07/04/2010 05:12 am ET | Updated May 25, 2011

It's An Honor Just to Be Nominated

I think it's safe to say that I have been on more dates than one girl should be allowed to go on. Oh wait, correction, I have been on more bad dates than one girl should be allowed to go on. Sorry. For a second there, I forgot who I was. After last week's disaster with gummy bear guy, my psyche needed a break from dating for at least a week. But, I didn't want to let my amazingly loyal readers down and not submit a post for this week, so I decided to comb through my mental Rolodex of past crappy first dates. There are some that definitely deserve the What the Eff Award, and then there are others that aren't quite deserving of full-blown award status with an entire entry dedicated to them, yet were definitely in the running. And the nominees are...

Mr. Wandering Hands
Mr. Wandering Hands and I met while I was perusing the paint aisle in Home Depot. I was trying to find the perfect shade of taupe for our living room when I found it up on the top shelf. There I was, standing on my tiptoes trying to reach the paint, when this handsome man swoops in to my rescue. Judging by his name tag he worked there, so he was probably just doing his Home Depot duty by helping, so I thanked him and went on my merry way. He stopped me and told me that, "If I needed anything else, to just come and find him or give him a call," and he slipped me his business card. Before even looking down at it I thought to myself, "Wow. Look at the Home Depot going all fancy on us with new and improved business cards for their clerks. When did this happen?" Then I look down and noticed that it is a law firm's business card. Score.

I tracked him down and asked him to ring me up in order to strike up conversation. He started telling me that he worked at Home Depot on weekends to make some extra cash in order to pay off his law school loans. My mother would be proud.

We go to dinner at a great restaurant downtown and traded some pretty hysterical dating stories. We went to a couple other bars back in my neighborhood after dinner and ended up at Frank's for some late night fun. I was exhausted from being social all day, so I told him I had an early morning and had to scoot. He walked me out to get a cab and grabbed my hand and started kissing me. I pulled away because there was something about him that was very abrasive and too in your face for me. It just didn't feel right. The next thing you know, he pulls me in again and says, "Look. You're great and everything, but I'm just looking to screw. Are you down?"

What? Is he kidding me? Did he think that talk like that would make a woman dizzy with lust? Did he expect me to say, "Yeah, that would be great, you complete stranger. Lets get on that. In fact, I can't wait until we get home, so why don't you take me now on this grimy street corner." Not quite. I stomped on his foot so he would let go of me and ran to get into a cab. The worst part of this story was not the near molestation (although that ranks close to the top), but the fact that, to this day, I haven't been back to Frank's, for fear that I might run into him without my "stranger danger" whistle.

Use Your Words
When I was younger, every time I would whine for something, or huff and puff until I thought my mother would give in, she would always look at me and say, "Gena, use your words." So, from that day forward, I think it's safe to say, that whenever I wanted something I would just ask for it, but I always made sure to say "please" and "thank you" as well because my mom also said, "You catch more bees with honey." Let's be honest, if you know me, I like to get my way, so that lesson has definitely stuck with me.

I met Mr. Manners online. There weren't really many sparks flying during our conversations on the phone, but I thought that maybe he was just nervous and it was a slow date week, so I decided to give it a shot. We went to some non-descript restaurant (so much so that I can't even remember the name) for dinner. From the minute we sat down, I was bored out of my mind and grossed out by his patchy facial hair. I had to get out of there...and fast! But how? We had just gotten our drinks! A million things were running through my head; should I fake a stomach bug? Should I send an S.O.S. text to a friend? Should I sneak out the bathroom window and stick him with the tab? The waitress came up to us and asked if we are ready to order, interrupting my plots of escape. I looked at the waitress, a little bit dazed and said, "Yeah, um, I'll take the Quesadillas." Mr. Manners looked at me, and in front of the waitress said, "What do you say, Gena? Can you say please?" I was stunned, shocked, stupefied and any other "S" word that you can think of! I turned to him and shot him a look that said you better back off buddy, because when cornered (or embarrassed) I attack, and you did not just talk to me like I was a five year old, because if I heard you correctly, and I'm pretty sure that I did, I will give you a five second head start before I come after you to kick you in the shins. Without missing a beat, I snapped my head back to the waitress and said, "You know what? I'm so sorry. I changed my mind. I won't be eating dinner tonight. Could you disregard my order...please?" I threw down my napkin and stormed out of the restaurant and never looked back.

I always tell people that dating is a numbers game, just like being in sales. You have go out on X amount of bad dates in order to get one good date. The way I see it, I'm due for a good date really soon. At least I hope so, because I'm not sure how much more of this I can take before I check myself into a padded room!