The day my grandmother died, I had a second date planned with someone. Upset, I called him to cancel, and he kindly offered to drive me to the airport. As we approached the terminal, I saw my brother and sister-in-law getting out of a cab. Next thing I know, he pulls up next to them and, jumping out of the car, says to me, “Oh, good. Introduce me to your brother.”

—Sad Granddaughter

Aftermath: My reply: “Um, I don’t think this is a good time; his grandmother just died, too…” Seriously, who tries to meet the family after one date, and before a funeral? This was over before I got on the plane.

In high school, I kept hooking up with an ex after he dumped me for a new girl who easily had 20 pounds on me. I hated her, so I didn’t care that I was the other girl. This continued through part of college, until they broke up. He still wanted to hook up, even though he had another new girlfriend. I realized that I’d only been sleeping with him out of spite for all those years.

–The Other One No More

Aftermath: I never hooked up with him again. He is still with his new girlfriend, and has probably cheated on her too. I have met someone who is so much better for me and to me, and will never be the other girl again.

My first shot at online dating was with a guy who was a sideshow performer. Despite the odd job, he was cute and polite. Then during our date he proceeded to speak in different accents, tell me about his frequent visits to “massage parlors,” and constantly pat his face with a hanky from his pocket. He also talked nonstop, especially about his failed 4-year relationship. I ignored the negative signs and invited him to a party a week later where he made joking references to me being a dog and told me to eat the dog’s food.

–Ty

Aftermath: We lived an hour apart so I didn’t have to feel obligated to see him again. I eventually began ignoring his calls. Suffice to say, I’m done with online dating.

After a whirlwind courtship, I realized he was getting too serious and started to back away slowly. He responded by asking me to accompany him on a trip home to meet his folks after dating for only 3 weeks. We weren’t exclusive at the time, furthermore I was sleeping with someone else (and not him). I left for a long weekend and didn’t call him when I got back. He got the message.

—tripleA

Aftermath: I checked up on his artwork blog a few months later only to discover that he had painted a portrait of me, subtitled “(I hate that I love you)” and created a collage of my old text messages—which he then sent me in the mail.

About 4 dates into it, he told a “funny” anecdote about having a good run at a blackjack table and not wanting to get up. Thinking he only had to fart, he let it slip, but something else came out. Not such a good run after all.

What bothered me most was that he told the story like it happened all the time and it wasn’t a big deal. From that point on, my friends and I all called him “Mr. Poopypants.”

Aftermath: I stopped returning phone calls. I bumped into him years later at a bar. After a couple beers and chatting, he asked why I stopped calling. I relayed the story. He assured me it was the only time it ever happened. I still didn’t date him.