Date Stories

mother is the ultimate cockblock.

by forloveandwhiskey
My date and I were sitting in his car outside of my apartment, talking about serious things. Usually if you’re inside of a parked (and turned off) vehicle with a date, that can only mean that the both of you just want to suck face. However, on this particular occasion, we were talking about our relationship and discussing adult things. I remember staring at the dude sitting next to me, wondering when he would shut the hell up and kiss me already. Honestly, I hate when the “relationship talk” comes up unnaturally and it seems like it’s being forced through a tiny hole where no one knows the outcome nor are they ready for it. If two people are on the same page, it becomes an unspoken agreement that doesn’t need a verbal analysis.

Anyway, we’re talking. There’s a lot of emotion in the air. Suddenly, my phone blares obtrusively and I see that it’s my mother. I silence it. She calls again. I silence it yet again. I turn all of my attention to the guy when suddenly, his eyes widen and he squints over my shoulder.

“Uh. Is that your mom?”

I whip my head around and in the distance, I see a stout silhouette of a woman standing on the 2nd floor. Her arms are crossed and even in the dark, I can feel my mother’s terrifying gaze.

I simply mutter, “Gotta go,” and leave our conversation unfinished. It was middle school all over again, and I was admonished all night for being loose and flaunting my goods to boys who only wanted my boobs and not my heart (her words, not mine). Damnit mother, you truly are the ultimate cockblock of the century.

I love the lady and I don’t mind her living in my apartment while she figures her business out, but man. I seriously don’t get any action anymore, and the gentleman callers are down to ZERO.

The worst of it was when I was on a date with a guy who had driven over an hour and a half to get to me, and we ended up having a fantastic date. It was nearly 2AM when we walked over to his car, and I mentioned that I would have loved to have him over if not for my mother. The melody to “Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now” raged inside of my head as we spent the next four hours in his car, and although it was one of the most glorious make out sessions I ever had with a guy, my muscles paid for it later and I was walking awkwardly for the following two weeks. I had an unforgiving black bruise on my back from the gear shift alone, and had to give a blubbering explanation about its origin when my mother walked in on me (very intentionally) while I was in the bathroom.

Let’s just say that when the Mrs. finally moves out, it is freaking ON.

the guy who was his mother’s son.

by forloveandwhiskey

From photos that I saw of him, he looked like a nice, harmless guy. I thought, “Hm, why not take a break from the craziness and give normalcy a chance?” If only the future Caroline can go right up to the Caroline of that moment and just LOL right at her face. When I met him in person, normalcy jumped through a glass window and plummeted to the ground below.

He wasn’t fit nor did he have a body to gaggle over, yet he talked about sports like he had years of experience with it. Which he did… either on the bench or through fantasy leagues. As a side note, superfans (those who breathe and would DIE for sports, and even more specifically, those who would defend and love Kobe like they would their own mothers) annoy the shit out of me. I won’t get into it though, this story isn’t supposed to be that long. Anyway, he loved the Lakers and straight up told me in jest, “If you don’t like the Lakers, get out of my face right now!” Then he laughed, leading me to believe he was joking, but I knew in my heart that he actually meant that by the nasty glint in his eyes. I simply shrugged and laughed along, but I wanted to slap him across the face. He also served as a volunteer in the middle school ministry at church for 12 years, and were awfully close to his students. In fact, he had them on speed dial and hung out with them a few times a week, which honestly is overkill. A man in his late thirties should NOT be spending that much time with kids if it’s not his full-time calling. BOUNDARIES, DUDE. Lastly, he talked about his mother a LOT. Trust me, when guys talk about their mothers, it can be endearing. A family-oriented man who wants to take care of his own is a great sign, but this guy took it to a whole new level by starting sentences with, “Actually, my mom wouldn’t let me…” or “My mom loves this drink!” or “My mom says that I’m…”

By the end of the first hour, I had consumed four whiskey sours and I was done. I was finally able to have a moment to myself when his phone started to ring, and I may have blurted out too excitedly, “Oh you should get that!” He picked up, said some words while giggling and looked straight at me, mouthing the words, “It’s my mom!”

