good comes out of these good/bad dates.

Before I dive into this topic, I will admit to being the gal someone never hears from again. It's rude, and I'm not proud of my track record there. Ok...full disclosure accomplished.

I recently had a date that I thought went really well. It wasn't a "thunderbolt" date, but I thought there was a pretty solid connection, we had a great conversation, read a lot of the same books, seemed to have a lot in common in general. We spent two hours having a lively conversation. We parted ways with the understanding that we'd see each other again.

He left a message. I called back and left a message. Then the phone lines went dead. Stone cold. Nothing. Crickets.

And that's when the date took on epic proportions. Don't pretend you haven't done this at least once -- I picked the date apart minute by minute, word by word. I listed every conceivable mistake, faux pas and potentially offensive thing. I stared at myself in the mirror wondering if my strong Scandinavian features made me look like a man (broad cheekbones CAN suck...trust me). Did I sound stupid? Could he tell that I never finished "The World is Flat" even though I pretended to? Is there the smallest chance I cringed when he said he had kids from a previous marriage? Was I -- gasp! -- boring??

It's when the residue of the date begins to erode your tenuous self-esteem that makes it really bad. There are so many questions that make you doubt yourself after one of these trick dates: how could I have misread the date? Am I a bad date? Am I ugly? Was he really not a good guy -- and why couldn't I tell that? Why did I say that one thing that I knew I shouldn't have? Could he tell I needed a fresh pedicure? Did I talk about myself too much (probably...)?

These are the dates that make me the craziest -- even though when they're happening, I'm having as much fun as you can have on a first date. Is it a good date? A bad date? An evil trick by the fates? You tell me.

The Mothership Should've Warned Me About This One

So, what do you wear when it's about 95 degrees and tropically humid? Apparently the man I was meeting for drinks hadn't heard about summer. I knew it was going to suck when he came over to me wearing black wool pants and a black wool sweater on one of the hottest days of the year. In all fairness, it was clear that he wasn't completely thrilled with what he saw either, since I swear to god that he sneered at me.

For some reason, we didn't just end it there. I decided to overlook the sweated-out underarms of his wool sweater. He apparently decided to overlook my general distastefulness. We ordered glasses of wine and sat down on a couch in the lounge.

He immediately started telling me how super awesome he is. He's a Civil War re-enactor. On the Confederate Side. Fine, but when you're African-American, why is that your hobby? Also, he is an avid fencer. As in "en garde!" And he's very, very smart because he reads about physics.

As I listen to him drone on and on about nothing I want to know, I start to rub behind my ear. It's just a little tick I have -- it's unconscious and seems to relax me. I'm thinking about graceful exit strategies. Anything to get out of there. But I'm a nice girl, I don't want to do the "I'm going to the bathroom" thing and then leave.

He stops and asks me if I'm ok. I realize he's saying this because I'm rubbing my head like I have a migraine. This, my friends, is suddenly my exit strategy. But do I go with the whole "migraine" thing? No. Instead I say: "Oh....yeah, there's a ringing in my head. It happens ever since I got this implant."

He looks at me and asks, "What?" And not in a kind, understanding tone.

I'm in kind of deep now. It's all or nothing. I look him straight in the eye and tell him "The aliens put it in me. When I was abducted about a year ago. Sometimes when it's humid like this, it buzzes." And miraculously with this, I keep a totally straight face and lean into him. I say "Here, want to feel. You can feel the little bump where the implant is."

He declines -- which I suppose is good since I really don't have an alien implant behind my ear, so there wouldn't be anything to feel. Instead he suddenly remembers a really important meeting on the other side of town. On a Sunday afternoon. He puts down a $20 and walks out.

Good riddance. I get in my car, drive past him in his car -- talking on his cell phone, no doubt telling his friends about the freak he just met -- and head back to the refuge of my apartment.

Another man down. Only about a million more out there.