Bad dates happen to the best of us. I am a rare case; I am the queen of bad dates. It seems to be this new, ongoing trend in my life. I’ll talk to a guy and he’ll take me out on a date and I instantly regret it. Each one is worse than the next. It’s something out of this world. How could a date possibly be this terrible? Recently I had the worst date in the history of dates. No one can top how much of a disaster it was. And if you can, I feel so bad for you.
I’ve been talking to this guy; for the sake of this blog we’ll call him Joe*. Joe was very conversational and seemed like a genuine good guy, unlike the typical guys here at UT. It’s probably because he goes to USF. He was around 5’8 with tattoos everywhere and muscles on muscles. He had this cartoonish hairstyle going on and skin that almost looked Photoshop-ed because it was so perfect. We texted a lot and talked on the phone for hours. Joe was in Ybor one night at a concert and I told him he should stop by on the drive back since it was only 10 minutes away and we could hang out for a bit. He was so excited. That should have been the first red flag.
The kid was literally giddy with excitement. Last time I checked girls were supposed to be the antsy ones. I put that aside and Joe came over at midnight to hang out… in his old, obnoxiously loud car. Worst combination ever: an ugly prehistoric car that can be heard down the street. Uhm, no. That was red flag number two: Joe had some serious car problems.
I met Joe in the parking lot and we started walking inside to my dorm, he immediately started to get under my skin with his poor conversational skills. Red flag number three happened when we were talking and he told me he wasn’t Italian.
This was critical. I only date Italians. I’m from Staten Island where everyone’s Italian. What else can you expect from me? I put on a movie in hopes that maybe Joe wouldn’t talk as much but nope that didn’t stop him. He was too clingy and touchy, holding my hand, playing with my perfectly done hair, and stroking my face…like um eww stop. This wasn’t working, so I devised up another plan: maybe if I started to make out with Joe, he would have no other option but to stop talking. Thank God this plan worked! He immediately shut up.
But once again, I regretted this idea. It was probably the dumbest idea I have ever come up with. It was as if my conscious, ya know the little imaginary person in your head who tells you if something was a good or bad idea, was on vacation or something. While we were making out I felt something wet on my face. I brushed it off with my hand thinking nothing of it, until I realized my hand was still wet. Then I started to panic when I felt a liquid substance move from my cheek down my neck to my shirt. Joe immediately stopped and realized he had a bloody nose. I had someone else’s blood on my face, neck, and shirt. My immediate thought was that my mother was gonna kill me if she knew I got her expensive shirt ruined. My second thought was that I needed to be cool and find a way to get Joe to leave. I sat on my couch not wanting to see how bad my face looked covered in his blood. Joe stood up and asked where the tissues were and I pointed to them. He attended to his bloody nose while I laid there praying to God I could find a way to make this kid leave. Also, that I wouldn’t contract some sort of diesease.
After 10 minutes I asked Joe if he planned on cleaning his blood off my face, due to the fact that I was not doing it. I might have cried or killed the kid. I was extremely grossed out. Joe finally got the wipes from my closet and began to clean up his mess off my face. He kept apologizing and I tried very calmly to play it off like it wasn’t a big deal. Inside my head, my conscience decided to return from her vacation and she was screaming, cursing, and freaking out over this disaster date. I laughed and told Joe thanks for cleaning my face and not to be embarrassed.
Hey, I felt bad for the kid I didn’t want to be a total b**ch! I decided to be honest and by honest I mean compulsively lie to Joe. I told him I was tired and that I had class early the next morning. I was surprised he even believed me being that I am the worst liar in the world. I walked Joe to his car and told him I had fun and not to worry about how he bloody nosed on me. He gave me a good night kiss, and it took everything in me not to gag. I went back to my room and immediately blocked and deleted Joe’s number; I never spoke to him again. On the plus side, I saved my mom’s shirt from being completely destroyed, on the down side, the kid didn’t clean all the blood off of me! Sheesh someone really must have had it out for me because it really was a terrible date.
Bad dates happen to everyone and like I said I am the queen of bad dates. If there is any advice I can give to you it is to always play it off cool, don’t make the guy feel worse than he already may feel. Make sure you always have one of your friends to bail you out of a crisis if you need to be, but most of all, don’t wear your mom’s expensive shirt while making out with someone. You will get bloody nosed on, now that’s a fact!