Don’t say that #40

It’s an established principle of dating that boosting your partner’s ego is good for the date. For example, a guy friend recently told me about his long-standing crush on a girl which began when he had to chivalrously carry her home because she was too drunk to walk. Really–his pride in his own heroism completely distracted him from her apparent drinking problem.

That’s why I was so taken aback when a guy began our speed date by saying, “Since we’re all here at the Losers Club…”

Ordinarily, I’m a big joiner, but that’s one invitation to membership I will have to decline.


A dater’s nightmare is a blogger’s wet dream

At first, we thought he was joking. It was in the pre-event, wait-awkwardly-in-the-bar period when another female speed dater and I first met THE WEIRDEST MAN I HAVE EVER SPEED DATED. First he asked us our favorite colors, because, you see, “One in a hundred women is a psycho and the psychos always pick purple as their favorite color.”

After we had passed this clever psychological test, he drilled down further on his requirements. He’s looking for a “sparring partner.” You’re thinking that’s an interesting metaphor for marriage? Nope, he meant it literally. He’s a karate guru and he expects his significant other to become a black belt, too. It shouldn’t be too hard, though, because he has such a good training program that he charges 2 MILLION DOLLARS for it. He would also like his woman to bear as much resemblance to Xena the warrior princess as possible– the other woman at the bar had the advantage of long dark hair, but I got the upper hand when I admitted to having played sports and having seen the TV show.

During our speed date, he covered the following additional topics:

  • Why did your last relationship end? (A previous date had told him that she tried to run her boyfriend over with the car. Props to her for finding an answer as crazy as the questioner, I thought.)
  • You don’t have kids, pets, or any of that other baggage, do you?
  • Do you own a bike? (“Yes, but it’s in pretty bad shape,” I said, trying to minimize our compatibility. “I used to be a mechanic!” he countered.)
  • Do you need a man to complete you? (I need a woman to complete me both physically and emotionally, he said. There goes the possibility of ever enjoying “Jerry Maguire” again, I thought.)
  • How old are you? (When I said I was 30, he admitted to being 51, but suggested I might appreciate some videos of his younger days when he had “Fabio-like” hair. He now has no hair.)

Despite my attempts to answer every question wrong, he concluded our speed date with the pronouncement that after 51 speed-dating events and 517 women, I was the best prospect. (I later learned that he had told several other women the same thing. Still not sure whether to be relieved or insulted.)

He invited me to a) join him at Potbelly for dinner after the “show” b) call him tomorrow at 8 or c) visit his Web site.

I selected option C and I’d encourage you to do the same. It’s Yes, that’s an “m.” He’s an expert in martial arts, not spelling. You can read his plans for a prospective biopic (“a movie script based on an 87 years old version of himself”) or make the $200,000 down payment on the master course. Sadly, though, the Fabio hair is viewable only by paid subscribers.

We have a winner!

Thanks to everyone who submitted an inappropriate texting story.  You all made me feel much better about my own love life. Anyway, without further ado, the winning submission:

“A guy with whom I’d had an on-again/off-again relationship before I started seeing my now-husband (meaning that we hadn’t corresponded in any way for several months, maybe a year) managed to text me *on my wedding day* to let me know that he was going to “give me a booty call soon.” I don’t know how I managed not to scream with laughter at the dinner table, with my husband and 25 family members/friends right there. Timing: the secret of great comedy!”

In addition to a husband, this lucky reader, who prefers to be known as Glad That’s Behind Me, is now in possession of a fabulous “super doctor” coffee mug. It’s almost a shame she isn’t single, because I’m sure this cup would be a magnet for Portugese-speaking guys in search of a sugar momma. Congrats, GTBM!

The art of dumping, part duh (WIN A PRIZE!)

It’s so nice to start off a new year totally unencumbered. That must have been what inspired me to commit the double faux pas of breaking up with a guy during the holidays and doing it by text.

I used to like texting with dates. It was quick (you know how I feel about speed) and avoided the awkward silences that often arise when talking to a near-stranger on the phone. (“Uh, so, what do you want to do?” “I don’t know. What do  you want to do?”) But with greater experience, I have concluded that this new technology poses a potential national disaster. Forget legislation about texting while driving, and start banning texting while dating, which is vastly more likely to lead to the extinction of our species.

It’s not just me. Friends have reported weird relationship texts, ranging from the mysteriously brief (“Hey” after a several-month silence) to the detailed yet incomprehensible (“Eating @ the corner of canal and hester. Thought of u. I can c in here”  from a guy with whom she had not yet been on a date). But my guy’s signature move was even more irritating than mystifying. He never answered phone calls or responded to voicemails. Instead, a couple of days after I called him, he would text a message like, “Meant to call you but was busy last night. Call me tonight.” Uh no. Unless a woman is your secretary or your mom, you don’t order her to call you.

It’s possible that what he meant to say was something like, “I would very much like to talk to you, but unavoidable circumstances prevented me from contacting you sooner, and now I am afraid that I would be interrupting your busy, important life if I called you. Please forgive me, and contact me at your convenience.” I’ll never know, though, because in the two months before I ended our relationship we had only one atextual encounter.

However, the Texter’s loss is your gain, readers. Since the holidays were coming, I prepared for the possibility that we would make the leap from texting to hanging out in person and exchanging presents. The gift is really not suitable for anyone else, so I’m going to offer it as a prize in the first-ever Speed Dating Girl contest (because people who win stuff for free can’t bitch about its unsuitability).


Email me at with your best inappropriate dumping or texting story. I will select a winner in the upcoming weeks and post his or her story on SDG in addition to providing the awesome mystery prize.