…. it was not that bad then….. but looking back on it now, it strikes me as a horrible situation for both of us to have been in….. 18-20 years old, the Gulf War just starting……. even though we were both spun up at the time, I suspect we both did the right thing by backing off….

…. sometimes it is better to back off, I guess….

Yeah. I didn’t think so.

High school. Senior year. I drove a 1965 Mustang and she was great, if not tempermental. We had seen Public Image Limited and New Order in concert down in Irvine (PIL was SOOO much better than New Order) and were heading back up the 5. We managed to get stuck in traffic right around where the 5 and the 101 split and my temp gauge goes through the roof.

My date was anything but mechanically inclined (think artist) so he panicked worse than I did. He was incredibly uncomfortable and unhappy about having to sit on the side of the freeway waiting for AAA to show up so he hitched a ride (literally – stuck his thumb out and hopped in with the first person to slow down for him) and left me sitting there on the side of the freeway with my car.

Took the tow truck almost 2 hours to show up.

And he never paid me back for the concert ticket either.

I was 17 and asked this girl out who had been flirting with me for well over a month, and I eventually asked her to prom. We went out on a date first and I was a bit nervous as this was my first date where I would be driving. After what I thought was a nice movie of holding hands and a small bite to eat, I turned the wrong way on a one way street. Well, narrowly missing meeting my maker, I flipped the car around and apologized and drove her home. I got a kiss on the cheek and that was that.

A couple days later and 2 weeks before prom, she elects to not engage my services as an escort to the formal. Hmmmm, corsage ordered…car detailed….tux rented to match her dress……pissed off 17 yo. Well it goes to show that things work out for the best, I ended up with a gorgeous tall redheaded girl who agrees to go with me as friends. We have a wonderful time, I hit is off with her sister whom I start dating 6 months later. 14 years have gone by and we are expecting our first child this month. Makes me believe in divine intervention because it turned out that the original girl was interested in me only because a friend of hers was. Once she lost interest, my fair date did as well.

(Yeah, I’m old, it was before “Fatal Attraction.”)

“A really nice, interesting person. You guys are both pretty unique. You’ll hit it right off.”

“Okay.”

So off we go for dinner. My friend and his date are having a fairly decent meal, and I am chatting the friend up trying not to let her shoehorn her way into their conversation.

About halfway through dinner she leans over and says, “let’s go outside, I want to tell you something.”

(This being California you can’t smoke in restaurants, and I do enjoy my cancer sticks every now and again.)

“I have something important to ask you,” she says with the sort of tone you usually reserve for asking if people know their mother is dead or they have terminal cancer. “I mean, you seem like a nice guy, but I want to ask you this.”

“Okay.” I take a drag and wonder if it’s something really out of the park (like she used to be a man) or a trifle more mundane (like her parents have a giant painting of J. Edgar Hoover over their bed.)

“What lifetime is this for you?”

“Pardon?”

“What lifetime is this for you? Because this is my fifth.”

“Really.” Really, where is that waiter, because I could do with another scotch right now.

“Yes. I’m actually from a moon of Saturn.”

“Far out.” As in say, your brain is far out of your head.

Later, it would be revealed that she was discharged from the service of the United States Navy for being a little “mentally divergent,” to use the line from 12 Monkeys.

This auspicious occasion also marked the beginning of my prohibition against dating anyone who wears any manner of uniform to work with the words “U.S. NAVY” printed thereon.

Copious drinking in the campus bar – rousing game of quarters. More drinking. A casual stroll to his dorm room.

Fast forward oh, about 10 minutes. I’m in the bathroom doing what drunk freshman do, date is in his dorm room. I return in quite the state of dishabille, but in my deluded condition believe I look quite fine, thankyouverymuch.

Did the date agree? No. he. did. not. I was escorted to the front door of his dorm and pointed in the general direction of my dorm (up and down a hill across campus). Then the door of his dorm was closed, firmly.

I found my way to my dorm room (the memory of which has not faded as it does not exist) – and did not emerge for 2 days. There was more embarrassment to follow, but we are only talking about dates here…