It was over when I came home and found a Ziploc bag filled with poo left on my kitchen counter next to a note “Had a great time—you rocked my night! xxx” with her phone number. She had broken the toilet and I guess was too mortified to leave her business in the bowl, so she scooped it out, bagged it and forgot it on the counter.

—Bill

Aftermath: I never heard from her again, but her roommate told me she was devastated. We really did have great chemistry, but in the end…

I picked him up, drunk and high, from an underage party. We went to a friend’s place where he was completely unaffectionate, but got ridiculously excited when pizza was delivered. When he finally did sit by me, it couldn’t have been more than 15 mins before he moved to the chair next to the couch, and then proceeded to pass out until I woke him to take him to his car, where he slept it off till morning.

—Kendra

Aftermath: I told him I couldn’t be his girlfriend anymore about a week later, but we fooled around a couple times after that.

It was over when I told him that I needed a few days to myself because I was feeling smothered, then he sent me an instant message 8 hours later to see if I’d had enough time yet.

—Amy

Aftermath: I signed off AIM and ignored his calls that day, then I broke up with him the next day in person. He sobbed.

I destroyed myself over this boy, who was a f**king yo-yo. First, he was in love with me, then not-feeling-it, then we were friends-who-cuddle, then I-don’t-have-those-feelings-anymore, then we-are-soulmates. Problem was: After the soulmate phase, we went different directions for summer and he got a girlfriend and didn’t bother to mention it to me until the fall. But he hopes we could still be great friends. Oh, and he “still has feelings” and wanted to come see me to “talk it out.”

—Morgan

Aftermath: He still wants to be friends. I don’t. A waste of 2 years of my life.

I once met a girl at a bar. Actually it was an open bar. Dangerous stuff. We went back to her apartment. The next morning the bed was covered with pee. Every square inch soaked. Even the pillows were wet. It was either her, or me, or her fat angry cat.  I suspect the cat. We didn’t talk about the elephant in the room, or the Lake Superior on her bed.

—Jack Diamond

Aftermath: There was no second “date.”