first date horror stories

or, why do i keep putting myself through this /​every first date i’ve been on has been an awkward one, but maybe i’m okay w that


​it never fails. i’m a serial first dater, and not many of my dates has led to a second one. maybe i set my standards too high, or i am too eager to go out; maybe my luck is nonexistent. whatever the case may be, these dates i manage to go on have not only made me laugh with my friends and family after, but some of them have made me full-on cringe. 

i went out, for instance, with a guy i met at culinary school (word of advice, take caution when it comes to uniforms. uniforms hide things). we agreed on coffee. he was twenty minutes late, bc he was selling old clothes at plato’s closet. i tried to look past his dragon ball z shirt and khaki cargo shorts (i was my usual ten to fifteen minutes early and in a usual black dress). things started out decently. he was pretty funny and we kept conversation light, until we touched on family. not only did i learn of his mother’s death but the day he agreed on going out happened to be the seven year anniversary of her passing. honestly, that left me uncomfortable, but i supposed he was coping well enough with it. we kept talking. i don’t recall the exact details, but i know there were some questionable comments he made that were rather racist. i squirmed and left shortly after. i wish that was the last time i saw him, but he still attends my culinary school and asks when the next time we’re getting coffee will be. please take a hint.

​one boy left me a sweet, shy message on my family’s home phone to my horror and parent’s amusement, inviting me to go ice skating. he picked me up in a minivan and we bonded over a shared love of death metal. we laced up our skates, hit the ice and that’s when i learned he didn’t know how to skate. st all. this could have been a sneaky tactic to hold my hand but it was clumsy and resulted in falling over every few feet. he then took me, after a couple of trips (literally) around the rink, to lunch at the italian place he served at, and it seems every employee working that day came up to our table, trying to casually get introduced to me. the manager even came out, like a protective father and expressed his excitement for our “next time”, shooting a distinct look at my date. the waitress beamed at the two of us and giggled.  i think even a cook came out to check in on this first  date. for some reason, i accepted his offer to go walk around an ice festival and see the latest disney movie downtown the next week, and that was the last time we went out. we strolled around, him in his knitted knight’s helmet hat (which i complimented then immediately wished otherwise) and me in my mittens. the movie theatre was jam packed with families and holding his hand made my arm fall asleep’ he couldn’t properly drape his arm across my shoulder. we both decided the seats were not meant for dates and tried to ignore the kids kicking our seats. i told him a few days later that i didn’t see this going anywhere.

​another memorable time was when i went to a hookah bar with someone from middle school, someone i’ve had a crush on since around that time. needless to say, my crush has since evaporated. smoking hookah was better than i thought, as was our (more likely, his, as he liked the sound of his voice) conversation about hemmingway and living in europe. we stayed out late, and he walked me to my car and proceeded to kiss me. we made out for awhile against my car; i swooned, my former high school self was on cloud nine. i managed to drive home, only to receive a text along the lines of: “i had fun tonight but i we need to slow down a little for next time. you move fast”. making the first move was something i was not into then, so his text left me confused.  a few days later, i left him confused when i discovered i only liked him when we weren’t talking and told him no. the best part is that he recently reached out, asking what’s up and i responded w a picture of simon cowell saying “it’s a no for me”. 

​even though i am currently (possibly forever)  not the luckiest on dating, i can’t help but look back on these mishaps with embarrassed fondness. maybe i’m much too cynical (thanks dad) when it comes to dates but i can honestly admit that i have enjoyed them on small levels. maybe it’s because i know now what i don’t want in a first date. it’s also because these dates just seem like something out of a weird sitcom, with details so strange they couldn’t be anything but fiction. but they came and went with their weird little lessons and i’m not mad they happened. like they say, the third time’s the charm (it wasn’t). or the fourth (is being drunk at a party a date? if so, nope). or the fifth (has potential). who knows how many more awkward dates are in my future. bring it. 

anyone else a serial first dater? good luck to us,



(i was lucky enough to read modern romance, by aziz ansari. he was brilliant in his reflections and findings on how the expansion of social life today affects our love lives. if you get the chance, pick up a copy!)


tug of war 

i am Depressed.

not the tumblr kind of depressed, though; i don’t cry into the shoulder of a cute, sweater-wearing boy while he holds me, surprising me w flowers while the smiths are softly moaning in the background and suddenly i am better after a few minutes or so after he looks deep into my eyes and says, “cheer up!” or “just don’t think about it”. there is no snapping out of it, no way to switch it off. sometimes i can hardly  talk w my closest friends. i cannot get a date because the thought of someone putting up w me is so unbelievable. this is a gross kind of Depressed, a sick sort of Depressed. the one we should talk about more. i am just one person dealing w this Sadness out of millions. i am nobody but somebody w things to say about the feelings that eat me up. and it’s hard and messy but here i am anyway.

