I knew it was over on our second date when he threw his legs over his shoulders and proudly lit a thunderous fart on fire with a lighter.
—Tiff
Aftermath: Ended shortly thereafter, for obvious reasons. The white ball of flame was impressive, though.
This guy was painfully shy around me, never spoke; he could only write letters and send mix tapes full of R.E.M. to express himself. He was intense, artistic, mysterious, and pretty cute—so I tried to make something work. One night, we had a drink and went for a walk. He started to talk, open up, then stumble around and fall down. Then declared that he loved me. He was so drunk, I had to carry him home and put him to bed. I guess the only way we could converse was if he was smashed.
—Sasha
Aftermath: We never spoke of that night. In fact, we never spoke again. Technically, we weren’t even dating, as that supposes a two way street of shared experiences—and there was nothing but awkward silence.
About 6 months into the relationship, she took a particularly hothothot sexual act off the menu. “That ship has sailed,” she said. So did I.
—Perry
Aftermath: Despite the bait-and-switch, we’ve remained friends.
On our third date, I met a guy at his house. He was showing me pictures in a photo album. When he came to a picture of himself, he said “There she is, in all her finest!”
—Brian
Aftermath: We did not have a fourth date.
He kept climbing up on things. We’d go to a bar and he’d climb on the pool table or the bar or whatever else and perch on it. I think he thought it made him interesting, but it really just made him look like a tool.
—BlueCanary
Aftermath: He started wearing black eyeliner right around the same time I stopped returning his calls.