JESUS.

the guys of barney (rest in peace).

by forloveandwhiskey

I recently got into a major accident and my poor Barney was totaled. Not only was that car a symbol of my adulthood (first big purchase with my hard-earned money), but it was a memory machine that contained within its red shell a lot of good times. And definitely some shitty ones. I’d like to take this time to mourn this loss by recollecting the top 5 memories I shared with Barney.

Don’t worry, they all have to do with men.

  1. I was dropping off a really drunk friend who—as soon as I parked in front of his place—lunged at me, licking the entirety of my face and confessing his feelings for me in-between saliva splattering on me and the odor of heavy alcohol consumption seeping through his pores. He even excused himself to throw up… into my cupholder. We don’t really talk anymore, and to this day, he refuses that anything like that ever happened. What he’ll never know is that I actually recorded him.
  2. Someone had scraped Barney’s rear bumper during church one morning, and they didn’t even leave a note or anything. Since it was the first “ding” on his body, I was especially upset and it was exactly like that feeling you get when you leave the screen protector on your iPhone on for as long as you can and then someone rips it off as a cruel joke and you just can’t put it together again. I digress. Anyway, I was ranting to a guy who I was talking to about it, and he was really sweet. The next day, I was leaving for work and once I approached my car, I noticed something on my rear bumper and saw that someone stuck an adorable band-aid over the scrape. God, that was cute.
  3. I saw it in movies, and I always wanted a guy to do it. Then when it happened, I wanted to rip off my clothes and dance on the roof of my car. Within a split second of kissing a date adieu, he lifted my whole body by the waist and placed me on top of my trunk. I giggled like an adolescent girl, and a small dream was fulfilled that night.
  4. A boyfriend and I had broken up, and as soon as I turned on the ignition to leave, he ran up to my window and admitted that it was really difficult to say goodbye. I agreed, and we ended up having one of the best conversations of our relationship right there, our arms tangled and draped over the window. All the arguing and tense situations we faced as a couple dissipated and for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was talking to my dear friend again. However, the drive home after that was nothing short of an emotional explosion.
  5. I spent seven hours in my car with this one guy who I had really began to like, and it was as if we were living like a typical, fantastically adorable couple in a tiny-ass studio. We had a dance party, we sang along to Disney songs, and we made out like crazy kiddos for at least 57% of the time. When the sky started to brighten, we were wrapped around each other with a beach towel over our bodies and the voice of Celine Dion softly lingering in that sweaty space. We knew it was time to call it a day, but why not go out with a bang? That Beauty and the Beast song still makes me blush.

Thank you for being a part of many beautiful moments, and thank you for tolerating the really ratchet ones. You were a good and loyal steed, Barney.

the guy who stood me up.

by forloveandwhiskey

I wrote this in a private blog a few months ago and it was worth re-blogging for you all.

—

I was in such a rage today that I couldn’t even manipulate my tongue to form any words.

All I could do was make extremely unflattering guttural sounds while jerking my arms in the air like a marionette in a tornado.

I got stood up for the first time today. And it didn’t feel good at all.

It was my second date with a guy who wasn’t doing a very great job in trying to impress me or to win my favor, but I decided to give him a shot anyway when he contacted me and asked me out to brunch. We were supposed to meet at his apartment, and I had a whole hot outfit chosen and mentally prepared to wow him like I usually do with people. Come on.

I had texted to tell him I was running late, because my roof decided to pour remaining rain water into my kitchen. The maintenance guy took forever to examine the crack in my ceiling, but how fucking long does it take to look at the ceiling and notice the crack in the ceiling? Why do you need a flashlight to look at it, sir? Why do you need to peel back the paint to further investigate? JUST GO TO THE DAMN ROOF AND FIND THE CULPRIT LEAK POINT. AM I BEING COMPLETELY IRRATIONAL HERE?

Sorry. Back to the story. I tell him I’m running late. No response. Fine.

I get to the apartment, text him again. No response.

It’s getting cold (by Southern California standards, this means the low 60s), so I walk over to my car and sit inside. This is when that feeling of embarrassment starts taking over. Who the fuck does this guy think he is? Why the hell did I waste my time coming here? Why did I have to look so damn cute for NOBODY?