i am Depressed. there are days when i cannot get out of bed or even manage to shower, let alone properly feed myself. i’ve wished i could slip into a coma so i wouldn’t have to deal w myself or my thoughts more than once. i am also Anxious. i have to finish my assignments the moment i receive them. i question every move i make and every word i get out. i’m even Anxious that i’ve used the word “i” so many times that you think i’m self absorbed. i’m (there it is again) really the opposite. Sad. Anxious. i keep those two words capitalized bc, for now, they are bigger than me. i have been diagnosed; these are more than average, my abnormal feelings.  these emotions  wrap their poisonous words around me and won’t let go. they choke me with their false truths and i believe them. i know i’m not alone in my struggles but the fact that i can hardly put one foot in front of the other makes me think otherwise.

why are you reading this? why am i pretending it’s worth writing?

Anxious. Sad.

i’m writing so i can be louder than my Generalised Anxiety Disorder. so i can be louder than my Major Depressive Disorder. maybe you are stuck on the same see saw as i am. maybe someone you care for is. maybe they are but you don’t know. (we are good at hiding so we don’t have to bother you). suffering from these two monstrous illnesses is like they are playing tug of war with me. i’ve being thinking about it lately (lately aka twenty years).

what it’s like when Anxiety and Depression play tug of war w you:

it’s Depression begging you to do nothing while Anxiety lists off everything you need to get done.

it’s laying in bed before work, or anything you committed to as long as possible, unmotivated and borderline comatose while you scream at yourself that you will lose your job/friends unless you move. right.  now.

it’s never wanting to make plans but being scared that none of your friends will like you if you keep avoiding them like this.

it’s wanting to take a day off from your dream job(s), just one day so you can rest because every muscle is sleeping but convincing yourself your employer(s) will think you are a lazy, untrustworthy person. obviously, they will fire you. so, go to work. you’ll sleep when you’re dead.

it’s wanting to die. it’s choosing to live simply because funeral costs are too high (seriously though why). and if you fail at dying? hospital bills. don’t do that to your family.

what is it like?

it’s thinking “staying up all night wouldn’t be the worst” soon followed by panicking that you won’t be able to function the next day, and obviously fail at any attempted task. there have been countless nights of me staying up all night in order to avoid sleeping through my alarm. Anxiety logic !!!

it’s wanting to go to sleep at seven. it’s staying up well past midnight because what if the house burns down or someone breaks in or that radical  group was right about the rapture today or is my heartbeat supposed to be like that or what if i have an undiagnosed brain tumour that decides to burst any minute now. i can feel it if i lie very still oh and what if-

literally anything.

it’s not wanting to change out of your robe and into party clothes but somehow you manage. then, it’s waiting by the clock, trying to pinpoint the most practical, perfect time to leave. too early and you’re desperate. on time and you’re boring. late and you cannot be depended on. ever. kiss invitations goodbye, whatever time you arrive.

it’s not wanting to take your meds (“what’s the point?”) but fearing the side effects if you miss a dose.

it’s when you can’t even reply to a text but when someone doesn’t text you back, the thought that they died in the most gruesome way ever won’t leave your poor head.

it’s not caring what people think yet questioning your every move and the reactions they prompt from others.

it’s not being motivated to date but staying up late, crying at the fact you’ll most likely die alone.

it’s wanting to die one minute while having a panic attack over whether or not there is life after death the next.

it’s not caring about anything. it’s caring too much.

it’s not wanting to do anything, thinking what’s the use in getting help, but worrying that you’ll never get better and always be at war with yourself. so you bite the bullet and call the doctors from under your comforter.

asking for help is difficult and maybe one of the hardest things a person can do. i barely manage it. don’t see it as admitting defeat; Depression and Anxiety fight dirty. putting yourself first is such a simple notion, yet we rarely do it. we encourage those close to us to do so, but tend to save it for “later” when it comes to ourselves. why is that? why is someone caring about themselves seen as trailblazing ? let’s normalize self-care and start with the well-being of our minds. let’s normalize the fact that brains get sick just as frequently as bodies do and require the same amount of dedicated treatment (and get well soon cards, teddy bears, balloons and fresh bouquets).

sending you all lots of balloons,