• I got walked out on on a date that seemed like it was going fairly well because I said I didn’t like french fries. • The date where the self-identified “artist” revealed her day job was working as a prison guard, and she spent much of our afternoon on a mumbled, paranoid rant about an anonymous “them” who were on the verge of their incipient take over of everything we hold dear. She ordered worth of lunch, which she wouldn’t touch because she was sure it was contaminated.
• I am pretty good at not going out on dates unless I am fairly certain that I have picked someone I am at least a little compatible with, but at one point, I ended up going out with a girl to a cafe, where she had secretly invited her friends, who, it turns out, were mostly just AA buddies, and the next thing I knew, I was at an AA meeting.
I don’t really drink much, and I don’t really have a problem with it, and I didn’t really know the girl very well, and I didn’t want to be there.
She really loved manatees, and eventually she jumped from her boat into the water and landed on a manatee.
But the manatee was actually dead, and the body ended up falling apart and she was covered in dead manatee slime and someone had to fish her out and clean her up.
After some words of consolation from me about how fucked up that experience must have been, she told me she made it up, and every other story she had told me that night, because she likes making up stories.