No. Words.

I waited twenty minutes and heard nothing. I peeled out of there, absolutely mortified.

The thing is, when I didn’t hear from him at all that night or even the next morning, I became concerned. As I mentally scrolled through the different tragedies that could have occurred to that boy, I remember jokingly telling myself, “He probably got trashed.”

LO AND BEHOLD, AT 5PM THE NEXT DAY:

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I had to practice a lot of restraint not to lose my shit. I simply texted that he needed to call me and apologize, so he did and then explained about the wild drunken night he had with his homies. What upset me the most was that for someone who already knows about the effects of alcohol and how horribly difficult the next morning can be, he still made the decision to drink his ass off. It seemed super irresponsible and I didn’t feel like he put any value into our pending date. And then he TEXTED to apologize with that pathetic two-liner. I was too disappointed to give him another chance, which he asked for.

Cool story bro, but get out of my life.

the guy who bore me to death.

by forloveandwhiskey

Nice guys don’t finish last.

Over-religious, sensitive boys with voices as delicate as dandelions finish last.

Through the interwebular (new word, BOOM) world of dating, I connected with this boy who seemed normal and sweet. We emailed back and forth and he finally asked me for my number, which I gave to him without much hesitation. Then he emailed me again a few hours later: “Hey C, not sure if I have the right number because some dude keeps picking up.” I re-checked our previous emails, and damn, I had accidentally given him the wrong number. Or perhaps my subconscious was trying to protect me?

We talked on the phone that night and I literally fell asleep during the call. He was boring, his voice was squeaky and soft, and he kept saying, “You giving me the wrong number. That’s a funny story.” Calm down, dude. We laughed awkwardly for one second and that was it. Stop trying to make that a “thing.”

After that conversation in which he talked about his church friends and how much he loved Jesus and how much he would love to pray for my salvation, I very honestly told him, “Hey E, I’m going to cut this conversation because I just don’t feel any connection and thank you for your time.”

Dead silence. Then he shyly joked, “But we have that funny story where you gave me the wr–”

“YES,” I interrupted. “The wrong number, yeahyeahyeah. I’m sorry, I know myself well enough to know this won’t work.”

He politely thanked me and we hung up. Then he kept texting me. Day after day. I texted him back a few weeks later, “Hey E, I thought I made myself clear, but I’d really like to say no to us having any further interactions.” He politely complied again.

Then he added me on Facebook a couple weeks ago with this message:

“Hey C, it has been a while huh? I wanted to add you as a friend because I still think about that funny story where–”

Do I even need to finish? Excuse me as I set my eyeballs on fire.

the guy known as “The Italian Stallion.”

by forloveandwhiskey

I was never that girl who got drunk and wobbled around like a newborn foul, spewing yellow gunk from my nicely lip-lined lips while hurling insults at strangers. The worst that I’ve done is to bolt, never to return again. My friends found me later that night sitting on a curb as a police officer in tight biker shorts scolded me for being an idiot. Other than that though, I’m a fun, happy-go-lucky drunk.

When I’m on dates, I like drinking a lot with the guy because a) it relaxes them and if they’re nervous, it calms them down, b) it relaxes them and if they’re fucking boring, at least I’m drunk, and c) it’s a lot more fun when the walls come down and alcohol makes anyone brutally honest.

I went on a date with this Italian lawyer (let’s call him the Italian Stallion because I just watched Rocky II and III, so I’m feeling sentimental) and he was going ON AND ON about his own life and how wonderfully handsome he is, and I kept taking shot after shot because I wanted to drown out his voice with the pounding that my liver was taking. Finally, we finished and took a walk, and no surprise, he was STILL TALKING. All of a sudden, he grabs my head and tries to kiss me. I screech and say very eloquently, “You kidding me?!”

His eyes were wide and dumbfounded as I admonished him for talking my ears off and then trying to take advantage of my clearly drunken state, but it was probably funnier that I tried to come off high and mighty while standing there awkwardly with my high heels and hair slightly disheveled from his eager hands.

He apologized and offered to buy me a McRib.

So I made out with him.